13 has been deemed an unlucky number in our culture, but this entry is incredibly important; if one has read no other entry than this one, then that’s sufficient, as what I have to say is filled with both luck and unluck.
Let’s start out with the glory of 2005’s school semester, which was my Creative Writing class. I had attempted to take this class twice before, to no avail, because I would be the only student who signed up for it; naturally, the school was not going to pay for a private tutor.
Our class in 2005 was almost canceled when we only had five students present, and James (our teacher) warned us about that. Dr. York pulled some strings, and we kept our Creative Writing class.
The Creative Writing class was my favorite and most influential class ever. Because there were only five of us, we could easily share our stories, our ideas, our critiques, and James naturally treated us as adults. We all had a fiery passion for writing even though our styles varied considerably.
The school also changed the schedule to include Friday classes, so some classes were Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and some were Tuesday, Thursday.
During this era, I took Japanese classes at the Dothan International Language Services under the tutelage of one Mrs. Renee Dargie, who had previously attended college in Japan and had her Master’s Degree. Initially, I would go to Japanese class on Thursday mornings for two hours, then I would go to ReWired immediately after.
Lily had cinnamon rolls during this era. I would order the daily special and have a cinnamon roll in addition to it; always warm, sticky, and sweet, cinnamon rolls were complimented perfectly by the bitterness of the dark coffee. After having a cinnamon roll, I would do my Physical Science Lab for the week, which was an online and interesting experiment that we did each week.
Then Hurricane Katrina hit.
And this is why the blog is so important.
ReWired became the home to many of the refugees from the states and areas that were hit by Hurricane Katrina. People came to ReWired from states away, finally able to access the internet again, finally able to be warm and dry.
Naturally, Lily welcomed them. The people had no place to go during the day, they had no place they needed to be- there jobs were likely being flooded away at that point, and certainly school wasn’t in session.
During this time, I met one peculiar old man that I dubbed “Nick the Buddhist.” He was a Theravadin Buddhist and extremely funny. He spoke fast, and I never knew what he was actual full name was, other than Nick. I had several conversations with him, many of the revolving around his purchasing an RV that would serve as his home. This RV that he showed us was an absolute tank that could have easily been larger than an apartment. Upon acquiring his RV, he would be able to go where and when he pleased, as he was without any family save a godson.
As for the other people, I’ll never honestly know if they lost their homes or had just escaped for the time being. Many of them only came through Wired a few times, but for those few times, they were regulars, and we were glad to have them.
That’s the sort of purpose for which Wired existed: to stand strong and tall, a beacon of hope for those who were in need, as it so often proved to be.
On the wall in ReWired hung this quote by Rumi:
Come, come again, whoever you are, come!
Wanderer, lover of leaving, or idolatrous, come!
Come even if you broke your vows a hundred times,
Come, and come yet again!
Ours is the caravan of hope, come as you are.