WSU

There is one (and only one) thing that I love about Wayne State University: the graffiti. Specifically, the graffiti etched, paint-penned, sharpied, and penciled all over the inside stalls of the girls bathrooms. Where you might expect obscenities, ridicule, and just plain stupid stuff, at Wayne you find inspiration. Everything I have ever read on a stall on campus has been uplifting, hopeful, encouraging. One common tag, done in bubbly letters with a silver sharpie, reads "It Gets Better" with a little heart next to it. Sometimes people will affirm these statements or even add a bit to them, like "it really does, I promise!" and "you are amazing!" At first, I thought all of the inspiration was sort of over-done. It seemed to me that these young humanists were being dramatic. How tough could their lives really be?

As the weeks wore on, this attitude began to shift. With each passing day, things got harder. I started to mix up my vectors in physics and confuse bits of the skull in anatomy. I was slipping behind, even though I spent (nearly) every moment studying or dreaming about what I had studied. Despite my efforts, I was faced with the threat of failure, something that I rarely have the guts to challenge myself to come anywhere near.

I was reading the graffiti with less critique every day. After reading, I would think to myself, that's nice! in an "I'm not so sure if I am being sarcastic or genuine" sort of way. I was beginning to relate to the writers. On one particularly miserable day, I found myself hoping the silver-pen girl was telling the truth.

Sure, there are some downsides to going to school here. But there is a sort of solidarity that emanates from the bathroom stalls as people go in, downtrodden, and come out knowing that they are not alone in their struggle, and that someone out there cares enough to tell them so.

Digging deep

Yesterday, I found myself in a headfirst dive position at the bottom of the 'Five for a Dollar' book bin at the Salvation Army. Half of my body was submerged in the bin, my feet had left the ground, and ma was holding back an avalanche of books that would surely suffocate me or knock me out if she were to let go. We had both broken a sweat several minutes before. My arms were covered in bits of torn up book covers, and the mildewy book dust had my sinuses caught up in that uncomfortable limbo before a sneeze. I strained my left arm in an awkward twist under an old macroeconomics textbook and tried to free a promising-looking small book that was wedged under a heavy car repair manual from the 80's. I finally had the book freed; another romance novel (The Right Moves).

This all started when I was helping ma stuff six brand new used couch cushions into two shopping carts. The cushions happened to be next to the five for a dollar book bin, so I casually picked up an old orange hardback book. It was called 'To See the Word in A Grain of Sand,' and it was a collection of inspirational poems and sayings. This was just the type of thing I like to read to my dog after dinner, so I decided to get it. The next thing I new, ma was beside me, shuffling around the top layer of books. There was a copy of 'The Little Prince' in mint condition! And a Dictionary of American Slang! And a book of Polish Trivia! A field guide to tropical fruits! We were finding so many good books with so little effort. Before I knew it, the pile of books I had cradled in my arms was getting close to my chin. And ma didn't show any signs of stopping. Soon, it became apparent that she intended to dig all the way to the bottom.

Not many people have made it to the bottom of the five for a dollar bin. It is a physical and mental challenge, and should never be undertaken by the lone book-hunter. The bin itself is made of sturdy cardboard, five feet wide and about that deep, and is wrapped in burgundy paper. It probably once held watermelons at a fruit market. Now, it was full to the brim with books. The deeper you got into the bin, the more haggard the books became. Covers were missing, pages bent, some books were even torn in half. Because of our previous successes, our search was fueled by a sort of blind hope that the best book was still in there. But the reality was, the deeper we got, the worse the books became. Finds were fewer and farther between. When I came up from my last dive with 'The Right Moves' we both knew the search was coming to an end. Maybe we had to dig deep and find nothing just to realize that we had what we wanted all along.