commitment

three weeks ago, still reveling in my student-ness, we spent the day laying on the beach at ocnj and the night browsing through the boardwalk shops. in the midst of all the threads and tiny beads and shells strung into necklaces, i found one display that i loved. these were the wish necklaces, the ones that you're supposed to put on and never take off until the thread wears so thin that it simply falls apart, and your wish comes true.

i picked out one for my sister, a tiny flat starfish charm carved out of a shiny pink shell, strung on a white thready necklace. the label said 'pink = confidence'. is that what you get when it falls off? but everyone could use a little confidence, so i decided it was ok and set it aside. behind it on the rack, another necklace caught my eye; can i call boardwalk jewelry elegant? it was a thin, brown string with one mildly knobby freshwater pearl hanging delicately at it's center. the label on this one said 'pearl = commitment'. i browsed through the rack a little longer. maybe pearl equaled something else on another necklace?

david says i am ridiculous with words, and he's right. i cannot buy a shade of pink nail polish if it is named mauve madness but will jump for the same color named bloom. i hated that the beautiful green stalks in my wedding centerpieces were called bells of ireland, until i found that they also had another name that was beautiful to say: mollucella. words are how we express ourselves, and they can be so flat without a tune, a color, a picture to fill them in. words need to be precise. i expect this from them.

commitment to what? to my husband? to God? i am already committed. i could use some 'green = magic' , or 'purple = passion', but the pearl was so enchanting that i bought it despite the less-than-exciting word on the tag. i've been wearing it every day since, until last night, on the way to my medicine department's meet-and-greet, when the string randomly fell apart. suddenly, the word popped into my mind again. commitment.

do you know the feeling, the intense summer feeling of buckling yourself into a roller coaster? everyone around you is chattering with excitement. you are scanning the crowd that just got off, looking for terror and excitement and amazement, hoping desperately not to see vomit or worse, boredom, on their faces. you sit down and test the harness, and then the feeling comes. it's small and jittery, somewhere in your belly. it feels like your insides are sqirming, antsy, ready to explode. as the train suddenly breaks free from the platform and moves toward the up-slope, as you hear the first few metallic clinks of the chain, the feeling is joined by a heavy silence in the middle of that jittery, squirming place. commitment. there's no getting off now. all you can do now is hold on.

i know the ride is a just few seconds, a few exhilarating moments and a few moments that will make me want to throw up. soon, i will be the one getting off and having my face scanned for fear by next year's interns. in the meantime, this last day before i start feels like climbing the hugest rollercoaster hill in the world. i hardly know what to do with myself. i am jittery and excited and anxious and straining my eyes toward tomorrow. will i be able to take it? can i do this? i think so; i'm sure so. i can hear the clinks of committment ringing in my ears. too late, anyway. here we go.