Laine Transformation

Introduction

I always kind of think about my last day of high school as the sail that set a pace to how my life became. Eighteen was an uncomfortable age where I felt like I finally hit freedom but I couldn't quite grasp what it meant yet. The world I knew full of bigots and has beens made me seem like I was too young to know what was right, but too old to figure out that marriage and babies wasn't enough.

I listened in on my last lecture from my non-prompt writing course and doodled in the back of my notebook while the teacher handed out our last assignment.

My head sat crooked while the sheet floated onto the slick table with a bolded question at the top. "Where will your life take you?" It mocked. The question is odd and puzzling to me, it forced my hand to write and erase lines over and over again brashly. For someone working to be a writer I hadn't a clue what to say. 

Writing is the only thing I've ever been good, it was a means to escape how boring and unforgiving this town was of originality.  I recalled how stuck I'd been in those moments until the bell rang.

Class came and went that day but the idea still lingered that I didn't have an answer to what seemed like a simple questions. It became ever more transparent I hadn't the slightest idea how to answer when I received my feedback over email from Mr. Patterson a week later stating:

"Miss Redding, This prompt is not graded. I leave your graduating class to develop and understand the question at hand. It was an honor to have you in this class. Best Wishes, L. Patterson."

That summer I set my mind to driving myself to write as much as I can, especially, to write the response to that prompt. I can still feel the boiling frustration of failure that knocked me down countless times. I fully admit I'd lost my inspiration to write anything worthwhile during that time because it haunted me that I wasn't quite sure where life was taking me.

Most days I'd felt disengaged and incomplete living in that small country town; like something would never click because I wasn't like these people or this place. My surroundings didn't leave much place for self discovery either, though I tried at every coffee shop and park in town. I'd been alive eighteen years and I had no idea who I was or who I wanted to be.

There were certain things at that age I knew about myself factually for sure. I knew I was the daughter of a car salesman and a baker who'd only lived in one town with the same people. I knew that I liked classic movies, music of almost every genre and decade and had an impressive catalog of it. Most importantly, I knew I wanted to get the hell out of this town.

Climbing into the back of our pick up truck filled with used furniture and suit cases is where I believe I started to wake up. Josephine Laine Redding had finally gotten out of her dead beat, no free- thinking, farm town.

How I came to be in Chicago is a pretty simple story. I could only stay numb for so long until it hit me that I was either going to get out or spend the rest of my days spiteful and angry looking at the same town square and two gas station every day. 

I'd been dating my parent's perfect example of a son. He was the boy next door who brought me flowers and walked me to the front door. It was enough for him, but to me it always felt staged. I'd walk fast in front of him towards the front door to quicken the moment. I knew it wasn't what I wanted and after a couple beers at a Friday house party before graduation I looked at him like I was staring into my future. I cried like I'd never cried before. I couldn't live this life forever and I desperately wanted to change things fast.

It seemed pretty obvious to me why people moved away; it was adventurous and a new start. How can you try to invent yourself in a town so small that when you hit a baseball you run through half of the city just to retrieve it? There's multiple generations living under one roof whose ways do not change, they don't evolve so how could I? Despite how great the idea sounds on paper, hardly anyone ever made it out of that town. So that Friday night that I'd done over and over again and I finally broke out into a fit of screaming and crying because I felt so numb was a moment of rebirth. That night I signed off on seven college applications still drunk so I could get as far away from that place as I could.

College was a confusing time for someone who formerly lived a sheltered life. The city was a map without borders and the second I stepped into it a time where I got to experiment with different people with different upbringings and ideals. I'd never seen diversity in the ways the city presented it before the day I made it my home. The college environment had little to with my evolution, but the people I met around the city were characters from across the board. I'd seen and heard things i never thought possible and made a lot of dumb mistakes in the first years. My most favorite mistake being the unfortunate looking small sea conch tattoo on my wrist from a person I spent wall flowered to along my journey while they worked as a tattoo apprentice in their off time from classes.

Most of what I used to write about in those days was a person who couldn't see their face in my stories; someone who was never complete. The underlying theme came out time and time again that this person could morph into anything and glue themselves to people they thought seemed similar to who they should be, but at the end of the day they were shell-less and never could become anyone. Thus, inspiring my tattoo that odd night out.

The friends I'd had back home and the ones I slowly grew away from after college were always complete opposites, I think I mainly believed I didn't know my values or goals so I was always seeking someone whose plan sounded potentially alright to latch onto. I was a follower, not an independent.

Those first years I can't say I regret not understanding myself; I like to think of them as a step towards independence. I reflect on the times as if I was a stray dog who finally found their way to a permanent home. The first honest moment I can say I started to find my way was applying for a job at a local bar as a cocktail waitress. O'Brien Red, more commonly known at O's, was a bar and more importantly the first real place that felt like I was home. I'm not sure who I'd be without getting my start there, but I know I wouldn't be the same.