The Sister That Always Said No

Giselle and I are polar opposites. She's the athletic, driven, analytical planner while I'm the artistic, go with the flow, let's live in the moment baby sister. Giselle never had to be asked to do things twice when we were growing up, and as I watched her hit teenagedom, I also became acutely aware that I had a lot to live up to. Valedictorian, President of National Honor Society, Co-Captain of the volleyball team, and a 32 on her ACT were only a few accomplishments that Giselle had racked up. At 4 years younger, I was entering high school with some measly trophies for things like Best Reader and Best Speller, all made up consolation prizes for 3rd graders, while her name was being immortalized in school trophy cases.   

College went the same way for her. She was the Queen of Balancing- joining a sorority and acquiring positions, majoring in business with a minor in marketing. She was unstoppable. But despite all of these perfect resume submissions, I also noticed that she never had a boyfriend. I wondered if it was because guys were too intimidated to ask her out, or if it was because she could sometimes come off as cold. Maybe it was even because she isn't the kind that would just hook up with someone random. Finally, after a conversation with my all-knowing mother, I discovered it was because she was too choosy for her own good. 

I went and visited Giselle the year before last at college, when I was still in the hellish process of applying for colleges, and she took me out with her sorority sisters to a bar. When we were there just having a good time dancing, a handsome boy in a blue button down approached us. The first thing that I remember about him was his confidence- it wasn't cocky or feigned. He was absolutely genuine. 

"How are you girls doing?" he asked with a pure, white smile. He was a poster child for a Colgate commercial. 

"We're great!" I responded, watching my sister's friends bat their pageant queen lashes. Giselle didn't even blink. 

"Does anyone need a drink?" he asked. 

"No," Giselle spoke, darting serious eyes at me. I knew she was worried about me being date raped or something absurd like that. 

"She's kind of straight-laced," I announced over the music.

Giselle looked mortified. Her friends laughed in agreement. "No, I am not."

"Prove it to me," he said with a daring flick of his head. "Dance with me, party girl."

Giselle weighed her options. She had never run from a challenge in her life, acing every test handed to her. "Fine," she said, positioning his hands around her waist. 

They danced together the rest of the night, and it was the first time I'd ever seen Giselle blush. I later found out his name was Huck Ralgon, and that in another moment of spontaneity, she'd given him her number and a yes to a date the following Saturday night. It would be a tad presumptuous to imply that I knew that night that he'd be at the following two Christmases or that he would sit down with my father one day and list the reasons why he would take care of my sister for the rest of his life, but I saw potential. It was the first time Giselle had ever let someone in, and I'd been lucky enough to witness it. 

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The Day I Met the Boy Who Never Noticed

It was August 10th, 2009 and I had just walked into my very first college class. Sociology 1550. I had a flower in my hair and cupped my leather Coach laptop case close to my body as I shuffled to an open seat. I was far enough back so that the teacher wouldn't feel inclined to call on me, but close enough to the front that I could actually see the board. I set myself up, and began to anxiously type the bombardment of notes that my professor was hurling at me. Out of the corner of my eye, I could feel the idleness of the boy next to me, who simply sat unmoved by our professor. I turned my head only slightly to check if I was right. His arms were poised across his chest and I saw the curves of his strong muscles as well as the intensity in his face. He wasn't writing anything down but he was taking in everything that was being said.

"Can I help you?" he asked me, eyes locked on the board. 

"Oh, no," I stammered, looking away. I felt a little flushed. 

"You don't really have to take notes like that, he's just going to put them up online later," the boy said.

I looked around. I seemed to be the only one in a fever of typing out my notes. College clearly hadn't let me into its club yet. 

"Thanks," I said. "At that rate, my fingers would have gone dead."

He chuckled a little, never turning his head for a second. "Anytime."

There was silence now. No more incessant keyboard tapping. Only the teacher's babbling.

"I'm Jay," he stated. 

"Mila," I replied, recalling that I'd never had a conversation before that involved zero eye contact. 

"You're new, I take it?"

"What gave me away?" I laughed at myself. He'd sat up a little at this point. I just wanted to see his eyes.

"It gets easier. After this week, you'll be a natural."

"You're just full of advice for me. Lucky I sat next to you."

"There's no such thing as luck," he replied bluntly.

I didn't say anything. I wasn't really sure what I could say. The class ended and I set my laptop into its case.

"Until next class," the boy offered, and I glanced up to see only the back of him walking away.  

Meet the Permanent Players

Cleary Rae

Cleary may be a hippy in some way, but don't let those caribbean blue eyes fool you, she's a fighter. She's been my best friend for years, and has a mouth that flaps nonstop with puns and witticisms, and everything she says is quote-worthy. She's as strong as a brick, and when I'm with her, I go back to the days when I was four and watched The Little Mermaid on repeat all day long while laying on the floor pretending I too had a tail. She's the kind of person that tries to scare babies in church, sits in the back seat while I'm driving just so she can watch All Dogs go to Heaven, walks into my house and heads straight for the pantry, has an uncanny fashion sense, invented her own decibel to speak at, experiments with her hair length and always looks perfect, and supports me in every move I make. Basically, I'll never find anyone like her in the world. 

Cory Klondike

Cory has been my favorite, best, most reliable guy friend. He has a voice like an angel symphony, knows that the best way to cheer me up is by a Chili's date with him and a kiddish day of playing on the swings, and has a family that's adopted me. He can be very young at times, but that's what I like the most about him, because he isn't complicated. He's Peter Pan. We enjoy meeting up with each other at the beach, because our families are almost always there at the same time, and he likes to flaunt his tan in my porcelain pale face. He's the guy that's always there, and who wouldn't want a friend that you can constantly annoy by singing the reinvented tune, "What would you doooo for Klondike's bar?" That's what she said.

Bree Nomey 

Bree is tiny and spunky and is one of my newest friends. She's the one I tease the most, and takes it like a true champ, being the Texan that she is. Bree offers every person she meets a small dose of herself, doesn't hold back in sacrificing her own needs for others, and I've been the recipient of that a number of times. When I think of her, I think of drunken college nights and mornings of waking up and trying to reconstruct what we'd done the night before. She's the one I call when I need to hash out a recent boycapade, or plan a costume for a party, or just talk because I'm bored. She pretends that she gets tired of me, but I know she needs me as much as I need her. 

Simone Beasely

Simone's like a baby sister to me. I'm constantly doting on her and watching out for her, and it was destiny from the start. Our first conversation involved an intense deconstruction of One Tree Hill and Gossip Girl, so she pretty much sold me right there. We team up against Bree and prank her, our greatest feat yet being changing her birthday on Facebook. Our favorite activities include raiding Hobby Lobby, inventing outrageous costumes, talking about Lady Gaga, and dancing on any stage we can find. Simone and I are the kind of friends that form instantly, and rack up memories on command. 

A Nutshell of a World

I'm Mila Carmen and it's 4:42 a.m. on a Friday morning. I'm a night owl, on the verge of insomniac, but if I didn't start this tonight the idea may have very well slipped through the busy interstate that is my thought stream, and I could be missing out. Today I just wanted to introduce myself, figuring that if you don't know anything about me, you most likely won't understand the other people I'll tell you about, and then there's no point to this at all. I'm 5'3'' and the Louisiana humidity sometimes screws up my curly red hair, but it's ok because that's why God invented travel. I like to sleep in when it rains, and I like to be stuck at my computer for hours just typing out every inkling of a thought I might have, and of course I love every Barbra Streisand movie. I have a sister, Giselle, and she's a picture perfect Barbie doll with a picture perfect Ken boyfriend. My best nights ever usually involve nights at home with my mom, who happens to be my best friend, watching Young and the Restless and babbling over the highlights of my life. I'm naive but I'm strong, I'm optimistic but realistic. I love to be a flower child. I can't seem to pin down one single interest. I'm a singer and a writer and biology major and i have aspirations to pursue med school and broadway and novels. I'm all over the board. But at my very core, I'm the most hopeless romantic you may find. I walk down the street and wonder if today may be the day I meet the man of my dreams, the boy to stop my heart from breaking in two. I've had many potentials, but hey, at 19 years old you can only imagine the state of these frat stars and womanizers. Guarding my heart doesn't tend to be my strong suit, but I'd rather be the girl that gets broken than the girl in the block of ice. I want to live. I want to be the girl who belts Lady Gaga out of her car window at people on the sidewalks, dances her way out of bed in the morning, and allows the day to sweep her from one surprise to the next. The point of all this, the journaling of secret stashes of my life, is to tell you a story. I don't plan on bitching to you, but rather sketching a picture of a life, rough but real, and maybe one day, we can celebrate together over the triumphs of my life over a glass of virtual wine.