I make an incredibly simple pasta salad. It is ridiculously good but embarrassingly simple. Anyway, I decided to make it last night on my way home from the park. The park I have been walking with my girlfriend and her dogs for the last few days. The same park I take my sons to and walk the same little route since they were only two years old. Now they walk next to me standing 5’9” with voices almost deeper than mine. I was teased growing up for having a “man’s voice” and then later harassed at work via the phone by a local police officer for having said “man’s voice” and it really doing it for him. So much that he threatened to harm me if I refused to talk to him on the phone about anything at all while I was at work, or if I reported him. I reported him. I used my man’s voice with my young girl’s body, and I was terrified of the consequences. He liked how I talked, and I never wanted to hear his voice again.

Back to the park, and then yes, eventually back to the pasta salad. I like to let my brain flow the way it does. I always circle back to my original point, but it likes to get wild out there for a minute, so I let it. She is solid, trustworthy, loyal, and strong, therefore she always returns to me after stretching her legs. My girlfriends are the same. This is why when they started noticing I was responding less and less and not as playful as I usually am (remember the heart of a child, the voice of a man), they decided to check in and plan a week prior to surprise me at the park while I was on a run. I told you I would get back to the fucking park. Anyway, I was talking out loud to myself, telling myself just to keep fucking pushing, keep going, knowing damn well my body is capable and that my mind was just being a little needy brat and to ignore her and fucking finish the run! I spent the night before on the phone, bawling my eyes out. I broke. I needed to. See when people deal with shit like cops making them feel unsafe when it should be the opposite they respond in different ways. I take those experiences and I make myself stronger and less accessible of sorts. Stronger for me means I take a lot and cry less about it until something tragic happens and I stop and check in with myself at the deepest level. Not the Britt level that is strong for everyone and adaptable. The Britt who should have told that cop from the very start in a loud man’s voice to fuck off and try me. She is in there and she is so incredibly soft, but she still sounds like a dude.

Back to the cry. Ok, so I cry. I allow myself to break and I call my best friend who always throws food (she normally doesn’t let them eat) at her kids to buy some time to entirely dedicate to me. Talking to her is like talking to the most honest version of myself. Sometimes she just listens, other times she calls me on my bullshit, but every time without fail, I hear myself. My true self. There are times when I think holy shit, I cannot believe I am just realizing this about myself. Anyway, that is a love story for another time. Back to the park (round two)! I am pushing my body hard, and my eyes are puffy from hours of a cathartic release the night before. I am coming back up to my car and I have that amazing feeling you get when you finish a run when I notice a familiar car next to mine. A Subaru next to a Subaru, y’all think the Jeep family is strong, pshhhh. I walk up to the car and peek inside to identify things that belong to my friend. I told you I notice everything. You can have your car stripped clean and emptied, but I promise you I will be able to identify some weird little mark you made on your seat that is the size of a fingernail and know it is yours. Well, if I love you especially. And I love this woman. And it was her car and I knew by several things but I knew for sure and instantly because she was sitting in the driver’s seat on the phone, looking in the other direction with a passenger seat full of coffee and pastries. My first thought was who in the hell is she meeting here and why in the hell did I not know she knows anyone other than me?! My second thought was, to ask her.

I shouted “Ma’am!” At the passenger window with my who the fuck are your other friends I didn’t know existed man’s voice, and she turned around and said “Birddddddddddd! I found you!” She got out of the car and ran around and wrapped her arms around me and just squeezed every ounce of sadness out of me and told me “We came to surprise you because we love you!” I bathed her in my sweat and finally understood why people look so incredibly ridiculous when they are filmed experiencing a genuine surprise. I couldn’t believe it. I mean, I could because I seriously have the most amazing women in my life, but I couldn’t because I think I felt so fucking sad and broken and rarely rely on anyone to pick me up that I was unfamiliar with the feeling of what it felt like to get back up on my feet with the help of someone else/others doing the heavy lifting. I got in her car and we drove to the other part of the park where my other girlfriend was waiting for me with her kiddos. The ones who inevitably ate something they should not have the night before when I called their momma crying. She explained how she was thinking on the phone “just hold on til tomorrow” and how perfect the timing was. The thought that went into this, the planning, the meltdowns endured by the kids who call me “Brick Brick”…which fucking melts me. I am Brick Brick and sometimes I stack too many bricks up and keep people out, other times that wall comes crashing down, but always, I have people who help put it back together just as it should be even when I don’t know how or want to ask for help. I am so thankful. I am so lucky. I am so blessed. And now I am going to get back to the pasta salad.

Back to the pasta salad. It is so easy to make, but better when it is cold. Since I made it late last night right before we were going to eat, I had to cool it off quickly. Sometimes I will do this by running cold water over the pasta after it has cooked. This is not my favorite method as my ex-husband taught me this trick to do before putting pasta away in the fridge to ensure it doesn’t get sticky. Maybe that is why it is not my favorite method. That little brat in me remembers everything and rebels in the smallest of ways to just basically stick my tongue out at someone while they are not looking. I physically do that as well. Feels so good. The middle finger works too. But I needed something that worked to cool down the pasta quickly, so I grabbed a large sheet pan, like large large, the ones you see on cooking TV shows or in the kitchen of a restaurant, and imagine you would never utilize such a large sheet pan. I strained the water out of the pasta, let the steam from the water engulf my face to open my pores and choke me for a minute (triple-tasking), and then took the colander (which I prefer to call the strainer bc what the fuck is a colander *insert sticking tongue out to inventor while he/she is not looking*) and flipped it upside down over the sheet pan to make a mound of penne pasta. I started to lay the penne out, and as I did, all of this intense heat came out of it. Steam was suddenly rising again. The pile seemed so cold and solid and then just with the slightest touch and forced movement, it fell apart and laid itself across the sheet pan. The heat exposed itself, it all came to life like its purpose returned and it was excited to be nourishing and warm. I felt like I was the penne. I saw myself in this transaction, soft and warm on the inside and needing just a little forced movement. I am penne, I am not a brick.