Author's Note: Charlotte is on hold

Hi all,

I'm sorry to report that I need to put this blog on hold for awhile. I did originally outline the story to last for two years, but I currently don't have enough time to devote to it. I'm not sure whether I'll be able to pick it up again in awhile or not. Either way (and I do hope I'll be able to finish it), it has been a great experience for me and I hope you have enjoyed the past year with Charlotte. Thanks so much to all of my readers and commenters <3

Love,

Bekah

when the beats run dry there's gonna be some blood

Starsailor, “This Time”

I’m in Spain and have had absolutely no time. Orientation was okay, generally, but really hectic.  I’m finally moved into my own room, thank god. We’re only here for a couple months, so it doesn’t really make sense to go all out decorating, but that’s all I want to do right now; put pictures on the walls, tiles, wind chimes, hang scarves in my window so that I have floating colors in the breeze.

But I don’t have the money to pay for it, or the time to do it, or the space in my suitcase to bring all that home. So I’ll just daydream of it in small moments, small pieces captured out of time.

We’re really busy now. Classes started today, and already I feel behind. They’re taught in Spanish, and I feel like I’m always half a sentence behind, trying to stuff all the words in my mind so I can translate them and then try to actually think about what we’re learning. And already I have a whole pile of homework. Literally, a pile: three worksheets, grammar review sheets, and a huge Xeroxed play to read by the end of the week.

And I’m not even properly moved in yet; I brought sheets, and bought a pillow, but haven’t found any cheap blankets that I like, so I’ve been sleeping in sweatpants and a hoodie and two pairs of socks. I have a couple small shampoo bottles from the hotel, but haven’t gotten any conditioner. Half of my clothes are still in my suitcase because I don’t have hangers.

But it’s so good to be in our dorm, done with orientation, into my own room, my own space, and even if class is difficult, it’s better than lectures on study habits (do your homework! This is STUDY abroad!) or safety (don’t walk around alone at night! Don’t flash money!) or cultural awareness (don’t speak loudly on the subway! Don’t wear sneakers!).  And even if I have no proper blankets, or conditioner, or tissues or razors or floss, or friends, for that matter, although there is Zach – it’s better than sharing my orientation hotel room with Kerry.

I suppose Kerry would be nice enough, on her own, even if she’s a little crazy.  But she’s here with Nathan. Her boyfriend, from school, who apparently her parents can’t stand because they think he’s a Communist, or something. They don’t know he’s here, and according to Kerry, “they only paid for the trip to, like, get me away from him.” So apparently there’s already been drama about them being in pictures that will be on Facebook where her parents might see them. (Happily, my parents are still NOT on Facebook. I don’t suppose there’s anything so dramatic that I’m keeping from them, but still.)

I couldn’t imagine how they were going to spend two entire months not being in pictures together. Well, I figured out quickly enough: by spending the entire time in bed together.

I’m not going to judge. It had been a whole two weeks since they’d gotten out of school, whatever. There has to be a cheaper way to spend all summer secretly hooking up, even if they needed to be secretive—did they have to go all the way to Madrid?—but again, not my problem. Except for that, during orientation, it was also supposed to be MY ROOM.

So after I finally got to my hotel—after the long flight, the disorienting half-sleep of the plane, where I’d fallen asleep just enough to be terrified and confused when a jolt of turbulence woke me up and I had no idea where I was, and was convinced it’d been hours but it had only been seventeen minutes. The long, empty minutes stretched into endless hours, and only the slight bumps of the plane distinguished one moment from the next.  The boredom was so intense I was excited each time I had to pee, just to get up, to go wait in line, make faces at myself in the mirror as I tried to pee as slowly as possible, to carve out a slightly bigger chunk of time out of the solid block of flight time remaining.

I had an aisle seat, and the person next to me was nice enough—a middle aged man in a suit who read a magazine and then slept for hours – but I almost wished for another Calvin, just to pass the time, or at least someone who didn’t look so damn comfortable. No matter what position I was in, my neck hurt, my back hurt, my legs had no room. I stretched my legs out in the aisle, but then the stewardesses ran over it with the drinks cart. There were movies, but none that I wanted to see, and I didn’t really have the attention span for it.

After landing, finally, and trying to get my tired mind to slog through Spanish expressions and conjugations. After meeting our program director, and making small talk for half an hour as we waited for my luggage, when all I wanted was clean cool fresh sheets and space to stretch out and the sweet sweet refreshing oblivion of sleep.

And then the subway, which was remarkably clean and nice, but still, could I finally go somewhere without small seats squishing me next to strangers?— and so, finally, the hotel, waiting at the front desk for my key, the program director and receptionist speaking faster than I follow, and finally lugging my suitcases up two flights of stairs – finally, my back aching, arms killing me, head spinning, I unlocked the door and –

you want my outline drawn, you were my greatest failure

Anberlin, "Feel Good Drag"

I’m in the Atlanta airport waiting for my flight. There was a program flight leaving from New York City, but my parents found a cheaper one out of Hartsfield-Jackson, so I’m going to meet one of the program advisors in the Madrid airport. 

Part of me is anxious thinking about everyone already meeting each other, as if they’ll be best friends before I get there and I’ll automatically be excluded, always on the edges, not getting the jokes, not being in the “remember when?” stories.  But I know that’s silly. I already know two people from my Spanish class, anyway, who I don’t really want to spend every moment of the next month with, but at least I’ll know someone.

And mostly I’m relieved to not have to put up with the small talk and social jostling just yet: who will be popular? Who will hook up? Who is the hottest, the coolest, the craziest? I’d rather relax, listen to my iPod and maybe flip through a book. I’ve never been on a flight this long before, but hopefully I’ll be able to sleep. I think orientation doesn’t start until the day after I get there, but I’m not sure.

Hopefully I won’t get anyone like Calvin sitting next to me. I already have my headphones in, even though they’re not connected to anything, the end of the cord shoved into my jeans pocket. I figure if I seem occupied, no one will talk to me. I could also pretend to only know Spanish, but since I’m sure at least some of the flight will be legit Spaniards, I probably shouldn’t try and pull that one off.

They recommended that we get here way early—two and a half hours before the flight—and my parents were concerned about traffic on the drive, so I ended up arriving more than three hours before the flight. I’ve still got about an hour to wait. Thank god I have my laptop, even though there’s no free wireless. Probably a good thing: I’d just end up on Facebook.

Pictures of dates, engagements, weddings, puppies, tattoos, piercings. Glimpses into other people’s lives, endless, refreshing itself: why? What makes this so compelling? Addicting, even? It’s not out of control, but it’s like a default background noise, a channel to watch whenever there’s a pause.

Is it just silence, blankness, that I don’t want? Or the thoughts that might crawl up in the darkness, catch up with my mind once it stops running? I need to stop this, need to face whatever it is: guilt, fear, boredom. I’m running away to Spain, and I have a nine hour flight to think about why.