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Scoliosis; A Memoir.

My posture is terrible. If I'm standing, I'm slouching; if I'm sitting, I'm leaning. I have ultimately accepted that I will at some point in my life become one of those hunchback grandmothers you see crossing the street.

It started when I was a kid. The nurses would separate the boys and the girls whenever it was time to examine the spinal cord of every child within Concord's grasp. Scoliosis. A condition in which one's spine looks more like an upside down question mark than an exclamation point. More importantly, it is a condition that leaves an already awkward adolescent feeling even more awkward than ever. I was that boy.

No, I wasn't. I mean, I was, but I wasn't. I was never officially diagnosed with Scoliosis, but I was more than qualified for it. For one, I was the most awkward kid in my class. Okay, maybe that one bitch, Paula, who glued her lips together in 2nd grade was a little off her rocker, but by 6th grade I had already been called out and questioned for not keeping pictures of naked women in my locker. As far as I was concerned the doctor's could have diagnosed me with Scoliosis without even looking at my spine. I prepared myself for the worst.

My sister used to help me. I would lay on the ground face down until my mother's mop was completely fastened to my back via duct tape. To this day I'm still not completely sure what the cure for Scoliosis is, but at the time, in my adolescent mind, I pictured a metal bar somehow being attached to my back. This is where the mop comes in. My sister could never find a metal bar, and the vaccuum was too heavy, but she sure as hell knew where the mop was, not that she ever used it for anything. Most days she stayed away from it, but when the occasion finally arose, she fastened it to my back faster than Macgyver ever dreamed of. She was, and still is, my hero.

So the day finally came. Scoliosis testing. Here we are, a group of 6th grade boys standing shirtless in an old janitor's closet. Some of us had already developed armpit hair, while the rest of us were developing man titties. I didn't necessarily have a set of tits, and I had only begun to develop armpit hair under my left arm. To be completely honest I still have more armpit hair under my left arm than my right arm. Humuliating. Before sprouting a single chest hair, before any muscles began to form in my chest, before all of that, my insecurities developed on a very deep and sincere level. I remember feeling so vulnerable and exposed at the time, that even now, as a grown man, I find it hard to be shirtless around other people.

I looked around the room at the other boys. Most of them laughing, some of them hiding. It was my turn. I stepped up to the tape, bent over, and felt the fingers of 1000 different doctors and nurses molesting my back. It felt like I was bent over for roughly 22 years when I decided to look up. Leaning against an exposed brick wall, an old worn out mop made eye-contact with me, a sullen gaze that reminded me of all the days my sister used to save my life. I laughed, but only to myself. I knew that when I got home that evening my sister would be waiting in the doorway, a mop in one hand, and duct tape in the other. For the first time in my life, as I was bent over, waiting to hear the worst, I knew that everything was going to be alright. And it was.

My sister saved my life, and to this very day, if I ever need a mop securely fastened to my back, I know who to call.

More than anything though, I just want to know why Paula glued her lips together.

Thank you Ms. Hill.

My hands were shaking.

I'm certain that I cut way too many lemon twists tonight but I couldn't stop myself. She was working across the counter from me...Everything I had planned on saying suddenly didn't make sense anymore and I just kept trying to get the words right. It's been a while since I've been so aware of my heart beating inside my chest. My lungs needed oxygen. It felt like I was cutting lemons for the last 10 years.

And then I found the courage.

It's such a beautiful thing..to be able to surprise yourself after 22 years and do things you really didn't think you had the strength or courage for. For the moment I feel like I'm capable of anything. I'm excited about my future.

I don't know where it's headed..

and I can't wait.

Another lonely day.

Today is Christmas Eve. I"m supposed to be on a plane heading to Pittsburgh right now but, because I missed my flight, I'm sitting alone in the neighborhood cafe..My waitress is the type of waitress that doesn't speak to you...Instead, she stands at your table and stares at you and waits for you to tell her everything you need. For a second I think maybe she's just having a bad day...It is Christmas Eve, after all, and she has to work...I know that sucks, but even after the morning I've had I've still managed to walk in and be very polite to a person who doesn't even respond to me...

I feel like shit..It's probably the worst I've felt in a long time.

I thought I had everything planned out...I woke up on time this morning, listened to NPR and sipped on my green tea...showered, finished packing...I even cleaned my bathroom fairly quickly. And then I looked at the clock...Before I knew it I was running 25 minutes behind schedule...I guess I didn't plan on listening to NPR and making green tea but it was such a beautiful morning that I wanted to take it all in..

I left in a hurry and made a phone call from the payphone just outside of my apartment. A car picked me up and I was headed for the airport.

Lines. People. Everywhere. What bothered me most was that my flight was leaving in 30 minutes and I assumed that everyone waiting in line had a flight that was taking off in a couple of hours. By the time I got to the check-in counter it was too late. I accepted the fact that I missed my flight and there was nothing I could do about it. I knew it was bad but I didn't know it was going to get so much worse.

I have a history of missing flights. The last flight I missed because, of course, I was running late. I got lucky that day though. I was placed on standby for another flight leaving only a couple hours after my original flight was scheduled. This time, on Christmas Eve, I wasn't so lucky.

I am now on standby for a flight leaving tomorrow around the same time that I was supposed to leave today. I don't know what I'm going to do for the rest of my day. I planned on being home with family I haven't seen in a year..sitting around the table eating home-made mexican food and drinking margaritas...I planned on waking up and being with my sister on Christmas morning...and now..I'm just going to be alone..Christmas Eve alone...Waking up Christmas day alone..and then I have to fly...that is, if I make it on time.

It goes without saying, but I hate flying..

I know it could be worse..a lot worse...but I seriously feel awful right now..

They drop your name.. but no one knows your face.

Today I woke up. Not until 4:30 p.m. But like I said, I woke up.

I sat up in my bed, looked out the window to see if the sun was shining yet and then I checked my phone to see what time it was..Before realizing how much of the day I wasted, I noticed that I had a couple missed calls and a couple of text messages waiting for me. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and listened to my voicemails. My friend Dustin had an extra ticket to a Ben Folds show. He thought of me.

I stumbled to the shower and washed off the remains of last night's bartending shift. I accidentally put conditioner in my hair before shampooing it. You should see how healthy it looks.

After my shower I wrapped a towel around my waist, sat down on my bed, said a few things to myself to get my voice warmed up as if I had been awake for hours, and then called my friend in hopes that he still had the ticket to the Ben Folds show. He did. But not just a ticket. He also had a photographer pass. I put my contacts in for the first time in days.

A couple of trains later I arrived at the Hammerstein Ballroom. I've never felt so good to be at the back of such a long line in my life. I made my way to the front eventually and got in another line for will call tickets. Finally I got to the window.

"Hi, my name is Adam Ramsey...my friend Dustin was supposed to be here tonight but he couldn't make it so he called and put the ticket in my name instead....yes..his name is Dustin...it should be under either Epic or Ben Folds...it could also be under American Songwriters Magazine...yes...Cohen..."

She found the pass..I held it in my hand for a minute and just thought to myself, "wow...is this for real...?" I made my way to the next entrance but rather than making my way through a crowd, the security guards made a call on their radio and a personal escort took me through the back halls of the Hammerstein Ballroom into a small gated area off to the side of the stage about 25 feet away from Ben Folds' grand piano. It goes without saying, but while I was waiting for my personal escort the security guards were interested in talking with me..they asked me who I was a photographer for and if I was actually a Ben Folds fan..I told them I was a huge fan and that I worked for American Songwriters Magazine. And so it is, I'm an overnight photographer. Tonight I felt like the world was mine. I felt important for the first time..in a really long time. I had my entire photography career planned in a span of about 20 minutes.

So there I was. Finally on the other side of the rope, or in this case, metal bars and a team of security guards. Ben Folds took the stage and my camera was ready.

At this point it's 3 parts exciting, 1 part sad, and 4 parts ironic . I bought batteries before the show for my camera and for some reason they no longer worked after I took about 10 pictures. I have to say I was a little disappointed to have such an amazing spot for taking pictures and I even had the pass...but I had no camera at this point. All around me were professional photographers with their professional cameras and their professional resumes...

But it didn't stop me from taking pictures.

I turned my camera off, stood on one of the stands they had available to photographers and proceeded to pretend as if nothing was wrong. I held my Canon PowerShot A540 proudly and for all they knew, I was a photographer for Rolling Stone fucking magazine. And it felt great.

And I feel great...even though I didn't wake up until 4:30 p.m...


But like I said...

I woke up.


And at this point in my life... I think that's more important than anything else.