French Maids and the Past

2002 and 2003 were fun and interesting times for me. I was starting my second year at USU and was again living in the dorms. The summer of 2002 I had decided that I was going to give the LDS church another try, some would say I failed since I never really went back, but I feel like I seceded, I digress though. That year, in Snow Hall, I lived across from a dorm of girls that I instantly clicked with. There was the girl with the big gums, the girl with the mousy hair and thick glasses, the pudgy girl that thought she was Reese Witherspoon, the runner and then Sauerkraut. One day I was walking down the hall and saw S-Kraut sitting on the couch staring at nothing, I said “hi,” she looked as though I had just flashed her. She was shocked and amazed, but that was all it took to form a friendship with her. I never really got into the gossip of that dorm, but I guess most people viewed her as the “bad girl” and ignored her, after 6 years of her being one of my best friends, I would say she is misunderstood.

The Halloween of 2002, and you must know S-Kraut LOVES Halloween, S-Kraut’s two friends came to visit. One was a sexy cat who was living in Pocatello, the other a French Maid who was attending BYU, and S-Kraut a nurse…of course all of them had their toppsies hanging out like hookers, but that is how the Howl was. I went into S-Kraut’s room to talk to her as I would do from time to time, and you also need to know S-Kraut is OCD about clean, and I have never seen a room go from a sterile environment to toxic waste dump so quickly. I remember one of them was lounging in a pile of clothes on a chair, and the other was lying on a bed with no sheets, on her back, looking at a magazine surrounded in makeup, shoes, curling irons, fake eye lashes and anything else imaginable that could make you look like a tramp. I have never seen S-Krauts room like this before, I was very confused.

As I was talking to the French Maid who was going to BYU I said something about how she was dressed and how she went to BYU and it seemed a little risque, but then confessed I was a bad Mormon boy as well because I smoked and drank. We started talking about being judged and being repressed and all that stuff. I am not sure at my age, 21, I had all the answers, in fact I am sure I was repeating the same tired lines all LDS people use when they aren’t following the rules, but I liked this girl and it felt good to meet someone else who was feeling what I was.

From time to time these two girls would come back to visit S-Kraut and I always looked forward to it. One day my friend “K” and I were looking for an apartment to rent for the summer of 2003, we decided we just couldn’t afford it and had almost given up. As we were walking into my dorm I saw S-Kraut, again lying on her couch staring at nothing, and just said something like, “You should live with us this summer.” She said “OK.” And it was my favorite summer, which I have blogged about before.

The French Maid and I stayed friends since S-Kraut and I lived together, but she ended up going on a mission, so basicly it was “Game off” until she got home. After her mission she returned to BYU and I would see her every once in a while. S-Kraut graduated from college and moved to SLC  in 2005 and I tried my best to go see her as much as I could, but eventually it was every three months or so I would visit, and a phone call was made mabey monthly.

In 2006 I was going through some tough times. I was finally leaving the church for good, I was telling people I am gay and really needed my support group of best friends. I had stopped eating and couldn’t get out of this depression. S-Kraut’s apartment became my second home. Every Saturday for months I would drive down to SLC in the evening to go clubbing with S-Kraut and the French Maid. I remember the excitement of walking up the plastic lined stairs laughing to myself thinking that in a few hours I would have to follow two screaming girls as they wobbled down the stairs in skirts that were to short and shoes that were to tall. I liked knowing that the first thing S-Kraut would say to me as I walked into her apartment was “God you stink.” It is interesting to note that I have never actually seen her say this phrase before because everytime she says it she is either speedily walking away from me, or has her mouth and nose jammed into the sleeve of her hoodie. In this apartment, one that was so unassuming, is where I discovered how much the French Maid and I had in common. She too was deciding her fate with the LDS church. Many hours were spent talking about growing up in the church; talking about the good and the bad memories. We talked about doctrine that we liked, doctrine we didn’t and doctrine we thought was silly. Keep in mind these conversations were a little here and a little there, but I always felt better after talking to her, even if it was for just two minutes.

S-Kraut had the most terrible apartment, it smelled like feet and fabric softener until you hit her door, once in the safety of her apartment it was like coming home again. My spot to sleep was on the brown carpeted floor, the French Maid would sleep on a bed that doubled, unsuccessfully, as a couch. Sometimes I would go to sleep drunk, sometimes I would go to sleep sad, and sometimes I would go to sleep with a big smile on my face, but every night on that brown carpeted floor I felt at peace.

In the mornings S-Kraut would get up as soon as the sun hit her face, I would hear her watching TV and would say “I’m hungry.” I would sit up and the first thing I would see was her sitting cross legged in her worn out USU sweats and a blue USU sweatshirt, both 4 sizes to big. Her hair was always in a bun and and she was usually painting her toe nails or whitening her teeth. When I would tell her I was hungry she would throw on a pair of old Nike’s and her big sunglasses and was instantly ready. I would put on a hoodie and my sunglasses, which were generally used to hide my bloodshot eyes from the night before, and was faced with the decision of what to do with the French Maid.  The French Maid never made mornings easy for us. She would get mad if we woke her up, but would be mad if we went to breakfast without her, but if we waited for her to wake up on her own it could be mid afternoon, so what to do? We would wake her up. The French Maid would always sleepily open her eyes as if she were coming out of a deep coma and would say, groggily, “What time is it?” After scanning the apartment for her bra she dug out of her sleeve and carelessly tossed across the room the night before, she would sit up, rub her eyes, and tell me to turn around as she redressed, but it never took long.

At the IHOP in West Valley I am sure we looked like the most insane group of people. S-Kraut, who hates crowds, would be glaring at someone, for no other reason than that they exist. The French Maid still was to tired to know what day it was and I would come in after them reeking of cigarettes, again to which S-Kraut would proclaim “God you stink.” After we were seated we generally didn’t speak unless it was to criticize the kids in the next booth, or what a customer was wearing, obvious we were oblivious to how we looked. I would always leave first to get a jump start on another cigarette, I would give S-Kraut the keys so they could sit in the car and glare at me as I smoked. Back to S-Krauts apartment we would go, but this time there was a sinking feeling in my stomach. I knew the time to go back to Logan was coming. I knew eventually I would have to go back to my world of feeling second class, having deep discussion with my family about why I am a disappointment. It was the end of feeling accepted for another week.

Tonight I sit in S-Krauts new apartment, it has new carpets, a new couch, a new dining room table and and has a balcony that over looks a swimming pool and spa. Tonight I am sleeping on the couch because the French Maid now lives in Portland. I miss sleeping on the floor, I miss seeing the French maid eat Smith’s Deli Sushi and drink a Naked drink. I miss seeing S-Kraut roll her eyes after I came in from a cigarette. I miss laughing at the telephone wire where a loogie hung in limbo that S-Kraut spit across the living room and out the window. I miss the smell of burning Indian food in the hall, I miss laughing at the wall that S-Kraut punched a hole in and thought she fixed expertly, I miss trying to order dime bags and 8-balls at McDonalds. I miss the French Maid.

Come home Mel, it’s not the same without you.