Guest Blogger #12
When I asked Beth if any of her friends would guest blog for me, she rattled off four names and one was Laura.
Laura covers the bases in this post so I don't need to explain anything, actually. Her memories of the day we met match mine, including the perspiration. I've been in Washington State for 22 years; my thermostat is fixed, I think, so the day I helped Beth move into her dorm room I was mostly concerned with finding the nearest water fountain and wondering if I would ever get a shower.
I will say this: Knowing we were sending our daughter off to her second year of college, and that she had plans to stay this time, do summer school, summer opera, and find an off-campus living situation, it made it a little easier when we discovered she'd found a second family in the de la Fuentes from Plano. Until I get her back, I know she's in good hands.
I Promise I’ll Give Her Back
ByLaura de la Fuente
I was supposed to be the first of Beth's friends to blog last week, but things got insanely busy at work where I was almost squished to death in a tiny filing room by a vengeful beast of a file cabinet, (close relative of Lucifer), so alas, I was pushed back to today.
And I'm glad I was.
Because Cindy, one of Beth's friends from Seattle, wrote about Beth in a way I realized I must attempt at too.
I wasn't going to write about Beth or myself even. I was gearing towards writing an exposé on the brilliance of a rapper named Missy Elliott, inserting plenty of Ebonics and unnecessarily misspelled words with z’s instead of s’s, like hoez and shizzilatingist Now, after reading the void Beth’s absence brings in her group of friends back home, I feel I need to write a little letter of significance to the “Scooby Gang,” in Sweet Home Mukilteo, just so ya'll know, with all sincerity, that I prrromise I'll give her back.
I met Beth her first semester at the University of North Texas, red poof still poofing and attitude still noticeably attitudinating. She was a singer in a class where singing wasn't necessarily going to get you a good grade, but did that really matter to Beth? hahaNO. I sat next to her all semester because I knew that if I sat next to the girl who sang well and loudly then I'd be able to blend. I was obviously afraid; Beth was not. At all. I'm still not completely sure she can really get scared to this day. (If you don’t count one mind-blowing session of Ouija).
So a semester went by with the pale Mexican girl and the pale Seattle girl, not really talking, but not really ignoring one another. It was maybe just a mutual enjoyment of presence both of us failed to acknowledge, but regardless, the semester ended and I didn’t talk to her ever again.
I now feel like the Gods of Roommatedom, saw this act of ambivalent neglect and laughed their non-existent asses off before throwing us together in a shoebox dorm room the next year.
So I really met Beth and Beth's dad, Chuck, your Chuck, on what was perhaps the hottest day in the history of late-August-dorm-moving-in days in the history of the world. Me and my father met Beth and her father and I learned that HER father wrote a “blog” and had a deadline that day for his more important writing obligation of a column for a newspaper that he had to meet. So, the only memory I have of you, Mr. Chuck, is of a nice looking man, shiny and pit stained from stress, sweating more from stank heat than anyone I've ever seen sweat in all my Texas-bred life. I'm really sorry to tarnish the angelic portrait you loyal readers have of Chuck in your minds, but unlike his daughter and his wife, Chuck has sweat glands. So I proceeded to give him his space and when I saw my dad's eyes about to ask "What's a Blog?" I pushed him out of the room the way a daughter pushes her dad when things are about “naked baby pictures” bad... and that was that. Nice to meet you, Sigars Clan.
Our semester began and I knew instantly that I was either going to hate Beth or love her.
I now teeter between the two in a way Jan teetered between her feelings for Marsha. "Beth, Beth, Beth! *smack* LOVE."
But I do care ever so dearly for Beth.
(I'm only calling her "Beth" because I don't have to say it out loud when I type it. I can't actually say her name. I've called her "Roommate" since the beginning of time and Roommate she has been christened since. It's like calling my mother "Irma" or my father "David." It's not as special and doesn't have the same familial connection it needs to have when I address her. So Roommate she is and Roommate she will always be.)
The year continued on with little to nothing happening of any significance to us without the other being present personally. But by some cosmic alignment of Christ, Beth being there forced my past issues with anxiety out of the picture. It was as if I had this person compelling me to grow up and get out of my comfortable hermit existence helping me blossom into… a real girl.
I’ve had some serious issues in the past years that stunted my growth as a person and really prevented me from living life as a “no longer teenager but not quite adult” should be living. But somehow and without my noticing, Beth killed this inhibition of mine that I couldn’t or shouldn’t be able to live away from my parents with nothing more than her presence and Beth-ness. It’s as if I was hanging onto my childhood before, going home every weekend my first year of college, failing to make any friends or go out to any parties, feeling too afraid to stay on campus and socialize. She pushed me to dress my age and act my age and look my age and really feel like a grown up. So, it’s weird reading that Beth seemed “grown up” to those who knew her before when really, she helped ME grow up. Maybe I replaced her where Beth would normally be and she, being Beth, felt the need to top me somehow by acting 40. I mean, at one point I swear she was prepping for twins, miming coloring time on my bed with maternal head nods and coos, petting small air children.
I vomited instantly at the sight and I think that pushed her back to a solid 33 until her real age of 20 seemed sufficiently validated with plenty of cheap old navy clothes and polka dot pay-less shoes.
We’re better now.
Especially living in our own house with our wonderful roommate Jessica (name drop) and finally testing our year of, um, aging? all on our own.
I really want Beth to make it home this summer, but her obligations here in Texas exceed my control.
Perhaps I’ll coerce her to squeeze into a box so I can ship her back for a weekend. I’ll put a little sticker on it so you all know it’s her:
FRAGILE: (except sometimes when she needs to be strong for her friends, except sometimes when her friends need to be strong for her, except othertimes when you need Beth in any condition, old, young, fragile or not, just to be there, just the way she is).
8:12:44 AM 
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