Luke

 first short story. freshman year of high school.

My brother was born with arthrogryposis. It’s really called Arthrogryposis Multiplex Congenita, which is a big, crazy, medical term for crooked joints. That’s what my brother has: crooked joints. There are lots of things that can happen when you have it, but normally, it’s just the joints and muscle weakness, which is bad enough. If you have arthrogryposis, it doesn’t get any worse as you grow older, but it doesn’t get any better either.

I remember when Luke was born. My parents tried to explain to me why he didn’t move like other babies, but I was little and didn’t really notice anything different about him for a while. It wasn’t until we were older, and I wanted Luke to play baseball, or go swimming with me, that I started to notice something wierd about him. My parents told me that something happened with Luke’s body that made his joints not able to bend and straighten all the way, and it was difficult for him to keep up with me. Although, I realized that Luke didn’t wrap his fingers all the way around his toothbrush like me, instead he sort of squeezed it in his palm like he had claws, and that he didn’t run straight and fast like me, instead he sort of wobbled side to side as he hobbled around, I didn’t understand exactly what was going on.

I used to get so frustrated with him, thinking that, if he just tried hard enough, he could keep up with all the other kids. “If you really wanted to keep playing, you could,” I used to say to him when he would start complaining that his legs were tired and that he had to go inside. I thought it was sort of like when you get really sore from exercising or when it’s really cold and your muscles stiffen up, it hurts to move sometimes, but if you just tried hard enough, you could do it. My dad told me one day that it wasn’t like that at all. It didn’t hurt Luke; he just couldn’t do it and never would.

Luke was a smart kid, though, and he figured out how to do just about everything the other kids did, just in a different way. Like, if he was lying on the floor of our living-room watching TV, he couldn’t bend his knees to stand up all the way, but he would wiggle his way up to the couch, pull himself up with his elbows, and stand up from there. We always made special positions in the games we played, just for Luke. When we played cops and robbers, Luke got to be the chief of police, who went from team to team, looking for cheaters who would be sent to “jail.” It took a few years for Luke to figure out that there was really no chief of police in cops and robbers, but he didn’t mind.

Sometimes, I would feel mad at Luke for being different, the way he was- for not being able to play as long or fast or hard as everyone else. It bothered me when I saw him taking an extra minute to get up the steps of our front porch, pulling himself up with the railing, and I was embarrassed every time someone gave him a funny look when he had to take his wheelchair out for longer outings. As much as it bothered me, it didn’t take anyone long to see that Luke wasn’t bothered by his disability at all. If he could do it, it didn’t matter one bit how he did. He didn’t mind a little extra help, or taking the long way, or needing a head start on anything, as long as it got him where he was going, and he always figured out how to do just that. Luke was just like any other kid, and just like all kids, Luke and I wanted dog.

“Absolutely not,” my mother said when we first posed this idea to her. “I am not raising the two of you and a dog,” she said, emphasizing “dog,” making it come out slow and heavy like a bad taste in her mouth. More times than I could count, Luke and I would come inside with a dog we had found in the neighborhood, pretending we had no idea where it came from, until Mom or Dad would make us take it back to its home. We would come into the house making as little noise as possible, and sneak the dog into the room that we shared. We were never able to hide the dog for more than an hour or two, before Mom or Dad found us out. I remember one day, when Luke and I tried to capture the big black poodle that lived in the house behind ours.

Luke and I had found Princess prancing down the street, and called her over to play with us.
“Don’t let Mom hear us, Ben!” Luke whispered to me as I slowly turned the shiny brass handle to our front door.
“Be quiet! I know what I’m doing! Now, don’t forget the plan.”
“Got it,” Luke said, nodding his head determinately.

Slowly and quietly, he slipped in the front door, leading Princess to our room. I clenched my teeth, covering my face with my hands, praying that Mom couldn’t hear the quick-slow, quick-slow sound of Luke’s limp across the hardwood floor. Then, when his footsteps were overpowered with the clippity-clippity sounds of Princess’ nails scampering around the room, I knew we were done for.

“Luke? What is-”
“Hey, Mom!” I yelled, running into the kitchen where she was cooking dinner. “Luke and I are just going to go to our room for a little bit? Okay? Okay. Bye!” I said in one short breath, running back out of the room, before she had the chance to ask any questions. I had made it halfway down the hall, when I heard her voice call calmly, still in the kitchen, stopping me in my tracks.

“Take it back, boys,” she said.

Luke’s little head popped out from our bedroom door, wide-eyed, mouth shaped in a surprised O, waiting for me to come up with an easy out.

“Mom? I don’t know what you’re-” I began.
“I don’t want to know. Just take it back.”

Luke’s head disappeared back behind the door, returning a moment later, drooping towards the ground in defeat, solemnly walking past me towards the front door, pulling Princess along behind him by her collar. “She always knows,” he mumbled.

Luke had always gotten along with the other kids in the neighborhood. We had grown up with them, and they were used to him. He didn’t have to explain his disability to them every time he wanted to play. When Luke started school; however, it wasn’t quite as easy. Luke was quiet and shy and avoided situations with lots of other kids, so that he wouldn’t be the center of attention like he always was when people first met him. It didn’t help that every year of school meant a new group of kids, and a new group of stares and questions. No one ever meant anything by it, and Luke knew that, but, still, he tried to stay out of the way, most of the time.

Mom and Dad noticed that Luke was becoming shier and shier as time went on, and Mom started to get a little worried. One night, when Luke and I were supposed to be asleep, I heard voices coming from the living room. As I crept down the staircase, I could make out my parents' voices.

“It’s just not normal,” she said. “He shouldn’t be so shy. Luke is such a smart, sweet boy. He should do what he wants to do.”
“I think he is doing what he wants to do, Jen,” came Dad’s voice. “He’ll bloom on his own time. The boy’s fine.”
“Still, I just don’t like it.”

About a week later, Luke and I came home from school to find Mom waiting for us at the front door, a smile stretched wide across her face.

"I have a surprise for you," she said, "but you have to close your eyes. You can't see it yet."
"What is it, Mom?" Luke and I asked, barely able to wait another second.
"I can't tell you. You'll just have to see for yourself."

Instantly, she was flooded with a thousand questions. "Is it big?" "Can you hold it?" "Do you eat it?" "Is it alive?" "Will we like it?" "What does it smell like?" "Do we want one?" "Where'd you get it?"
"When can we have it?" Luke finally asked.
"Right now! Just close your eyes- both of you, and don't look," Mom said excitedly, putting a hand on each of our backs, leading us through the house, our eyes closed tightly. I knew we were going to the back yard, when I heard the sliding glass door open. Mom stopped us there and said, “Now, when I say three-”
She didn’t even have time to get to the count of one before I heard footsteps sprinting towards us and, a moment later, Luke’s scream. Terrified, I opened my eyes to find Luke lying flat on his back underneath a giant, black dog. Already, in the few seconds Luke had been on the ground, his face was sticky and shiny from being licked. “Mom!” he squealed in between giggles, flailing his arms and legs from underneath his attacker, “A dog!”

I watched my mother’s face in that moment and saw how it lit up with Luke’s laughter. I think she expected that dog to bring some sort of miracle for Luke, helping him, making his life better, but it wasn’t quite that easy.

Susie was a year old, when Mom and Dad brought her home for us. She was a great, big, black Labrador retriever with a great big heart and a great big amount of energy, and Luke fell in love. Susie had lived in the pound for most of her life and wasn’t very well trained. She seemed to have the most trouble learning, “no,” although, since Susie came to live with us, that was the word that was said around the house the most. “No, Susie!” when she stole Dad’s bedroom slippers, or when she stole Mom’s rolls off the dinner table, or when she chased our next door neighbor’s cat under the porch, or when she chewed up Luke’s library book when he got his very first library card, or the thousands of millions of times Susie ran away, always coming back exhausted and dirty, tracing mud, leaves, and sticks into the house.

Susie was always with us. When we went to play in the yard, or with the neighborhood kids, Susie was there, trailing right along beside us. She sat between our chairs under the table at dinner time, scarfing down scraps that we snuck to her. She slept in a little blue and red plaid dog bed we picked out at the pet store, which we laid out on the floor in our bedroom. Anywhere we could possibly bring Susie, we took her. That's why taking Susie for a walk was a little bit of a problem.

When we took Susie out, I held the leash, most of the time, because Mom was always afraid that Luke wouldn't be strong enough. Dad told us that dogs need lots of exercise, and if we wanted to keep Susie, we had to take care of her ourselves, which included a walk everyday. I really didn't mind walking her myself, or going with Luke when he walked her, but Luke was crazy about Susie, and, for the first time ever, he was determined to do something completely on his own.

After Luke toppled over, once, when Susie chased after a cat on one of their first walks, we knew there was a little bit of an issue. Luke had a wheelchair that he used sometimes when we would go out for long periods of time, because his legs would get tired so quickly. He used his wheelchair a lot when we went out on long "walks," and we figured that, that might be the best way for Luke to take Susie out on his own. At first, he just held the leash in his hand while he wheeled around, but when the leash got twisted and tangled up in the gears on his chair, we decided that probably wasn't going to last very long. Luke and I were very creative when we figured out how to tie the leash to the armrest on the wheelchair. That went almost perfectly, for a few days, until Susie took off down a hill, pulling poor, little Luke along behind her, flying down the street chair and all. After that, we gave up on Luke walking Susie by himself for a while.

One afternoon, a bunch of the neighborhood kids went out to play basketball at the park, a few streets away from the house. Luke had been complaining all day, knowing that he wouldn't be able to play with us. In the end, he lost the vote and took his place resting at the sidelines, watching, with Susie sitting at his side, just like always. Susie ran off at some point when no one was looking, and when she didn't come back after a few minutes, Luke grew anxious without her.

"Luke, it's just Susie. She always does this. You know that," I told him.
"Yeah, I know, but it's not like I can play anyway."
"Come on, Luke, it's just a few more minutes, and then we can go home. She'll already be there by now, I bet."
"Nah, I'm just going to go, get a head start."
"You're being a baby, Luke."
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. See you at home."

Luke left, then, and, after a minute or so, the sound of his footsteps died down, and I figured I'd give him a little longer to get ahead, before coming home myself. A little longer turned into an hour, before the game ended.
"Hey, sorry that took so long," I said, coming in door, "Where's Luke?"
"What do you mean, 'Where's Luke?'" Dad asked, coming down the stairs. "Wasn't he with you?"
"Yeah, but he left early to go find Susie, when she ran off."
"Ben, Luke hasn't been home since he left with you." There was the tiniest trace of panic in her voice, and I felt my heart stop, just for a moment.
"I'm sure he's fine," Dad interjected quickly.

Another thirty minutes passed with no sign of Luke. Mom and Dad started calling friends and neighbors, but no one had seen Luke since he had left to go home. We went out looking for him, driving down every street in the neighborhood several times, but no Luke. Finally, around supper time, we came back, hoping that Luke had showed up at home, or someone had called the house with news of him, but, of course, there was nothing.

"I can't do it anymore," Mom said finally, pushing out her chair and getting up from the table. "I'm calling the police." This time, Dad didn't try to tell her not to worry or that she was overreacting, and I started to get scared. I excused myself from the table, grabbed my jacket, and headed towards the front door.

"Ben? Honey, where are you going?" Mom called after me.
"I'm going out to look."
"Ben, it's dark. An officer will be here in a minute to talk to your father and I, and then we can go with you."
"I have a flashlight. Mom. I'll be fine. Please." and with that, I left.

I knew as soon as I shut the door behind me that it was hopeless. We had been up and down every street at least five times, and it was pitch black out now. Giving up on the roads, I turned to the basketball courts where we had been playing earlier. I remembered going to amusement parks when Luke and I were younger and Mom and Dad telling us that, if either of us got lost, to go to the last place where we had all been, and they would come find us. I crossed my fingers as I walked, hoping that, maybe, Luke remembered this too, and was waiting there now. I knew in my heart, though, that Luke wouldn't be there, because Luke wasn't lost. We knew every part of this neighborhood front to back. We had grown up here. We had spent years exploring every nook and cranny. We even had secret places that only we- and then it hit me, the one place my parents hadn't thought to look, because my parents didn't know about the fort. Only the kids went there- no grownups allowed.

I sprinted through the trees, as fast as I could, brushing the branches out of the way as they scratched at my face, . I couldn't see where I was going, but I had been in those woods enough times to know where I was, even in the dark. After a while, I came to a cluster of fallen trees, with a blue plastic tarp stretched over them- the fort we had made a few years back. Luke and I came here when we wanted to get away from home, when we were upset, or just needed to be alone, but we hadn't come here together in such a long time. Hope filled me as I reached for the edge of the tarp and lifted it.

But there was no Luke. My breath caught in my chest, and I realized, I was out of places to look. I had no idea where Luke was, and there was no way I would be able to find him tonight, and what if tomorrow was too late? I could feel my throat tighten up, that achy feeling burning in my stomach rising up until my eyes started to water, and great, hysteric sobs rolled out of my mouth. It was cold; my breath fogged in the air in front of my face, and I knew I had to get home before Mom and Dad started to worry about me too. I turned around and started walking, slowly, home.

I don't know exactly how long it had been, a few minutes, maybe only a few seconds, before I heard something. It was a slow, high-pitched whine that sounded sort of like a tea-kettle whistling. I stopped walking, but heard nothing, so I continued, more cautiously now. Soon, I heard the sound again, that same high whining noise.
I swallowed hard. "Hello?" I said in a whisper. "Hello?" I tried again, a little louder. The noise stopped all together, and then immediately started up, faster and louder than before. I ran towards the noise, calling out to it, every few seconds. The sound changed from the soft whimper, to a bark, and then I shouted, "Hello! Can you hear me?" The barking was very loud now, and close, and overtop of it, I could just make out another voice, smaller and quieter. "Ben?" it said.

"Luke? Luke! Is that you?" I screamed at the top of my lungs. I kept screaming like that, the whole time I ran, the voice screaming back at me, neither of us able to make out the other's words, with the barking overpowering both of us.

Slowly, a small, dark shape began to form in my path, and I ran faster and faster towards it. It was almost motionless, lying down on the ground, masked by the leaves and branches around it. After a few more seconds, I could make out Luke's face, shivering and frightened. I started sobbing harder than ever, and knelt down beside him, pulling him towards me.

"I'm sorry, Ben! I fell down, and I didn't have anything to help me get up. I didn't mean to- I tried to-" Luke was crying, now, too.

I didn't say anything at first. I just held him like that some more, both of us crying uncontrollably. A few minutes passed before I looked down at his legs.

There was Susie, her head in Luke's lap, completely still for the first time in her life. My Susie, the crazy, untamable, chewy, mischievous, dog that she was. The dog that had knocked Luke over hundreds of times in her life, the dog who had run away from us leaving us searching blindly for hours, had found my brother, had saved him, in the end.

After that night with Susie in the woods, things changed some for Luke. He began to blossom, as my dad said, and Luke had a new story to tell every year at school. When the kids whispered and stared, Luke's smile stretched from ear to ear. The first day of school was his favorite- new group of kids, new group of questions, new chance to show off the miraculous story that all happened, because Luke was different.

"Hey, did you hear what happened to me?"

Loafer

 my first abstract poem, done my sophomore year of high school :)

sole tarnished
textured by skin
worn
to the seams
reeking
of the musky odor
of dried sweat
sides sagging
inwards
too tired
to carry
its own
weight
heaving
an exhausted sigh
a cloud
of sand colored dust
rising
from the lifeless mass
taking
its final
steps
and the empty
body collapses
to the floor

After Viewing Rafael Lopes’ Bobeirasa

“I say, 'let it show'
And continue to write and play my guitar
Out, my hurt does flow
Onto the paper and from the guitar
This is how I let my hurt go
And soon by what people read
They will know
This is how I let it go”

-This is How I Let Go, Amy Parkinson

Shadows rest

in blackened corners

of a darkened room,

masking the vision

of a name unrecognized

a voice unheard

Willing inspiration

to dwell in outstretched fingers

Crawling up and down and stairway of steel

Leaving rhythmic footprints

on the hollow, wooden skeleton, lying below

Anticipating the moment of glory

to be found.

Unsung Man

To the rhythm of the whispered song

he strums out every melody

and sings the story

of every life

but one.

Disregarding his own

reticent song,

to pump his blood into

broken, empty hearts

Neglecting the soul

that lies inside

hiding behind

a misread heart

which pulses out a

muted melody-

humming softly

barely beating

as if it could fade away into

Silence

Having sung the story

of every life

but one.

Who will sing

for the unsung man?

Self Portrait As Richmond

Marked with a star on every map

Chosen to lead in its precision.

History of thousands who flocked into the seven hills

in anticipation of freedom and life.

With motherly arms, she raised her children,

who starved from the barren fruit of oppression.

Strong as the mountains-

true and lasting.

As pliable as rivers-

accepting and adapting.

A piece of me forever,

this city holds.

Luminescence glowing from the heart-

bright and bold and flashing with life.

Supporting bones-

rustic and feral,

tranquil and genuine.

A sturdy heart.

The dazzling face of youth.

The restless spirit of revolution.

Now and Then

I came to the place

where the sun shines down gently

like lazy, luxurious, sleepy mornings

and the waves crash passionately

like the restless nights that have passed

Where were came

so long ago

lost in our own selves

Alone in togetherness.

I came to the place

where the water gently quivers

distorting the image

of a delicate, gentle face

reflected in the glittery, silvery mirror

lying beneath the water

I came to the place

where the last of

summer’s sweet symphony

still sounds clearly

echoing a wordless melody

that only we can know.

I came to the place

where the wind blows

cool and crisp

running its gentle, seductive fingers

through my hair

and against my lips

breathing a name

into my soul.

Television

This tiny puppet theatre rests

on the table in my living room.

Black, still, lifeless.

Who would imagine

that, with the click of a button,

the sleeping city

will come to life?

The puppeteers,

behind the magic,

are never seen,

nor heard from,

as if they don’t exist.

No painted faces

No ghostly, glass eyes

No strings attached

to abandoned bodies

So that the little puppets,

living inside the little box,

seem almost alive.

Perhaps, these

living marionettes

have a secret world,

all their own

and keep to themselves,

living in

the little black box.

Now click the button

one more time, and

their whole world

disappears.

excerpt from an unfinished novel

My love,

Yesterday, it was so beautiful out. I remembered how much you used to love the fall, the leaves changing. You told me how, as soon as the first leaf changed color, we would take a walk together and listen to our feet shuffling in the crumbling leaves, blanketing the street. It might be chilly, you said, so you would hold me tight as we walked, until I was warm. That could take a while, you said, because it’s supposed to a very cold. I thought about that all today, wishing it could be.

I decided to take a walk that afternoon, as soon as I came home. It was the time of day when the sun is still shinning brightly, but its light is slowly fading away into a thin layer of golden dust, that sprinkles the tops of the trees and lines the clouds. You know what I mean, don’t you? It was stunning. The wind blew lightly, a cool breath. Every time the wind sighed like that, the trees began to rain, and dropped their multicolored raindrops on the ground.

Mr. Dailey was outside raking when I came out the door. He saw me, and I watched as he gave my lawn a disapproving look. Maybe, if I wait long enough, he’ll come and rake those leaves for me, since it’s such a burden for him to see them. I see no point, though, in trying to fix something that isn’t broken. You can rake your yard anytime of the year, but it’s not too often that you can step outside on a bright, beautiful day and walk through a rainbow scattered over your lawn. Besides, you can rake and rake and rake, but those will just drift back to the exact place they started from, and you will have to do it all again. I wanted to tell Mr. Carson this, but I don’t think he would understand. I’ll probably rake the yard tomorrow.

I walked down to the lake. It was still and quiet, as it usually is, you remember. The only movement was an occasional ripple from a fish jumping or an acorn plopping into the water or the wind slightly rocking the surface, creating gentle waves, that lapped up the shore. I sat on the dock for a while, throwing rocks, watching their ripples spread throughout the entire lake. It was just me there, which is sometimes a sad thing; I like watching the children playing and the older couples, strolling around the perimeter of the lake, hearing their voices. It gives me something to concentrate on. Today, however, it was nice. No disruptions or noises or anything. I sat there, under an oak three, a few feet away from the water and watched.

I dreamed of you, but it seems so far away now, I can’t remember anything, except that I woke to the sound of a dog barking. I shifted my weight in my sleep and felt something crunch underneath my weight. My eyes snapped open. I had completely forgotten where I was. In a moment, the sound of water sloshing messily against the shore, the coolness of the grass against my skin, and the crunching of leaves and sticks underneath me made sense. It’s so easy to fall asleep there, completely absorbed in my own thoughts.

I wiggled my toes a few times, then slowly stretched out my legs, letting the life seep into my bones, and travel up my spine and into my arms which spread far out to the side, slowly uncurling my fingers, until sleep finally released itself from my lips through a yawn. I pressed my fingers against my neck; it was sore from being propped up against that tree for so long. I hadn't even realized that I was tired.

Time can do that, you know. It can leave you in its past, without you even knowing. Then, when you finally catch up to it, you realize just what it has done and that you have no recollection of all things thing you’ve let pass you by. What a sneaky thing it is, time. Then, there are other days when the loneliness weighs down heavily on your shoulders, and you wish that time would hurry up and skip ahead, so you could finally be out of that feeling, but time has its own mind, and of course it doesn’t listen. Such a sneaky thing. I’m sure you know just what I mean, especially now.

I realized the darkness had set in, now that I was awake, the sun completely hidden by the moon. There was nothing to focus on, nothing to distract me, and suddenly the darkness seemed thick and dense and endless, and I was scared of being alone there, by the lake.

I have been coming to the lake for so long; I could probably run through those woods with my eyes closed. I sprinted, just staring at the darkness as I ran into it, as if I could break through it, if I ran fast enough. The low, thin branches clawed at my face, but I pushed them away, and kept running. I could hear myself breathing loudly and inconsistently, and I tried to steady my breathing with the sounds of my footsteps, but I was running so quickly, so mindlessly, that my feet slapped the ground heavily at random, sporadic intervals, no pattern or consistency. I could feel my throat starting to burn, as if it was trying to stretch open, to let the oxygen enter my body. The muscles in my legs began to ache as well, and feeling it, I pushed harder, trying to outrun it, endure it for a little time as possible, knowing that I could do nothing but let it pass.

Oh, no. I have done it again. I’m writing too much, aren’t I? I’m sorry, love, but who is there to talk to now that you are away? You must be bored out of your mind reading all of these silly letters, endless tails of a girl’s boring, lonely days. Maybe you find some comfort in them, perhaps? Same old me, I guess, rambling on for days about small matters. I know you are laughing at me for this, aren’t you? But you can’t really blame me, can you? Nothing seems so insignificant anymore, now that I realize how much I have to lose; I want to write down everything that happens, so you’ll miss nothing when you come back.

Please hurry,

Me

Little One

To a beautiful, precious, unborn child, from the bottom of my heart,

We will not meet for many more years, but I feel as though you are already part of my soul. I think about you often and pray for you everyday, in hopes that you may have a wonderful, blessed life.

When I see children playing outside, or hear a baby crying during Sunday mass, I wonder what you will look like, what you will like to do, what your voice will sound like, what your name will be, and I think about how incredibly excited I am to meet you, little one. I do not know you yet, but I know that you are mine and that you are waiting to come to me.

I hope that you always know that you are loved… by me, by your family, and most of all, by your creator. I hope you will grow to know God’s love and to feel Him in everything you do. I hope your faith will always give you everything you need.

I hope that you will be happy. I hope that waking up every morning will excite and thrill you, thinking of the wonderful things to come in your life- and there will be many.

I hope that you will learn. I hope that you will have an unquenchable thirst for knowledge and will use your intelligent, wonderful mind as much as you possibly can.

And I hope that, like every child should be, you will be silly! I hope that you will run through the sprinklers on hot summer days. I hope that you will catch snowflakes on your tongue during the winter. I hope that you will laugh until you cry more often that not. I hope that you play in the mud and cover yourself in the icky, brown gunk that is every child’s dream after a long springtime rain. I hope that you will jump in puddles, climb trees, learn to swim and ride a bike. I hope that you have bubble-gum blowing contests. I hope that you will get to eat a hot, gooey chocolate chip cookie, right from the oven. I hope that you will feel a puppy dog’s kiss and hear a kitten’s purr. I hope that you tell silly stories and dress up in funny clothes, put on puppet shows in the living room and play make believe. I hope that your imagination runs wild, baby child. Don’t ever stop dreaming. I hope that you will feel the scratchy whiskers on your grandpa’s face as he tickles you with them when he kisses you. I hope you will know the soft, warm feel of your grandma’s magic hugs. They can cure anything. I hope that you will meet and know and love the many people who have shaped me into the person I have become.

I hope that you will be passionate. Find that thing you love to do, whether you are good at it or not, and never stop doing it. Be passionate about life. Try as many things as you can. Never have regrets.

Please, little one, know how much you are wanted in this world. You are God’s precious gift, His child. Never doubt your purpose or your significance. Know that I love you and will always love you and love you now, while you are still in Heaven, waiting. Know that when I am angry or disappointed, that you are still a wonderful human being and that I only want what’s best for you. Know that I am human too and make mistakes, but that I will try to always do what is best for you. Be true to yourself and always do what is good and what makes you happy. The best thing you can ever be is yourself, just the way you are.

My love, my life, sweet baby mine, welcome to the world.

Mommy

The Boy

Gripping the pencil tightly between his fingers, he presses it against the paper. The lead cracks and crumbles, leaving an ashy trail. His hand glides over the page so gently, and I envy his effortless. Messy gray marks stain the pure white paper. Line after line, movement after movement, each scratch begins to connect. They blend and melt together into brilliance. The world goes on around him, but he does not notice. He does not care.

Determined to stop feeling like a failure, to never see another face disappointed by him, the boy looks up at the chalkboard in front of his English classroom. Lazily, he scribbles down a few notes and begins to work, trying. It never takes more than a few seconds before I notice his eyes wandering about the room. He can not help it. He thinks of other things and other people, and slowly the work on the page becomes his art, once more. It seems as if the page calls his name, and he has no choice but to answer. It is the same everyday, and I watch him.

I watch him let his life blow around in the wind with no direction and no purpose, allowing it to settle wherever it pleases, no care in the world as to where his life is heading. What a shame it is, I think, how he wastes himself away like that on his paper, on a textbook, on a gum wrapper, on the back of his hand. He creates with whatever he has, and his creations scream from the page. They are so loud and force me to stop and look at them. I almost want to talk back to them, to answer them, to reach out and touch them. There are haunted, beautiful faces staring back at me. Sometimes they smile, and sometimes they do not. Sometimes, there is no face at all, only a body and a head ducked down low, hidden. Sometimes, I see creatures and objects and words. I can never help but notice a certain similarity in every picture. I never manage to put my finger on it exactly, as the bodies and movements and faces change from image to image.

There is something about his pictures, as if the same life burns behind every one of them. It is someone I do not know, but I feel as though I am looking through a window into their life. I can see it, especially when there are faces. Yes, I can not help but notice a resemblance in the faces. No matter what or whom I see on that page, it is that same life every time. I see emotion and thought. I see talent and skill. I see wasted brilliance. I watch him live through his pictures, letting reality slowly drift away until there is nothing left but the faces.

When the pictures are about to bounce off of the page with life, the boy sits back and watches them. I wonder what they say to him when he listens like that. Do they tell him a story? Do they make him smile? Are they friends? Do they taunt him? Is that why he is compelled to tell their story day after day? Once their silent conversation is finished, the boy lifts the page and turns it over. He begins to draw a new picture. This picture, however, is different. It is not like the others at all, at least at first. Then again, it may be very much the same.

“Dear James,” he begins. “Sorry for all the sketches on the other side. You know how much I hate English class, and drawing is the only thing to keep my mind awake. I am writing to you now, because you are all I can think about. Even if you never write back to me, I just need to talk to you, even like this.”

The letter starts the same everyday, “Dear James,” and everyday he writes. I catch glimpses and pieces here and there, from my seat behind him. I am too afraid to let him realize that I can see and that I know. I wonder who else knows. I wonder if James has ever read any of the hundreds of letters that this boy writes to him everyday. I wonder if James knows at all.
His secrets are forever rooted into his pictures, and I think that this is what he tells them when they have their silent conversations. They may be the only ones who really know. Until the pictures share his truths, I will just continue to watch every day. I will watch in silence, at the brilliant boy who wastes his life away. I will watch the brilliant boy who has so much to say but keeps it hidden. I will watch the brilliant boy whose only real companions are his drawings. They are the only ones who know.

"Three days had passed, since they found the body..."

Three days had passed since they found the body. I stared at it from across the room. It smelled like death, if there can even be such a scent. The smell was bitter, disgusting, like chemicals and rotten meat, but what can you expect when you have a job like mine? This is strictly professional, I thought to myself, pulling on my latex gloves. I hadn’t told anyone yet, so why shouldn’t it be my job? I was the best, and this case absolutely called for the best.
I took a look towards the stainless steel table, isolated in the middle of the room. I watched my reflection twist and stretch, distorting itself in the curves and corners of the table as I slowly stepped closer to it, and reached my hand out to white sheet, covering the body. My hand shook, terrified of what I would see.

They would notice something was wrong, soon, when the data was due. This shouldn’t have been so hard. It was just like any other day at work; another pathetic soul, another life lost, another cold, dead body waiting for an answer.

But this was different. I already knew what happened that night. I knew exactly where he had been. He had called me only hours before to let me know. I told him not to. I did. I remember, but he did he listen to me? Did he ever listen to me? No, and look where it got him. But I did know. I knew his secret. He had made me swear not to tell. He told me that it would be fine, that he knew exactly what he was doing, and, like always, stupidly, I listened to him, hoping that, this time, he was right.

“You’ll know the rest later, okay? Just don’t say anything yet. Please. Just don’t say anything. This has to be done. You’ll understand later.”

So now I had a few options. I hate having options. I’ve never been good with making decisions, and this decision, particularly, was throwing big red flashing lights my way, screaming at me to get away! But it was too late. I had to do something. I couldn’t just walk away.

Option one: I could lie, pretend I didn’t know him, examine him, announce the cause of death unknown, keep his secret, and let some other unfortunate “expert” try to solve, what I knew was, an unsolvable case. Option two: I could tell them how I knew him, tell them his secret, solve the case, stop the villain, be a hero, and deny his dying wish. Thinking over my two, equally unpleasant options, I forced myself to throw back the sheet, and stare at my brother’s face.

Hell Week

The pressure is on. Only two more weeks before the big night. Tensions are high, adrenaline is flowing, and actors are running on their last nerves. “Take it from the beginning of that scene!” the student director yells again. It’s 7:30 pm and the actors have not been home since they left for school this morning. A loud, thump, is heard throughout the auditorium, as a metal wrench is thrown on the stage. “This is ridiculous,” a skinny blond boy, mutters to himself as he walks offstage. “Places... and… go!”

“Sandy?” The scene starts with the pink ladies and the burger palace boys, enjoying a relaxing time outside of school… or maybe not so relaxing, as tensions between characters rise.” Empathy, you could say, but as rivalries heightened within the play, rivalries between fellow actors rise as well.

A month before, anyone would have killed to have a part in Grease. How could you not? The show tunes are unforgettable. The attitude is immense, and the plot line is classic. Now though, the actors question why they are here. No sleep for the last five days and none to come. This is what is known as hell week. Drama is all fun and games, some might say. It’s being silly, playing, singing and dancing. Why, you pretend to be anyone you want! How hard can it be?
Muscles are aching, voices turned to whispers from the stress of the notes. Dancing and singing, two very challenging skills to learn. Now try them at the same time, while plastering a smile to your face, and, at the same time, stay in character, and avoid thirty other moving bodies whirling around. Wait, don’t step a second out of beat, or the whole company will crash with you. “Until it hurts!” The actors hear this everyday.

“You take back all those nasty things you said about me!” Sandy yells at Danny. One sly comment from Rizzo is enough to break even sweet Sandy, and she lunges on Rizzo’s back, arms and legs waving wildly, yelling and screaming all the while. Rizzo swings her arm back, and…

Pause. Nothing is said for a moment, as Sandy steps back, clutching her face. “Oh, my god!” She yells. No one says anything for a minute. “Wait, is this supposed to happen?” someone whispers. “Oh, my god!!!” she yells again, a little louder. Rizzo runs over to her, the only one sure enough to make a move. “I’m sorry. Oh, my god. I’m sorry, are you ok?” Rizzo says, guilt welling up in her. Sandy, slowly lowers her fingers from her face, and screams when she looks in her hand. “Ew, there’s blood. Oh, my god. There’s so much!” For a second, it’s almost funny hearing her shock, until you look at her face and see the red dripping down her chin and the fear in her eyes.

Sandy is rushed into the bathroom crying, Rizzo finally cracks under the stress and guilt, and the rest of the characters, look around nervously. “What does this mean?” “Is she ok?” “Can she perform?” These questions are asked all around, but no one answers. “Everyone!” the director’s voice booms from the foot of the stage. “Everyone get of the stage. The paramedics are coming, it’s ok. I need everyone to sit still, and be quiet. I mean it.”

It’s funny how one little incident, on top of the stress and tension that is already steaming in everyone can set you off. The actors tell each other how the whole play will have to be canceled, how Sandy will not be able to act for the rest of the play, how she was rushed to the emergency room. Fears and tears fill the room. It’s too much. It may be a little silly if you are on the outside looking in, but from the inside… this is hell week.

The actors sit in the audience; some get the sleep they have so desperately needed. Some eat their first meal all day. Some just vent from all the pressure, whether it’s yelling or crying or a mixture of both. They sit there, waiting, unsure of what will happen, and too afraid to ask. Will the play continue? Will Sandy make her grand entrance a week from now? Will they ever get their cheers and claps, they have worked to hard to achieve. All of a sudden, “taking it from the top” doesn’t seem so bad, anymore.

Anne's graduation letter

Anne,

Do you remember the first time that we met? We always attribute our trio coming together to the day when I was stung by the bee, but I know that we had all seen each other before then. I guess, we must have been about five, and it must have been in the neighborhood at some event or another, but I can't remember specifically the day the two of you entered my life. It's like you were always there.

Anne, you and I did not start off so well. I was extremely shy and quiet. You were extremely confident and loud. I told my mom that I couldn't play with you, because you talked too much, and you were too bossy. Honestly, you terrified me. It's funny to think of that, though, now, because so much of who I am indirectly comes from you. I listen to myself talking sometimes, and I can see you in so much of what I say the gestures I make. "I mean, basically..."

Sarah and I had our fall-outs too, if you remember. For several years, Sarah and I endured a very tense love/hate relationship, because both of us wanted to be your best friend... as if there was no greater accomplishment than to be your number one.

Eventually, our personalities balanced out as some of your weirdness rubbed off onto me, and Sarah and I learned how to share a best friend. The three of us were inseparable. My family began to casually refer to us as the Purple Raindrops, and we became slightly less popular with the neighbors for invading their personal space with our pond-clean-up club; however, I am sure that they were very fond of the sticks we sold to them- at very reasonable prices, I might add.

Without each other, we may have never discovered some of our more creative abilities, such as song-writing, play-writing, singing, dancing, and acting. Seriously... do you think you would be a nursing major, if not for our bug-rescue program? How could I have discovered my passion for writing, without the incredible novels, such as Lost and Found? Sarah could have never gotten into VCU arts, if we hadn't gotten practice from selling our masterpieces to the nice ladies driving by our house. And how about our incredibly normal and not awkward social skills? How would we have ever learned to accept diversity without being abused slaves in colonial times? Don't forget being psychiatrist during Barbie soap-opera hour, socializing with elves and fairies, and practicing our language skills with the very useful dictionary we made up ourselves? We could have never made it!

To be honest, I really don't think we could have. Who else could stay up for hours on the phone with me, while I cried about a boy? Who else would come to Sarah's house, when she had the chicken pox, to put on a puppet show? Who else would pass an apple back and forth among three people, sharing spit and germs and who knows what else, just because it was something to do together?

It's been different, though, in the last few years. High school came, and there were parties, dances, and dating... other things to do and other people to do them with. I had to learn to let you go a little, to let you start to go your own way. I went from being your "number one" to "one of many," and it was hard... but not as hard as it is now, as you prepare for college.

I know how much it would hurt to part with someone so close to me, but I didn't know how to handle it. You may not have realized it yet, but we both dealt with it in the same way. During this last year, our encounters became scattered, planned, less intimate and fun than they had been. We didn't spend hours on the phone anymore, and we didn't rush to tell each other every detail of our days, like we used to. Subconsciously, we both knew that it was much easier to leave your best friend, if you didn't have one... so that's what we made happen.

The connection that two, or three, people form over a lifetime is not something that can be replaced, nor is it something that can ever fade away completely. There is no one in the world who knows me quite like you do, and no one ever will. It is impossible to let someone go when they mean as much as you do to me.

After all these many, many years, you are still my best friend, and I know, now, that you will continue to be, but it is time for me to let you go and move on with your life. This time, though, it doesn't feel so bad. I know you so well, and I believe in you so much. I am lucky to have been able to watch you grow from the silly, quirky little girl you were then, to the beautiful, intelligent, sophisticated woman that you are now. You were meant for great things, Anne. I have always known that, and I am so excited to see what you will do with the many, many gifts God has blessed you with. There is no doubt in my mind that, whatever path you chose to take, will be fantastic!

Annie, our lives are turning out a little differently than we had planned. I don't think we are moving to Africa. I have no desire to move into Sarah's garage with the homeless men off of Forest Hill, and I'd rather not have a one-night-stand with a delivery boy. It doesn't look like we'll marry brothers or have a triple wedding. Our kids probably won't be the same ages; it may be a little weird if they all marry each other, and I hope to God that we don't become the crazy old ladies who make bird calls and wind up in other people's yards. We're still not famous; I doubt you'll have twenty kids, and living 200 + years is going to be tricky... but hey, with the three of us, anything is possible.

One thing is for certain, though... best friends forever.

I love you... Happy Moving Day

Mary Christine Searls 8/27/09

The Choice

another short story attempt. sophomore year of high school
 
 It was a cool, spring evening, as Ava hurried downstairs to answer the doorbell. “Hey, baby. You ready?” Connor asked her as she let him in. “Yeah, I think so,” she said. He leaned towards her to give her a “hello” kiss. He looked stunning, as always; too perfect to be true. Blue eyes, thick wavy, brown hair, tan swimmer’s body… perfection. Sometimes she wondered why he had chosen her. With her untamable, curly hair, full figure, freckles across her nose and cheeks, she was far from perfect, she thought. Connor smiled at her as she considered their differences, oblivious to what she thought. “You’ll have fun with the girls tonight, and it’ll be good to get all the last details in early; don’t you think? The big day’s coming up pretty quickly. Can you believe it?!” he said wrapping his arm around her and pulling her in close, kissing the side of her head as he did so. Ava shook her head, “No, I can’t.” Connor kissed her cheek and led her out towards his car, parked next to the curb, on the side of the street.

As they came down the white, wooden stairs of her front porch, Ava stopped and grabbed Connor’s hand, quickly. “Look!” she said excitedly. She was pointing to the robin’s nest sitting in the little holly bush in front of her house. “The birds! They’re gone!”

“No, I think there’s one left. See him, there?” Connor said, pointing to one, little robin alone in the nest.

Ava’s smile faded. “Why didn’t he fly away with the rest of them? What’s wrong with him?” she asked, anxiously.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Connor said, walking to his car without a second glance.

There had been three of them, and she had watched them, curiously, in their nest, every day. Now, there was just the one, unable to be on his own… too young and small to fly away like he was supposed to, or, perhaps, just too afraid.

Her thoughts were distracted when she heard Connor’s voice reminding her that they would be late, if she did not hurry up. The ignition was already running and ready to go. Ava shook the birds from her mind and nestled herself into the front seat next to Connor. She sat, quietly, until the car eventually stopped in front of an enormous, brick building. Almost out of habit, she leaned over and kissed Connor before leaving. “Bye, baby,” he said. She gave him a smile and pushed the door open.

Ava stepped out of the car, her bare feet touching the rough, cool sidewalk with a thick, beige garment bag, which contained her wedding dress, slung carelessly over her shoulder, and her shoes, white strappy heels, hooked over her thumb in her other hand. She proceeded up the sidewalk, closing her eyes and breathing in the fresh springtime air. A brisk breeze blew past her, lifting her veil, already carefully pinned into place, up around her head. She smiled, smoothing it back down, realizing how silly she must look in her sweatpants, bunching loosely around her legs, paired with her white, laced veil secured around her auburn curls. The veil was thin and delicate-looking. It had been her mother’s, and she remembered the unmistakable pride she had seen in her mother’s eyes when she had put it on for the first time. Hayden clung to that feeling of satisfaction. Maybe she was doing the right thing, after all.

At the end of the sidewalk, she faced an old, thick, wooden door. On it was a heavy brass handle that stuck a little when she turned it. The door creaked as she pushed it open with her shoulder. The women, huddled together inside, all turned and ran towards her, embracing her. Their faces were flushed and excited, and they giggled, clinking their champagne glasses together. She didn’t want to be here in the first place, honestly. There was still a short while before her wedding day, but her friends, living vicariously through her “perfect romance,” wanted to make sure everything went smoothly. No, more than smoothly. They would make sure everything was perfect.

Matching bridesmaid dresses, invitations with expensive tissue paper and lace around the edges, table cloths to match the flowers, continuous trials of hair and makeup… it seemed kind of over-done; all that work for just one day of your life. She could not think of a single detail that had not been checked at least twice already, and here she was in full hair and makeup, two weeks before her wedding.

Unzipping the bag that was still draped over her shoulder, Ava revealed a beautiful white dress, which had been breathtaking when she had tried it on. The halter clipped together at the back of her neck complimenting the v-cut neckline which. The bodice was fitted around her torso, which contrasted perfectly with the skirt that swelled out around her legs and fell gracefully down to the floor, trailing behind her in a long train. It really was stunning, she had to admit. The women let the material slide through their fingers, sighing with envy.

After a while, Ava slipped away, through another set of huge, wooden door. Standing alone, she flicked the light switch just to the right of the door, and the church filled with light, revealing at least ten rows of worn, wooden pews. Slowly walking down the aisle, to the wooden cross which stood in front of the altar, she began to picture herself in that dress, walking arm in arm with her father, to the man with whom she would spend the rest of her life. Smiling, he would take her hand to lead her the rest of the way. “Till death do us part.”

She had been dating Connor for about a year when they became engaged, and it bad been a good year, for the most part. Connor was sweet to her. He was the perfect gentlemen, opening doors, always complementing her, picking out the perfect gifts for all the right occasions. He was handsome, funny, charismatic, had a stable job at his father’s successful landscaping company, and had been a hit with her family from the start. He really loved her, which was something that Ava held onto with everything she had.

Connor was predictable. So by-the-book about romance. Ava had learned to accept the predictability and routine that was so unlike her spontaneous, passionate personality. She liked Connor of course she did. Maybe, she even loved him… These thoughts, she shook out of her head as quickly as they came in. She loved him; she knew she did.

Ava had always been a free spirit, a stubborn girl with big hopes, never settling for anything less than what she could dream up. She had had plans of becoming a world-famous photographer, traveling globe for National Geographic, living from place to place, always on the move, doing something unforgettable, but things had changed. She had grown up. She knew that her new life would keep her here…with Connor

The reason for the way things were, the cause of it all, she remembered too well. He had picked her up, annoyingly on time, as always, and had taken her to the Hilton Hotel in Pittsburgh, where they both lived.

“Come with me for a minute. I need to show you something,” Connor said to her. She allowed him to weave his fingers into hers and lead her out of the dinning hall, where they had just finished their dinner. She was wearing her little, strapless, black dress. The dress complimented her figure, hugging her in all the right places, showing off her full and curvy body. She loved the way she looked in the dress, which was unusual.

Ava stood up from the table, taking Connor’s hand, and squeezed it tightly, feeling the excitement of the moment, surprised at how much she was enjoying herself with Connor. The suspense was building up, as he led her through the dinning room and out of the lobby.

“Okay,” Connor said, “Close your eyes.”

“Why? What is it?” she pleaded, wide-eyed and child-like.

Connor laughed. “You’ll see!” I promise. It’s all worth it. Just close your eyes.”

She did so, and he kissed her forehead, taking her hand again. Ava heard him take in a deep breath as he opened a door and led her through it, her eyes shut tightly. She could hear voices hovering in the air around her in tiny whispers.

“Ava?” came Connor’s voice, softer now.

“Yes?” she said in a high, girlish voice, drawing out every letter.

“Open your eyes.”

She looked around and caught her breath when she saw the faces starting back at her, smiling. All were absolutely beaming, so aware of what was happening, so excited, and so honored to play a part in it. She saw her parents first, standing in front of her. Her mother’s eyes welled up with tears as her smile spread from ear to ear. Her mother gave her a small, encouraging wave and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. Hayden’s attention snapped back to Connor as she realized what this all must mean.

“Connor, what-”

Connor knelt down on the floor in front of her, suave and confident. He lifted his steady hands up to reveal a small, black, velvet box, which, when he opened it, displayed the most dazzling diamond secured on a delicate looking white-gold band.

“Connor…” she started, taking a step back.

“Ava Elizabeth Collins,” he began, looking into her eyes.

“Connor. I-”

“I love you with all my heart.”

“Please! Please, Connor,” she whispered desperately.

“Will you marry me? Make me happiest man on earth?”

Her eyes stung with the tears she fought to hold back, and her throat caught on the words she tried so frantically to get out. Her bright, sapphire eyes, darkened with fear and anticipation as she met the gaze of those she loved, watching, waiting for a reply. She looked at her mother, and silently begged her for an answer, pleading for the right choice to be handed to her. The seconds stretched on, and the faces staring back at her shifted uncomfortably. Ava turned back towards Connor, hanging a painful smile on her face. “Of course,” she pronounced loud enough for everyone to hear.

Immediately, a flash of white, waving about in one the corners of the room, caught her attention. Ava could just make out the shape of a little bird cowering in the corner, trying to escape. It had flown in, looking for a safe place to go, but now it flinched in fear as the waiters came at it, waiving their white dishtowels and shooing it away. Ava watched as the waiters waved the white towels around, and she thought of a wedding veil. She watched as the veil frightened the little bird until it finally got its bearings and flew out the door without a second glance at what it had left behind.

Applause broke out with cheers and whistles. It Connor took her face in both hands and kissed her hard, but she could not understand why, at that moment, it wasn’t his face that came to mind when she closed her eyes, kissing him back. Instead, her mind drifted far away to faces she had once known so well. They had come and gone like so many others; successes and failures all leading to this.

Scrambling through the front door, arms full of brown, paper grocery bags, Ava hit the flashing red button on her answering machine as she stumbled into the kitchen. She set the heavy bags down on the counter and began unpacking them as she listened to the message. She recognized the voice as her mother’s.

“Ava?” Pause. “Hayden, honey, it’s Mom. Pick up.” There was another brief pause. “Okay, well I guess you already left with Connor for tonight. Well, I just wanted to say that I am getting ready to leave for the airport with your dad. We won’t be getting in until late tonight, and we’ll rent a car to your place, so don’t worry about coming to get us. You just have a good time, and really enjoy yourself tonight, Hun. Okay? You deserve that. It’s only a couple days before the wedding! This is it, sweetie. Your life will never be the same. You will never be the same. You’re going down a whole new road, now. I am so, so proud of you. I can’t even being to tell you. This is such a huge step. You should be so happy. You have made me the happiest mother alive. Well, this message is a little long, so I will sign off here. I love you, and thank you for making me so proud. Bye, sweetie.”

Ava’s stomach sank as the message clicked off. “Your life will never be the same. You will never be the same.” The words replayed in her head. “I am so, so proud of you.”

Ava looked out the window, where the robin’s nest still sat in the holly bush. Her heart stopped, and her breath caught in her chest. She scanned the bush and looked on the ground, but there was no mistaking it. She stood, motionless, staring into the empty nest. The last little bird had finally flown away. He was gone. He had done it.

“You should be so happy,” her mother had said. Ava’s heavy heart felt like a weight in her chest. Her mind spun in circles. She let the tears flow carelessly and abundantly, without thinking of stopping them. Great, hysteric, sobs shook her body, violently, and the tears continued to rain down her face, staining her cheeks. Ava fumbled through the messes on her desk in the corner, knocking books and papers over as she did so. Her vision was blurred from her tears, and her eyes stung, but she continued searching until she found a pen and paper. Ava wrote down the only words she could think of, hoping that, in some way, it would be enough, at least for the time being. She would never forgive herself for doing this, but she would never be able to live with herself if she didn’t. She left the note on the door, where Connor would find it in a matter of hours, so unaware and unsuspecting. “The last bird has flown away,” and she walked out the door, alone.