“Ketchup”
By Becca Stephens
Writing 3020
The Comic Frame
July 15, 2011
Ketchup in Europe taste funny. It is kind of sweet and grainy compared to American ketchup. You might ask how I would know this. The answer is that I have been there. I went to Europe, to play volleyball with a national organization, the summer after my eighth grade year. We went to London, Belgium, and Holland. I had been so ready to get away that summer. Looking back, I realize how stupid I was to think that I, a fourteen year old, soon to be freshman, was ready to go out and experience life full on,. Bbut, back then I thought I was. I knew that I would find something new and exciting in Europe, but instead I found bitter life; which, surprisingly, tasted a lot like sweet and grainy ketchup[AS1].
The first stop for me on my trip was London. There, we had three days to train and practice with our new teams and coaches. Those days were a blur of sweat, strangeness, and spandex[AS2]. Yet, there was one thing that happened to me in my first few days of freedom that I remember clearly. There was a small restaurant above the gym where we practiced[AS3]. It was also where we ate lunch. One afternoon my coach met with the other coaches to talk about…actually, I don’t really know because it was a coach’s meeting and I was not a coach. The point is, that day Coach did not n’t eat lunch with the team as she usually did. Instead, we ate with our Delegation Adviser, Lotte ( pronounced “Lowtta”) who was from Holland. If Coach had sat with us at lunch that day, then none of this would have ever happened. Then again, neither would have the coach’s meeting.
Did you know that in most places in Europe, or a least the places that I have been to, charge up to one American dollar more if you want ketchup? They do. I don’t understand why, but that is not the point. The point is that after everyone on my team had paid for their food (plus a dollar more for ketchup), we all sat down at our usual table. We ate and the conversation rolled along smoothly. We had not known each other long, but it doesn’t take much for a bunch of teenage girls to find some common ground. We must have talked about everything from fashion to books to boys. When the conversation turned to boys, things started to get interesting[AS4].
Those of the girls who had boyfriends started talking about how sweet and wonderful they were. Those girls who didn’t have boyfriends talked about how they were waiting for someone who they could really “connect” with[AS5]. I stayed quiet, slowly twirling a fry in ketchup. Pretty soon the conversation turned to talking about sex. Some girls said that they had questions about it. Some girls said that they knew all about it. I stayed quiet, trying to focus all my attention on the basket of fries. I didn’t have a boyfriend, and I didn’t really want one. I had been taught about sex and to me it was just a part of life,. iIt just was.I really had no opinion on the subject, or maybe I did, but I didn’t really know it. About three minutes later the fries got pushed aside, and I decided that I had an opinion[AS6].
At this point in the conversation, Lotte jumped in. She began to tell all of the thirteen to fifteen year old girls, who look up to her and respect her, about the first time that she had sex with her boyfriend. We all sat there listening. Some were mesmerized. They watched her with the familiar twinkle in their eyes that young children have when they see something incredible for the first time. Some were intimidated. They were scared, but they were not about to attempt to end the conversation for fear the other girls thinking badly of them. For once I was not quiet. There was a fine line between good fun and inappropriate subject matter, and, in my opinion, she had just crossed that line. I had been raised by Christian parents who taught me that sex outside of marriage is wrong. And it doesn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out how many things could go wrong and how stupid it is for thirteen to fifteen year old girls to have sex. I don’t think that anyone on my team will ever be a brain surgeon.
Lotte began to tell the girls that she thought that there was nothing wrong with sex outside of marriage or having sex at our age. When she started talking about this I was appalled. We had only known Lotte for a matter of days, but we had each began to trust her. When you are traveling and staying in strange place usually you trust the person who speaks the language, holds the plane tickets, and handles all of the money. The respect that I had for Lotte disintegrated somewhere in those three minutes when I was busy discovering a little about myself.
Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against people talking about what they believe in or what they think is right. But as I looked around at the faces of the other girls sitting there I realized what kind of an impact Lotte was having on them because they looked up to her[AS7]. I saw what kind of decisions she was helping them make. I saw the possible consequences of these decisions. I saw how the lives of these girls could change forever because someone so unbelievably cool told them to have sex. I also saw how sad it was that one fourteen year old girl could see all of this when six other thirteen to fifteen year old girls and one x-cool twenty year old adult couldn’t.
They had their opinions and I had mine. They told me their opinions and I tried to tell them mine. The entire “debate” lasted maybe two minutes. My opinions didn’t really seem to matter to them. No one really listened. The next time I have to defend my beliefs believes, I really hope that the odds are better than six to one.
I got up and left the table. I retreated; I surrendered. I felt weak and spineless. I had never been one to back down in the face of a challenge, but there was something there that I just couldn’t handle. Suddenly, I didn’t feel so well. Maybe I was getting sick. Maybe I ate something bad. Maybe it was the ketchup. I left my half eaten meal on an empty table and went down to the gym where the pay phone was in quiet tears. I called home with my spiffy international calling card. After about three rings I realized that it was after midnight in little old Pagosa Springs, Colorado, but I needed to be connected to the world that made since again[AS8].
My mom answered in her groggy “why are you calling at this time of the night” voice, and I told her everything. To this day I’m not really sure how much she actually comprehended that night between my sobs. In the end all she said was that she loved me and she knew that I would find a way to be strong. As much as I loved my mom, I thought that that was a pretty stupid pep talk myself.
I just stood there, looking at the phone for a while after I hung up. Soon a girl from another volleyball team came up and asked me if I was alright. I said that I was just tired. I was really sad, alone, and felt like a loser, but I had to try to protect what little decency I had left. The girl looked me in the eye and asked me if I was homesick. I had to think about this one for a minute. Was I homesick? Then the answer hit me, and it kind of hurt. No, I wasn’t homesick for Pagosa Springs, but I was homesick for the life that I knew there. I was homesick for the place where talking about sex in public was inappropriate, where people you trusted didn’t let you down, and where I felt safe. I realized then, that thing, that place, isn’t life.
“No.”, I told the girl. “I’m not homesick.” I went back upstairs to the restaurant and sat down in front of my basket of fries. I picked one up and dipped it in the ketchup. The truth is that, if you add some salt and take some time to get used to it, the ketchup really isn’t that bad. That night we went to McDonald’s for dinner. No matter where you go McDonald’s ketchup still comes in the little packets and tastes the same. It struck me right there that life is a lot like ketchup[AS9].
Sometimes life is nice. Sometimes life treats you well and everything comes in little packages. Other times life really stinks. It’s kind of grainy and tastes funny. But, if you can hold your ground through these times you may find that you are stronger the next time, and stronger the time after that. You will keep getting stronger until the grainy stuff mixes with the stuff in the nice package and you get a handle on life. Not always grainy; not always good. That is life. Always remember though. If things get to out of control, you can always go to McDonald’s. [AS10]
[AS1]Really good details so far, I’m a little confused, but I’m sure I will catch on soon.
[AS2]Love this description!
[AS3]Was it like a cafeteria or a restaurant?
[AS4]I really like this paragraph.
[AS5]It’s funny how girls this age talk about “connecting” with a boy.
[AS6]Your doing a really good job at keeping me interested.
[AS7]I agree!
[AS8]That must have been a terrible feeling. I love your detail here.
[AS9]Love it!
[AS10]I love how you did this, I was really confused at first with where you were going with it but it kept me interested because I was curious. Great job!