One Year Down

They started in again with the, 'yeah you're coming back, but you'll be leaving for good next year' bit-- this time in front of Michael and Sr. Angie.  Sr. Angie had this joyful look on her face like I had just finally proven to her that I actually did something worthwhile at Holy Cross.  I don't know.  It made me sad, though, and I told them to stop, because that was a whole year away so we shouldn't think about it just yet.

But the good news is that all of this happened right after our show was completed.

Amigos del Barrio
presents
Abre su imagination

The Spanglish was a necessary part.  I even noticed that during the plays whenever they improvised their roles, they would cut into the opposite language than the play was written in.  The audience loved it.  I loved it.  I was on high energy all day long, and during dinner I crashed.  It was a great day.

We didn't have the whole theatre group until the very last minute, meaning up to five minutes after scheduled showtime, which meant that they were actually an hour and thirty-five minutes late.  But it worked.  The show started half an hour late, but it got on, and it was awesome.  There was minimal line-forgettage, non-existent succumbing to nerves, and despite many threats, no one actually quit and walked out rather than going on stage.

The group pulled off their characters well.  The star that stole the show was Edy Angel in drag playing a high school 'mean girl'.  He did an incredible job.  But they all knocked my socks off.  Teens that were so timid during all of the rehearsals, even the full dress rehearsal the day before yesterday-- they just belted out their roles with confidence and charisma.  It was awesome.

We got a standing ovation.

It's over now.  The first run of the Theatre Program, my first year in Chicago.  It's over.  It's strange for me to think it because the year has flown past.  Although when I read through this blog, it amazes me how much has happened, because there is so much that I left out, and even without all of that, it's still a lot to happen in a year.

I know I was meant to be here because it feels right.  I had never much considered doing missionary work in the States.  I had always wanted to do the volunteer service work overseas.  It was only by chance that we wound up in Chicago, but I wouldn't have traded this year for anything, and I don't know how I"m going to bring myself to say goodbye next year.

It's been a bit of a tough week for goodbyes.  Fabian has left the program.  Of the people left in our house, Daena has renewed for another year, and of course, Michael and I.  Of the volunteers in Atlanta, Emi is moving on to Jamaica.  Josh and Maria have gone home after completing two volunteer years.  Josh lives not too far from here and plans on visiting.  He plays bass and we've talked about getting a band together.  Maybe.  We'll see.

It was hardest for me when Fabian went.  I can't say I feel really close to him, like a best friend or a brother, but he's been a member of my community for a year.  We've lived together for a year.  We've journeyed together- all the shit that happened, and all the joys.  We've both come home yelling to blow off steam, and we've both yelled at the newspaper when GW did something stupid.  We've shared great stories about the milestones and successes at work.  We've prayed together and eaten together, and over the past week we've cried together as we all said goodbye.  I'll miss Maria a lot too.  We didn't live together, but we kind of long-distance journeyed together.  She's a year ahead of me at this stage.  I've enjoyed talking to her since day two when I met her, and I kind of feel that I won't see her again, and I regret that.

Tomorrow night we head out by train to Tennessee.  And I'm really looking forward to it.  But it also kind of seals it that this year really is over, and I only have one more left here.  But you know, then it will be off to a whole new adventure.  Only God knows where.

Myself, I don't want to think about it yet.  That's a whole year away.

23 good hours

So, when I got home from work last night, I felt all weird. I was worn out beyond reason, and hungry, and really antsy. I couldn't sit still. I was babbling. I was tired. Eventually I ate, I babbled myself out, and I lay down on the couch. That was when I looked up at the clock and realized that I had worked 23 of the previous 48 hours. And suddenly, everything was explained.

So let me tell you about that 23 hours.

On Tuesday, I went into work at noon, and started typing. I didn't have all of the plays for the Theatre Group, but I did have a good more-than-half of them, and I typed until 6:00. Then I went to play soccer with the kids. Except that it had started to rain. So I sat in a car with some of the girls and their younger siblings and we watched as some of the boys played anyway. After awhile, we were like, you know? They look like they're having more fun than us. So we went and played too.

In a torrential downpour.

At this point in the game, parts of the parking lot had nearly foot-deep puddles, which would stop the soccer ball flat, so it made the game more interesting. We were all saturated thoroughly. At nine, Martha drove me home (Martha, I said, I'm soaked. So? she said. I have leather seats. You are not riding the bus home.) I ate and went back to typing, until midnight, when I passed out.

Wednesday, I went into work at 10, and started typing again. At 12:00 we had sculpting class, which involved some plaster, and a lot of mess, and forty-five minutes of scrubbing floors and tables, and lots of fun. I had recruited Angel to help me type one of the Spanish plays (which was written in rather bad handwriting, and I couldn't make heads or tails of large chunks of it.) He had been working during the 2 1/2 hours of art class, but was still not finished. We typed some more. At 4, I began running (literally) about making copies, and then running (literally) to Dunkin Donuts to get some donuts for the teens in the theatre group, because they've been doing so great and I wanted to do something for them. Then I continued running back and forth getting last minute things done for theatre, and then we cast, and then we did read-throughs.

And here's the best part.

Every now and again, I get to thinking, what am I really doing for these kids? You know, just giving them something to do, really. But then at the end of the theatre class (which ran an hour late, until 9), they asked me where I was going next weekend. So I explained to them about how the volunteer year is ending, and I"m going on retreat, and then I'll be back for another volunteer year in August.

And then they said, And then another next year, and another the year after that...

And I said, No, I'm probably going to Jamaica after that.

And they said, No, you have to stay here.

And I said, We're not going to talk about me leaving, because I'm going to miss this place too much.

So then, seeing a weak spot, they started prodding, But who's going to do all this stuff with us? Who's going to do theatre and art? What's going to happen to our arts?

I said, Who did all this before me?

They said, No one. There was nothing. Well, there was-- No! That was for kids. There was nothing for us. You have to stay.

Then, they go in for the kill-- We're going to be on the streets, Kati, without you! You have to stay!

Then I told them they would have to take over and run the programs themselves, and they said, No we don't have the training.

And I said, Neither do I. I'm just faking.

And they all groaned and laughed.

Little did they know I was telling the truth.

Anyway, I was sad after that conversation, but happy that they want me to stay, and happy that what I'm doing (even the fun stuff) really is worthwhile to these young adults.

But for now, I really am going to go get some sleep. Because, dude. I'm worn out. And I have a gruelling fifteen hour day of Six Flags ahead of me tomorrow. Oh, the things I do for these kids. I mean, really. Art. Theatre. Donuts. Theme parks. The sacrifices. Oh, the sacrifices.