Last week while waiting for the nurse practitioner to come in the social worker steps in, “How are you, Tessa?”

I’m fine, good.

She looks at me in concern –

“How are you fine?”

I am fine, by me.

In my head, I am thinking of a lot more than that – but really I just want this Picc out and the dressing off.

She looks at me inquisitive.

I just started back up at school and it’s great, I love school.

“Oh, let me get a gown and we can talk.”

Just then the nurse comes in and we start chatting, a very lovely person. I have only emailed her and have never met her.

The nurses’ husband is from Rochester, MN. “I just love his family.”

Midwest people are a little funny, nerdy.

“That’s why I love them, and they are so warm.”

You always know you are in Minnesota when people talk to you on the shuttle, at the grocery store, at the pharmacy, and most of the betweens.

She smiled. “Then, you come out here.”

Oh, people are for the most part very nice, but you have to talk to them.

“Or get them to talk to you – “

Yes. I think we are the way we are because of the weather. The common denominator. You need people to survive the winters; to get out of your house, driveway, the street, and push you through the intersection.

I remember the first winter being on my own, 1995-1996 – and it was one of the worst. I remember picking up people at the bus stop a few times because the wind was 70 below. You can’t walk in that, even if it is 2-3 blocks.

This woman got in my car, and she is trying to catch her breath with a coat so thick it two times her size, scarf up to her eyes, hat, and mittens with a couple bags in tote, “Thank you.”

My 1984 whatever the hell it was car froze up so many times that winter I could not tell you. I had it towed one or two times.

One morning I walked out to my car, I did not have the luxury of being able to plug in my car or have a garage by any means. I got the key in to turn the lock – an achievement. The lock can freeze and the key can get stuck and it starts to bend, worse break. They have that frozen key spray for a reason.

I got into the frozen bucket, slipped off my mitt, and put this thin and tiny metal key in the ignition. “Ow!” I looked at my finger and it was so cold it burnt me. It was red. The little fucker.

One morning, separate time, I had to get to the store. There was a store three blocks up and maybe one to two blocks to the right. My car was frozen again and had to wait for the sun to come out and warm it up, hopefully.

The wind was blowing and it was so cold – I am writing so cold for a reason; all the heat in my body was trying to conserve my organs, my cheeks were flushed.

I got to the store and was walking back. This guy pulled up in his car and he looked like a decent guy. I was so fucking cold my digits were starting to freeze, on the cusp of hurting. I knew home was just over there, but the wind was ripping. I got in.

His car was old or older and it had just snowed the night before, so the road I was walking was full of snow. He had to drive so slow as there was no choice. I knew I could jump out.

That’s how fucking cold it gets –

After that winter I told myself – I always want a car that starts in the morning. Goal. As soon as I am able.

We survive in Minnesota because of everyone.

When I said me to the social worker – I think of everyone. We have been talking in class how writing used to be a more singular act. It isn’t anymore.

Writers, readers and texts include the environment, pens, paper, computers, books, computer networks, printing presses, and then larger systems – are influences. Families, loved ones, friends, everyone we can reach tangibly and some not.

“Writing involves everything you do, everything you encounter, everything you are when making sense through the world through language” – Micciche

Everything is a collective.

I am here as me as a collective.

I said me in jest a little. I am just like WTF. I also had just learned these new terms and theories and they were circling around in my head.

And in truth, I sigh. I had zero interest in talking. I had goals, and I wanted out.

And I mean “How am I okay?”

Because I am. I throw my hands up.

How is anyone okay?

Because we have to be.

Postscript: I read this interesting story in school. Click on this link, scroll down and you will see “Don’t Tell The Aunts” by Nancy Sommers. Read it – it’s worth it.

Thank you. Much love.

https://community.macmillan.com/docs/DOC-1302

Work Cited: “Writing Material.” Laura R. Micciche. July 2014.