Un derniere mot…

Sitting here in a tiny apartment thousands of miles from the Hotbox, I stare at my computer screen as the photos of the year-gone-by fade in and out.  The hundreds of bowls, the occasional party, the endless laughter and incomparable companionship was more than I ever expected to find as I trudged up the stairs with my moving boxes just one year ago. While I figured that my friends were trustworthy enough to live with enjoyably, it’s always a bit of a gamble to put that many girls together in one living environment…feminism aside, I think we can all agree on at least that much. But much to my surprise and utter fascination, we went together like pickles and peanut butter-a little salty and a little sweet, we were the perfect mixture.

We had everything one could need: a compulsive eater, a couple of hippies, a midget, some vegans and loads and loads of weed. The hours of work or school would drag on as I anticipated my return to the comfort of my highway-side palace. Slouching in my stiff chair from the 1920’s, I would stare at the dusty classroom clock as I watched the minute hand closely and swear that I saw it go backwards….just to fucking spite me. It was all I could do to keep myself awake as the grey haired professor in front of me spewed his regurgitated knowledge of whatever useless and boring subject I happened to be studying at that moment. After 17 years of listening to the same advice of, “Do unto others as you wouldn’t want to have them do unto you”….or wait…”Never eat cheese before 5″….shit, I must have forgotten. Whatever, we all get the point. And after four years of college and the prospect that the world was really going to open up for me in the near future, that I would actually be able to stretch my legs and mind in the wide-open frontiers of uncharted and exotic lands like…France…I couldn’t wait to be out of that hole of a classroom and into the “real” world. You’ve heard of the real world, right? It was the one that I had only read about in books and seen pictures of in my mom’s National Geographic. But still, as excited and antzy as I was, my racing heart and twisted thoughts were always calmed by the thought of my eventual return to the house that I then called my own.

 The bell would finally ring, releasing the twenty, or 350, of us from the clutches of the clueless professor and I would secure my earbuds in place and walk in time to the groovy music, ready for a smoke and some relaxation at the house.  And I always knew I was in the home stretch as I would see the woman of unidentifiable ethnicity and suspected prostitution standing on the corner of 5th and 45th, holding a sign and staring at nothing in a blank daze. “Hey Bertha!” I would say in my head as I kept my eyes to the ground and rounded the corner, always making sure to keep a safe distance from her and her “pals.” I could almost feel the comfortable cushion of the Goodwill couches beneath my toosh  as I walked the last block toward home, the big tree and white columns sneaking into view. Climbing the few steps, reaching out and pressing down on the handle I would slam my shoulder into the door in anticipation.  Rubbing my arm and patting the side of my now bruised head I would repeat to myself, “Always check to see if it’s locked BEFORE you slam into it, jackass” ….every damn time. And I know that it’s been said in the one other note that I’ve written about the Hotbox, but a feeling of warmth and immediate ease envelopped me with my first step into the house. The smell of sweet, stinky weed and the occasional baked good would float through the bright living room, and the loud laughter of my roommates could be heard drifting down the stairs. I look to my left and Rumi is sitting excitedly on the couch, wagging her overgrown tail at the thought of someone new, and the kittens’ soft, padded feet could be heard thumping through the dining room or landing solidly from a 10-point leap off of the curtains. I was home.

And the same would go for work. I would drag my lifeless body to work every morning, a little high and a lot annoyed at the thought of what I was going to have to deal with that day. I would somehow make it through the seemingly endless hours of standing on my bowed legs, catering to people that I hated, listening to the depressing stories of my self-proclaimed ”awesome” coworkers as my crooked spine ached and my mind whirled into a complete mess. I didn’t like my job, I hated the people that I had to serve, and I dreaded most Thursdays when I went from “cook” to “waitress” and actually had to pretend like I gave a shit about the food and service that I was providing. But every time I dropped and shattered a plate, every time someone condescendingly called me “sweetheart,” every time that I was elbow-deep in the fryer, scrubbing away and thinking, “What the fuck am I doing here?” I was reminded of the six people whose faces would potentially greet me upon my return from that greasy Hell. My car parked and set for the night, I would walk the 50 feet along the side of the house, slipping occasionally on the ever-present mud and spying on whatever diver I could see. I would peer into our dining room window, hoping  that the light would be on and that someone would be there when I stepped into the living room. I didn’t care to talk about my day, I didn’t want to rehash the stories of the assholes that had appeared at my window or the new burn that now adorned my arm or leg, I just wanted to see their faces, and I was honestly comforted solely by their presence.

I don’t normally like to metaphorically bare myself, exposing the very feelings and emotions which make me tic, but I feel it’s important to finally lay it all out there and make one last point for the OG members to hear…so here goes, hopefully short and sweet.  

Just more than 10 years ago I was uprooted in the prime of my childhood and moved from Los Angeles, my heart and home, to the Northwest. I lost all of my friends, I lost my family that had lived two blocks away from me since I could remember, and I lost any sense that I had ever had of “home.”  Going from a city where I was basically the minority to a little town where everyone was white-bred, corn-fed and had known each other since their PARENTS were in diapers, was more than a little shocking. And while I did “adjust” and make friends here and there, even earning a title or two in high school (something I still don’t particularly understand), I never felt like I belonged there. They weren’t my type of people, it wasn’t my speed of life, and it just didn’t suit me. I searched long and tirelessly, I ached for someone to relate to, and I wished beyond all reasonable measure that the feeling of “home” would magically reinvade my body. But, try as I may, it just never did.

After finally finding that I had truly begun to settle into the Camas life, I once more had to say goodbye to all that I knew, and finally enjoyed, as I left for college. My freshman year, I thought I had found what I was looking for….was horribly disappointed…thought I found something close to it again later, and was even more disappointed. I hated Seattle and all that roamed its streets in the shitty grey weather. I once again hated Camas because I couldn’t return without finding someone else pregnant or sitting in the exact same position as when I last saw them . I hated school and I hated that I was allowing myself to be so unhappy. And at my ultimate low, and literal breaking point, I fell into something called “The Hotbox.” This may all sound cheezy, I’m sure. But it’s something that’s more true to me than I could ever really explain to you, and it’s something that I have never actually dared to reveal about myself to anyone before this, fearing a fracture in my reputation as the strong individual that I try to present myself as. And having been on a veritable self-exploration for the past couple of months I have finally been able to let a lot of things go that I had held onto for far too long. So here is my truth, here is all of me.

It was a magical combination living the seven of us in that box of a house. With Hannah, Brophy, Marie, Morgen, Meredith and Eli (and the unofficial-but-still-loved members Drew, Brandon and Tyler) I honestly felt at “home” for the first time in more years than I cared to count. Whatever had been missing for all of those years, was replaced. Whatever I had been searching so desperately for, I had found. I’ve never felt more accepted or understood, or that I was on such a level playing field with everyone else around me. I was comforted when I was upset or sad, I was looked-to for advice, I was truly listened to, I could say anything and know that I wasn’t being harshly judged, I was promised things and actually saw them come to fruition, I had love and companionship the likes of which I had never experienced before…the kind that I had dreamed I would find since the day our moving truck pulled away from my Grandmother’s house and I waved goodbye to my brother, and the life that I had loved so dearly. And as I drove away from the Hotbox that last day of August, my ears literally rang with the sound of my shattered heart. But this time I knew that it wasn’t a final goodbye, it was just a short break so we could all gather more awesome stories to share with one another….and that we would all remain as closely in the future as we were that year.

I don’t really need to say much more than that, and before sappiness begins to just drip from these words here, I’ll sign off and say my final goodbyes to the Hotbox that we all knew and loved. The Hotbox that we started; the legacy that will always remain. Thank you guys so much, from the depths of this little ol’ heart and sometimes awkward personality. Last year meant more to me than I will ever be able to lay down into words, and I will remember it always with the fondest of memories….however cloudy they may be. I love you all with the very fiber of my being, and think of no one but you with every cup of coffee I drink and bit of weed I smoke. I can’t wait to see you all again on the other side….and in another 5 years at the reunion in Amsterdam.

Keep looking sharp and breaking hearts as always my friends. Rock on.

-Brittany-