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I donated blood for the first time in my life yesterday...

and all I got was a lousy t-shirt.

I don't think that I can really describe how eerie it felt. I don't mind needles, personally. I don't mind shots or the sight of blood. In fact, I kind of like it. Blood is, to me, something completely unique. Mysterious, even. I cannot help be be fascinated by how much blood actually does.

Think about it.

In the hand that's typing this flows streets and superhighways of blood. In every instant, red and white blood cells, platelets, plasma, and a million other things are moving under your skin. You and I are both walking fluid sacs. Our skin, our bones, our hearts, all exist in order to move blood. We're like water bottles. I can just imagine my blood swishing around inside me when I dance. I make sanguine tornadoes when I spin.

But that's not exactly why I'm writing this. I am writing this because when I was laying on the blue cot inside the blood donation van, the clear plastic bag collecting my bodily fluids below me, the tube that connected me to the bag filling greedily with my redish-purple blood was resting on my arm.

It was warm.

I had never really considered this before. My blood was as warm as toes, squished inside my sneakers and cushioned in fuzzy socks. It was so strange to feel that. It felt for the first time that by giving blood, I was really giving a piece of myself. It was like something that I had kept secretly between my skin and bones was now leaving me. The funny thing about secrets is that once you share it with someone, it's not a secret anymore. My blood ceased to be mine the moment it entered the hollow needle. After that, it was just a warm ribbon trailing from my arm.

when I get nervous, I talk to people. Or rather, I ask people about themselves. I don't do the talking. When I'm that worked up, it generally takes every once of concentration I can muster to listen to what they have to say. Yesterday, I talked to my blood-thief. His name was Zach. Zach was a good natured young man, it was his first time collecting blood in the trailer. His fingers were confident as he swabbed my forearm for one minute exactly, cleaning the entrance site for the needle. While he did this, my nerves were building and my veins ached in anticipation.

My veins are small, and unfortunately not close to the surface of my skin. This means that it's always hard to find them when stabbing blindly with a needle. The pain seemed to bother him more than it bothered me. His fingers were cold and he seemed reluctant to pierce the skin. I held my breath and stared at the blinds on the window next to me I wished that I could see outside.

"I'm really sorry." He mumbled, twisting the needle in my arm.

I was confused. It was a combination of the metallic smell and the warmth that trailed along my otherwise frozen arm that left me feeling rather inebriated. I was tryingto claw my way back to functional mental processes when I opened my mouth and asked, "What's your name?"

"I'm Zach," He said, filling four vials with blood. "These are just for tests."

"I know." I nodded. "I've had my blood drawn before. How are you today, Zach?"

"I'm doing okay, thanks. How're you?"

"Fine." He looked like he was about to go find something else to do, about to leave me draining for something more productive. This was one thing that I didn't want.

"So talk to me, Zach. Tel me about yourself." Apparently, this wasn't a usual question coming from someone lying on a table, gradually going from pale to green complexion.

He laughed nervously, but he answered. This was all I needed. Zach had two sisters and family in Virginia. He could have told me that he was an axe murdered from mars, and I would have still clung to every word. I was floating in a sea of open space and jazz and blood and the only thing keeping me anchored to coherent thought was his voice.

Eventually, the blood flow began to slow. the last third of the pint they were after came slowly. The entire process took about twenty minutes. I'm a small person-- one hundred and twenty pounds on a fat day and short enough to be good at the limbo. Standing up was hard, and walking proved to be impossible.

Zach lifted me back onto the cot when I slumped against the wall, the world blurring amusingly before my eyes. I giggled incoherently. I was plied with cookies and pineapple juice and I listened to a girl behind me cry as they inserted her needle. I, in my half-conscious state, wanted to offer her a cookie. In retrospect, I'm pretty sure that that would not have helped. Zach and a woman were standing beside her. Zach tentatively hooking the IV up and the woman offering comforting words to the girl on the bed and firm instructions to Zach.

Eventually, I was able to stumble from the van-- they needed my bed for the next batch of blood donors. I shoved y new t-shirt into my book bag and made my way lethargically to class.

The t-shirt is way too big on me, anyways.