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Brunch: Chocolate-chip pancakes with strawberries, bananas, and whipped cream

We started the day off lying in bed, me not wanting to wake up after my horrible migraine the night before and the caffeinated excedrin kept me up all night, and him impatient to start making preparations but wanting to keep me company at the same time. While I was awake in the middle of the night, I had planned to stay up until Safeway opened to purchase supplies and surprise him with breakfast in bed. That plan failed, as I fell asleep half an hour too early and woke up to his prodding.

Despite my failed breakfast-in-bed idea, shopping together at Safeway while trying to hide our ingredients from each other was surprisingly fun. It seemed that he had much more planned, and while I waited for him to finish picking out groceries, I perused the beauty aisle – so many choices! I also coincidentally ran into my English professor’s husband at the check-out. Jerry? Hey, how are ya, kid.

“I’m going to drop you off at home, I still have one more stop.”

“Are you going to the Chinese store?”

“Close.”

“The Japanese store?”

“Yup.”

“You’re making sushi, aren’t you.” We had been talking about making sushi at home, ever since we realized that we go out almost every weekend for sushi – sometimes even twice in one weekend.

“You’re just ruining this for yourself.”

He left me alone for forty minutes and I got to work. Two eggs, two cups of  batter, and a handful of semi-sweet chocolate chips later, I had prepared a stack of chocolate-chip pancakes adorned with sliced strawberries and bananas, topped with whip cream. I put my hands over his eyes and sat him down. When I removed my hands, his face lit up like a little boy.

“Ooh! Pancakes!”

“Oh wait! I forgot to take a picture!” Luckily he had only eaten half of the pancake.

“Can I borrow your music selection for dinner? It’s very appropriate.”

“Sure, it’s just my Colbie Callait Pandora station.”

Unfortunately, we had to consume our breakfast expediently because the next activity was fast approaching.

Continued from Pre-Valentine’s Day Migraines

We’re in bed, arms wrapped around each other. You make me feel so relaxed, like I can forget about all the other burdens in my life. Look at your eyes, they’re so beautiful when they are looking at me. I bite my lip.

“I have something I want to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“Promise me you won’t be scared or stressed or angry with me”

I turn away from you and take a deep breath.

———

“I don’t understand why you want to break up with him. You guys seem to be really close,” my roommate questions me from the bed below.

From my bunk, I hesitate for a moment.

“I just haven’t felt that moment yet, where I knew that I wanted to be with him. I feel like, yeah – we enjoy being together and its fun an’ all. But maybe I’m just wasting my time with someone who I can never feel anything more for.”

“But there’s no reason to break up with him. Just give it some more time.”

“It’s been four months. I’ve been waiting and hoping that that moment would come. That special moment where I suddenly feel something profound. There’s just no spark.”

“What kind of moment are you waiting for?”

——————-

I lay paralyzed on the bed with my head in between my hands. The pain is so much I can barely understand what my mom is asking me to do. He is sitting at the end of the bed, helpless in our exchange.

“Mom, I can’t do it. My head hurts too much.”

“It’ just a headache. You cant get out of your responsibilities! You’re so lazy!”

Her loud voice hurts my ears. It’s like when the feedback from the microphones makes everyone shut their ears and cringe. I let out a cry.

“Stop faking it!” She yells louder. I’m crying heavily now.

“What a cheap strategy for a selfish girl like you.”

“Stop!” He rises from his seat and point his hand at my mom.

“Can’t you see that she’s in pain? Let her rest.”

We are shocked, because he is always so quiet and usually doesn’t stand up for even himself. Dumbfounded, my mom shuts up and closes the door behind her.

————-

“And that’s how I fell in love for the first time.”

“Well Valentine’s Day is coming up, maybe something will happen.”

“Psh. That’s too cheesy.”

—————

My pain is so acute its as if someone stuck a pin behind my brow. I’m crying and screaming under the covers, holding my head between my hands. Eventually, the pain settles down and so do I, only holding back the occasional sob.

“Do you want me to stay with you?”

“The light from your computer is bothering me.”

“Ok. I’ll leave.”

You pick up your laptop and make your way towards the door while my heavy eyelids lead me towards somnolence. You’ve done everything you could for me: delivered water, helped me into my sleeping clothes, removed my contacts; and now I’m kicking you out of your own room.  My vision of you blends into the wall and all I can see is a dark brown blur heading away from me. I smile, even though I’m in the most severe pain I’ve ever experienced, because I have found it in the least expected of moments: I realize that I’m falling in love with you.

————-

“Aw, why would I be angry at you? I LO-HOVE you too.”

“That’s a joke, right?”

“Yeah.”

It’s 4:09 am Sunday, February 14th.  I’m wrapped in a sleeping bag and my boyfriend’s sweatshirt in the living room of his apartment while he sleeps in the bedroom. Earlier this evening, we had plans with some other friends to eat dinner at a top-rated Mediterranean restaurant and karaoke afterward at my favorite Japanese establishment.

I had spent most of the day volunteering at a free clinic on six hours of sleep and one spring roll. After clinic and ballroom dance practice, I returned to my room to get ready. I was excited to wear my new black top (that is, one given to me second hand by a friend of my mom’s) with my dark sheen jeans from New York Company and try out the mineral makeup I had just bought from Costco. Staring closely into the sharded mirror, which my roommate had recently snapped by leaning against, I started to notice a light pressure pinpoint in the right anterior portion of my head, just above my eyebrow. I must be too hungry, the sooner we eat the better.

While my boyfriend drove us to downtown Sunnyvale’s boulevard of quaint restaurants, most of which were quite full of satisfied patrons enjoying their long weekend, I began to feel mareo, or dizziness (as I just learned today from interviewing a Mexican illegal immigrant about her symptoms). I could barely even walk the two blocks from the parking lot to the pedestrian walkway where the restaurant was located. We had arrived ten minutes late and kept our party waiting and hungry, so of course the polite thing to do was to order the first thing that looked decently satisfying. As soon as I blurted out my order, I excused myself to the bathroom. To my dismay, there were two other women and a man in front in line ahead of me. Stealing into the men’s room as soon as it was available, I waved my hand across the paper towel dispenser scanner, lay the torn sheet in front of the toilet, and squat embraced the bowl. Although a large volume of saliva came out, no vomit extruded. Any observer would’ve mistaken me for a bulemic. The door handle started shaking. Guess a customer must’ve gotten impatient.

I spent the entire dinner either cradling my head or burying it between my boyfriend’s and the chair’s backs. Everyone’s food looked so appetizing, but I couldn’t have any of it. I didn’t touch my salad, except for one lettuce leaf. Amazingly, the manager offered me some excedrin. We left a generous tip.

The car ride back home was the worst part. Finally in private, I started moaning every time the car changed acceleration. My boyfriend stopped the car to make sure I was ok, but I told him to get the worst part over with and hurry home. He obliged, dealing with my groans the entire way.

As I got out of the car, I couldn’t even stand up straight. I hobbled back to the apartment bent over like a hunchback, and only made it with his support. I immediately stripped off my jeans and curled into bed.

“Can you take off my bra?” I felt like an old person, or an invalid.

In the middle of that task, I asked, “Can you turn up the heat?” He immediately started to stand up.

“Wait, finish helping me with my bra first! And then can you get me some water?” (Which he orally delivered to my mouth, like a lactating mother.)

I’ve never experienced such a combination of acute migraine and nausea. I wanted to fucking die.  But as I fell asleep, I realized the silver lining in this whole mess.

Ah woke up dis mornin’ to mah alahm clock at eight A.M. shahp. Guuurl, wah you do dis to yoself? You BIN sacrificin yo sleep sence da fust naichu got to Stanford. Ain’t nevuh bin any diffrent. Well, recently you been sleepin ovuh atchyo boyfrien’ house. Das diffrent.

Den ah had went into de kitchen to fin’ some cereal. Here go dat asshole from my dorm. Das de bitch yell at me free weeks ago ’bout stealin his sleepin spot in our dorm ski trip. Ah would’ve likeded to skin his ass. But den ah might could get in trouble wif de POlice. Ah dun even acknowledge his presence anymore, jus suck mah teef at him. Ah wish I didn’t haf to see’m. Den mah day wouldn’t staht off so bad. Can’ nobody do nuffin ’bout assholes. De wuhld’s jus full ov’em. Wah God can’ takum away, Ah’onno.

I be bikin to biochem class evry day. Today no diffrent. Biochem class so fah away, an i’ss hahd to bike in da rain. Ah’ma be gettin me a raincoat dis weekend. It don’t be steady rainin’ like dis in oduh places, do it? Anuduh girl come late, she has ran to class probly. Ah nevuh seen huh befoe. Da midtem tes not so hahd. Mah frien, she aks me what do ah tink. Ah’m like, i’ss pretty easy. She say i’ss hahd fuh huh.

Ah ain’t go to  dance class today. I be going to anoduh dance class tonight anyways. Allistuh is mah fren, Ah aks him could he be mah dance pahtnuh n he say yes. Da dance team captain, she come tellin me dat class is mandatory, like she know who ah am and what classes I been to.

When Ah got to neuro class, da class done stahted. ah almos fell ’sleep in dat class. I finna jus lay mah head on da desk right dere! Da prof talk to us so fas, ah don’t tink hardly no one can unduhstan him. Da odduhs in de class, dey is some crazy smaht folks. Las quahtuh I liketa failed one class. Ah don’t tink so fah mah grade is very good, but if ah work hahd enough ah might can get bah. Maybe ah should aks foh some hep in dat class.

Mah computuh has a pictuh of Shi Xiao Long, a Chinese Kung Fu stah. He so fine, I wish he were mah baby-daddy.

Ah done finished two exam so fah. Ah ain’t know iss a libry up heuh in de fof flo’ uhda maf buildin. Now Ah’m studyin in da maf library to prepare fo mah ebonics midtum. All dese tesses!

Written for purely pedantic purposes to help myself study for my Linguistics of African American Vernacular English class.