When I graduated high school one of the things that I really wanted from my mom was a set of her CBEFAA (Cut Bank Education Foundation and Alumni Association) pens. They were long and purple and where my absolute my favorite to write with. So before I left my mom gave me 50 pens wrapped in a rubber band. I remember my first day of Comp 1, new notebook, new pen, new year. It was the greatest thing. Well as the year passed and this new year began I went to get a new pen and realized my stache of 50 was down to 4. I thought where did they all go?!?
I remember only throwing away one after using all the ink. But where were the other 49 pens. I think of the countless people I lent pens to and those pen hoarders who never gave them back (I am just as guilty as them). I recently went to one of my favorite restaurants here in downtown Columbia, La Siesta. I used to go there all the time with my friend Brooke. Well one time when I was signing my name on my debit card slip I pulled out one of my pens and I must have left it, because when I returned it was still there. Just sitting on the counter, out there for more satisfied customers to sign their names. I can't help but wonder how many names did my little pen write. How many people have held this pen? and if you aren't completely mysophobic, fear of being contaminated by germs, it is a pretty interesting thought. Just the other day I was working on a scene from The Glass Menagerie by Tennessee Williams. My scene partner, Chrissy, and I met up with our teacher, as we entered the rehearsal space I noticed a little purple thing hanging out on a shelf and was amazed to find my pen just chillin'. How on earth did that pen get from my pencil bag to a shelf that I surely did not put it on. I collected my missing object and took it home with me after the rehearsal. And even more recently, on Monday, I was sitting in my Performance Technique class when my teacher came and between her index and middle finger she had balanced a purple pen. My eyes widened and when I went in with her for some critique on a song, I inquired as to how she came across that pen. She gazed at me kinda funny and said it was just sitting on my desk. When I pulled the twin pen out from my ponytail, where I usually put my pens when I am not using them, her eyes got wide and said, "Huh?." I let her keep the pen, as she stated she liked how it wrote. But just think of how it travelled. First a manufacturer, to Cut Bank High School, to my mom's office, to my pencil case, to my hand, and then somewhere along the line it ends up in a resturant, a rehearsal room, my professors, desk. So suddenly you wonder where the rest of those 50 pens are now and who is writing with them, and how many people did it take to get to where they are now. How many hands have held it, how many people have chewed on the end wondering what to write, how many names has it written, how many mistakes has it made, how many different opinions has it wirtten to answer a question, how many pictures has drawn, how far away from its original setting is it? But one thing for sure is that no matter where it goes it will always be a proud purple pen with a good yellow writing tip, and proudly display the words of the place it represents. Isn't that kinda like us. We travel away from home, we meet different people that help us along our journey, we meet people who "chew" on our nerves, we make mistakes and we try to scribble out the effects of them, but no matter where we go or how far we travel we are always us. We proudly display who we are and where we originate. As you look in your pen drawer what do you see? do you see measly little objects or do you see a connection to life? That might sound pretty corny. In fact I know it does, but next time you hold a pen to write whatever important sentament you need to say just think, how and where did I get this pen. And just in a matter of a short time and a few exchanges someone halfway across the world could hold the same pen and think the same thing.
DW
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