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.