My Beyond

I do not live inside a block of sights and sounds that make up a single neighborhood, but there are places that will always make up who I am. My block is sitting at The Dairy Bar after opening night at the Temple Theater eating bacon cheese fries with my friends. We would pour into the little diner until we had filled every open chair. We would become so boisterous that the other hungry customers would soon leave, giving us death stares the whole way out the door. We laughed and talked and sang until we could not speak anymore. We ate until we were all but bursting from the number of grease-covered fries and chocolate covered deserts we had stuffed into our mouths. That little diner will always be the favorite source of fuel to those of us lucky enough to call Temple home.

Temple was my home and another major part of my block. I will never be able to walk through those doors without being flooded with memories of the eight years I spent inside. Inside that theater, I learned more about myself than I ever could have on my own. I learned that hard work does not always pay off in the ways we want, but that does not mean we should ever stop working hard. I learned that you don't always get to be a star, but you should never stop reaching for them. I also learned that, in life, there is always more than meets the eye. No matter how great something may look from the front, there may be duct tape holding it together.

Standing in front of a microphone will always be part of my block. No matter where we set up that day, no matter what city, that mic was part of home. It was a safety net holding us where we needed to be. On the days when I was truly failing in front of the people who made up my world, I would reach out and hold that microphone to steady myself. So, when I was standing on the stage at Depot Park hitting more notes flat than on key, the familiarity of my surroundings gave me the power to not run away. The feel of “normal” under my hands let me choose fight over flight.

My block will always be home to my family, the people at my church, the Temple Teens, and other friends. It will also be home to the “crazy clock guy” who rode around town proclaiming the end of the world while holding a clock over his head dressed in choir robes. My block is home to Benita, who you could see coming a mile away in one of her many holiday sweaters. It will be home to Lillian, the child who I nannied for two hand a half years. My block is home to every enemy I ever made and every crush I ever loved. In my mind, they will never get to leave my block.

My block is my home, but I have never wanted to leave a place more. I always dreamed of going beyond. To me, beyond was always better than what I had. Beyond was getting a lead in a play because surely that would be more fun. Beyond was going to public school, because then I would be happy. My beyond was watching friends go off to college and dreaming of the day I could go, too. My beyond was anywhere outside of NC that I had yet it see. It was NYC; it was Hawaii; it was Paris; and it was Rome. My beyond was the girl I wanted to see when I looked in the mirror or stepped on the scales. It was everything I ever wanted and did not have.

Now I am beyond my block. I live in a new town and have a new life. I am in school like all my friends and am making my own choices. My beyond is still made up of all the things I want to do in life, but it is also made up of something more. My beyond is a milkshake with friends. My beyond is singing off key to the world. My beyond is duct taping sets back together. It is hugging a lady in a singing hat; it is seeing a man with a broken clock. My beyond is the place I called home.