i havent said these words in a while, but i love my life. and hey, i had good reason not to when you consider that whole......business. but its all over now. and i love my life. and you know what else? i love my friends. god my eighth grade friends are amazing. christine, kat, erin, sierra, olivia, all you guys are amazing i love you guys are amazing. to amazing for words. christine, i especially never would have gotten through any of this without you, my best friend, my sister from another mister. and you know what else i love? my boyfriend. i love being around him i love being with him i love thinking about him and i realize you can love someone without being in love with them.
we had our last marching band competition on the seventh of november. it was in auburn. the veterines day one. apparently the largest veterin's day celebration this side of the mississippi. it rained. a lot. but hey, we placed 3rd in the parade which is soooo much better than like almost last place the year before (which was before i was at BHS but whatever) soyeahh rocks for us. the bus ride home was awesome cause we didnt even leave until like 10:30pm and we didnt get back to bainbridge until 12:3o it was awesome there was major cuddling between me and brad on the dark two-hour-long ride home. we kinda fell asleep on each other haha.
my birthday was several weeks ago, as you probably know. the tenth of november. november 10th. thats mah birthday. my facebook page was entirely full of "happy birthday!"s from everyone. there were so many that some got moved to the "earlier posts" thing and got bumped off the viewing page. i was overwhelmed.
god i love starbucks. i love it so much. i love pumpkin spice lattes. im the reason they ran out of the pumkin spice syrup. they seriously did. theres only one starbucks on this whole freaking island and its in safeway and i drank them out of the pumpkin spice syrup. the PSlattes are, as Delaney puts it, "heavenly". shes totally right. i was nearly in tears when i went in there on the morning of my birthday before school and ordered a grande pumpkin spice latte with whip and the lady told me they were all out of the syrup and i was like AUGH TEARS OF SADNESSSSS D: but yeahh its all better now cuase ive been guzzling down peppermint mochas every morning in my first period. and then i have to go through withdrawal on the weekends and im suffering massive headaches and then theres days when im in too much of a hurry to stop by safeway (even though its right across the street from the high school) and i have a headache for the whole day it SUCKS going every day with coffee and skipping a day and suffering and wanting to kill everyone cause your head hurts so much i swear its like being hungover (cause i toootally know what thats like ahahahahano.). anyways.
so i felt like i should...i dunno....update this thing. so here i am. updating it. yay its up-to-date again.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Just "Hey."
He took a lock of her dark hair and twirled it. Around and around his fingertip it went, like churning melted dark chocolate. He used to do that with my hair. He took her hand in his free hand, their fingertips intertwining, delicately woven and yet strong in that it seemed they would never part. I remember those same fingers tracing the line of my jaw as he pulled me in for our first kiss. Youth is so sweet and innocent when you’re in love. Across the open grass of the breezeway between the buildings of our high school campus, he ate up her eyes with his own, no doubt reciting the sincerity of his own feelings for her. When were alone or in public, it didn’t matter, he would always feel it necessary to inform me of how beautiful I looked every thirty seconds. He is probably the only boy who will ever say these things about me. It wouldn’t make a difference what I was wearing- T-shirt and jeans were usually the case- he’d tell me I was the best looking girl in the school. We slow danced in the commons of our old middle school after the 8th grade banquet, all dressed up, no music, all the lights on, teachers and parents tearing down all the decorations…we didn’t need music. We didn’t need a dark and crowded room full of sweaty jumping teenagers. We had each other.
"You’re perfect," he had said. "You look beautiful tonight. You always look beautiful."
His warm embrace was so safe, so comfortable, so familiar…. The longest relationship I had ever had. The girl who had asked him to the banquet- the girl he turned down because he wanted to go with me- leaned into that embrace, turning onto molasses in his arms.
My new boyfriend came up the hill from the bus-drop off and stood next to me.
"Hey," he said to me. That’s all he said. That’s all he ever says. Just "Hey."
"You’re perfect," he had said. "You look beautiful tonight. You always look beautiful."
His warm embrace was so safe, so comfortable, so familiar…. The longest relationship I had ever had. The girl who had asked him to the banquet- the girl he turned down because he wanted to go with me- leaned into that embrace, turning onto molasses in his arms.
My new boyfriend came up the hill from the bus-drop off and stood next to me.
"Hey," he said to me. That’s all he said. That’s all he ever says. Just "Hey."
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
fjdklagju8946789526yg89fd
boys are so complicated. tehy piss me off. they make no sense. they just and then you and its all like and then im like but nooooooo i cant so then they go like that but you cant listen to them because they make no sense when they do the opposite of what they say and then AUGHHHHH it pisses me off im going to go watch destination truth now.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Chapter One
here's the first chapter of Alpha. its pretty magical.
I tried not to stare too longingly at the couple that frequently dined at the Dancing Nations. The Dancing Nations is pretty much the only authentic fancy restaurant in town. It serves food from several European countries as well certain Asian foods. Dining is actually quite a value, if you compare the prices to those of other elegant restaurants outside of town. It’s a major tourist attraction, but that’s mostly thanks to the "Friday Night Dancing" when the guests-and occasionally some of the staff-get to dance on the dance floor to international dance music. The Dancing Nations is where I work-all hours, weekdays, and weekends. Every fourth weekend of the month I get to have off. Not that I do anything special.
That’s me, Alpha Giovelli, Sicilian on my father’s side, Scandinavian on my mother’s side. My father has some distant miniscule Greek background, so my mother insisted my name be "Alpha" after the first letter of the Greek alphabet. I inherited her piercing blue eyes, D cup breasts, pasty-white skin, and work dependency. From my father’s Italian heritage I was granted with frizzy black hair (which I get thinned at the salon), high energy output, and a strong libido. My world is centered around my job and I have hardly any social life (anymore). Not that I’m socially challenged or anything. It’s just that my best friend moved to Paris after two years of college together, on top of high school and four years of grade school (so I left my home in New Jersey and came to Seattle). Plus my dating history is a whole library of a billion-and-one bitter tragedies that Shakespeare himself would die of envy if he read, leaving me emotionally scarred and dripping with trust issues. So yeah, I guess that would make me socially challenged.
And here I am, serving a couple in their forties, who eat here twice a week, and every time I see them its like they’ve fallen in love for the first time, and I’m dying inside. It’s what I’ve always wanted-to find someone who looks at me with undying love. Someone to spend the rest of my life with. But with my longest real relationship lasting nine months, it doesn’t seem extremely likely that I’ll ever get my dream come true. Most of it’s probably my fault, though. The truth is, most of the guys of dated are really nice, respectable, handsome gentlemen. The problem is just that I’m not looking for that kind of guy because I’m a superficial jerk, so I’ll push him away, even if we have something great going. Even if I start to feel it might be that dream come true, some stupid, relentless voice in the back of my head screams, "He’s nothing like what you want! How can you be truly happy if he’s not Prince Charming?" And it won’t shut up and I end up trying to find some fault in him and then my trust issues start running the show and before I know it, I’m all alone again.
Although, sometimes they’ll tell me I’m too obsessed with work and never have enough time for them between shifts, sleeping, and my "mysterious"-as a few put it-out of town business runs. I’ve only been working full-time at the Dancing Nations for eight months now.
"Hello?" Mr. McMillen said. "Are you okay?" I blinked back from my subconscious, longing gaze and took their orders.
"Alpha," someone said as I was walking back to the kitchen to hand in the orders.
It was Dennis Collins, looking his usual dashing self in the black suit pants, white button-up shirt and black bow-tie uniform that all staff members are required to wear-with the exception of the chefs. Okay, sure, Dennis is no superman, or the rugged Prince Charming of my dreams that drives a wedge between me and long-term relationships, but something about him is just naturally attractive. Like he has this ora that constantly drew me to him like a moth to a porch light. I guess I was the one he had this affect on because every time I check he’s single. "Looking for the right girl," he’d always say. I was never sure if this was some sort hint, or if he was just stating his view on the matter. Either way I wasn’t about attempt to pursue a romantic relationship with him.
"Hmm?" I was trying exceptionally hard-as usual-not to flirt like crazy with him, which is rather difficult because all I wanted to do was jump on him and lick his face. Must be new cologne.
"Can you do me a teeny tiny favor?" A few pieces of his bangs stuck to his sweaty forehead. Something about the way his golden, shaggy hair shimmered under the florescent lights made me want to say "I’ll do anything you want me to."
Thankfully I just said "Sure" instead.
He took me by the arm and pulled my face close to his. Just what I needed. Not. "Air conditioning," he breathed heavily. Come to think of it, it was awfully hot in the place. But I just thought that was because I was around Dennis.
I guess the truth would be that I’ve had a thing for Dennis ever since I took the job here. Which is very unusual for me. It’s just that when I’m talking to Dennis there’s no little voice screaming at me. Except, of course, for the voice of Libido, telling me to make sweet love to him on the spot.
I scurried off to find the thermostat. I upped the A.C. and headed to the kitchen to deliver the McMillans’ orders. Chicken Chou mien for Mr. McMillan and spaghetti and meatballs for the Misses. When I was back a distance I couldn’t help but gaze at them some more. It was unbelievable how much they loved each other. 25 years old and I had no hope of a solid relationship. Every time I come close to getting what I really want, something (usually myself) comes and screws everything up.
Finishing up work was a piece of cake compared to finding my car keys, but they finally turned up. In the ignition At least I didn’t lock it. It’s not like anyone would want to steal the beat up piece of junk. I own a dune buggy that’s practically falling apart. Its covered in dirt, sand, clay and grass and has tree branches and seaweed hanging off of the bumpers and the grill and the hubcaps, not to mention the bushes and branches stuck in the hood. The thing hardly runs, but I can’t bring myself to sell it. Not that it would be worth much. And I can’t really afford anything better. I’m just addicted to being behind the wheel of that all-terrain vehicle.
Rocky was on the couch waiting for me the second I walked through the door of my cosy little duplex. Rocky is my four-month-old dachshund-Chihuahua mix and only barks when he knows I’m parking my car and about to come in. Although, everybody assures me that’s going to change one he gets older. I’m not quite sure how Mrs. Robinson, the insane senile woman in the other half of the duplex, is going to like that.
"Come here, Rocky!" I chimed as my tote and jacket fell to the floor by the wall. Rocky leapt off the couch to the left of the room and jumped up and down at my feet, eyes wide, jaw slightly opened. I bent over and picked up him up. Hugging him tight to my chest, I stroked his black-and-brown dappled fur, still puppy soft. Rocky’s eyes were like blue whirlpools, incased in sliver lining, surrounded by shining, metallic-grey irises. I often wondered if they would change as he got older. Bending over again, I let him hop out of my arms onto the floor.
"What shall we have for dinner tonight, Rocky?" I stepped forward into the kitchen and opened one of the cabinet doors, only to be left a little downhearted. "Looks like lucky charms again." I sighed. I really needed to get some Ramen. "What flavor of Ramen should I stock up on next Safeway raid?" I turned to Rocky who sat on the wood floor and cocked his head. "Chicken it is," I agreed.
As I was pouring the cereal into a bowl, I felt hands on my waist and nearly jumped out of my skin. I whipped around to face an old colleague. Every time I saw him (which was usually at my apartment) I was reminded of a past that I try so hard to forget.
"You." I narrowed my eyes at him. His hands were still around my waist.
"Hey, Babe," he said slyly, a slight grin playing on his lips. Okay, so he was (and still is) more than a colleague. But he was a colleague.
"How do you keep getting into my house without me hearing it?" Easy answer. He’d gotten here before I had and used my spare key under the doormat. "And why do you keep coming back? You know my answer’s still no."
"We need you back, kid."
"That’s what you said last time. And the time before that. And the time before that. And the time before that."
Jo chuckled. "It’s true. We do."
"Are you sure it’s not just you, Jo?"
"There’s a difference between what we want and what I want." He moved his body closer to mine.
I knew what Jo wanted, and what Jo wanted was to continue with our love life. I’d sort of been in an on/off relationship with him back at the agency, and when I left I tried to put an end to it, but he told me it was far from over, and boy was he right. Neither of us wanted the sex to end. Every month or so I could expect him to be here, waiting for me. The routine was simple: he told me the agency wanted me back, I told him to tell them to don’t count on it, we made love like crazy animals.
"So, why should I agree to come back this time?"
"Snake’s back. He killed Callahan."
My blood went cold. "Jack? He killed Jack?"
"Come back to us."
I weighed my options. Before I became a full time waitress at the Dancing Nations, I worked for an underground agency called Group 9. Group 9 is an ensemble of the country’s greatest minds and greatest forces, along with some of the world’s most talented personnel. Basically a giant group if skilled and trained professionals working to tackle the stuff that’s too big for the FBI and the CIA, but not entirely necessary for the military to get involved in. Like alien landings, local terrorists, possible rising bigots, etc. Group 9 infiltrates the operation and takes control, eliminating the enemy and restoring things to normal (or as normal as things could get).
Snake is something different altogether. He used to be on our side, but a bolt came lose inside his head and he tried to take over the agency. Callahan tried to get him locked up, but was sadly unsuccessful. His full name is Amadeus Snakes, but he liked to go by Snake, although was never very snakelike. Snake ended up taking a bunch of the agency’s technology developments and swore he’d return and make Callahan sorry he’d tried to put him away. What he really needed was a straightjacket. That’s when I left the agency. I didn’t want to be any part of this guy’s sick revenge. And now Callahan, former Navy Seal, and the head honcho of Group 9, died at the hands of Snake.
"Just because Jack Callahan’s been murdered, it doesn’t mean they need me back. Surely they’ve found a decent replacement by now." I was the weapons handler and sometimes they used me in interrogation. I can be quite intimidating when I want to be.
"He gave up. Said something about how you’d have to be a lunatic to work for Group 9. He was just a trainee anyway." Jo moved his hands from my waist, up my back, along my shoulder blades and rested them on top of my shoulders. It was all I could do to keep from melting.
Jo is the stereotype in every woman’s fantasy. Perfectly tanned skin, dark brown hair that sometimes fell in front of his eyes, and the muscles of a former Lieutenant. Used to command a military base in Boston. I’d place him around 6’4" and at the most 31 years old. I’m 25 so I find it highly unlikely that he had accomplished all that military training and commanding and only be 25 years old or younger. 27 or 28 seemed most fitting. In some ways I guess he looks a little but like Jesse from Full House. Same hair, anyway (when Jesse’s hair was shorter)
Jo slowly let his hands slide down from my shoulders to rest on my collarbone. I was backed up against the kitchen counter. He moved his hands back up to my shoulders and our torsos met. He put his face close to mine and for a moment I thought he was going to kiss me. I won’t deny it. Jo is Prince Charming. But a real relationship with Prince Charming is nearly impossible due to his highness’s inevitable ability to disappear for ling periods of time, and I get the distinct feeling he has as little a desire to commit as I do. But he’s still the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
Unfortunately, instead of kissing me like I wanted him to so badly, he moved his head to the side so his mouth was at my ear. Our cheeks were touching, at least, which was nice.
"I brought you something," he whispered, the heat of his breath tickling my ear. He removed a hand from my shoulder and pulled something out the back of his pants. For a moment I was worried. "Close your eyes."
When it was Jo talking, it was best to do what he said. He took one of my hands in his and placed a very familiar-and heavy-metal object in it and took a step back so I could examine it. A rush of excitement swept over me as I looked down at the .44 magnum I held in my hand that I had named "Clark".
He just looks like a Clark, is all. Holding Clark felt as natural to me as breathing. I stuck my arm straight out and aimed the gun at Jo, who didn’t look the least but frantic. In fact I thought I detected a smile behind his lips. Gazing intently at Clark, I cocked my head.
"You’ve taken good care of Clark," I said to Jo, still looking at the gun, my voice sounding far off. "Thank you." I’d put Clark in the protective hands of Jo when I left the agency.
I dropped my arm and placed Clark in the back of the waist of my jeans. "I’ll call Dennis and have him watch Rocky." I saw Jo give into a grin. "What’ll I tell Peterson?" Mr. Peterson is my boss. He founded the Dancing Nations and had to be at least fifty.
"We’ll handle it," Jo assured me.
"This is only temporary." Not that Jo was an idiot or anything-he’s really quite brilliant-I just had to be sure he understood that I was only coming back to get Snake and kick his butt.
"I know, kid."
Once I called Dennis (told him I was going on vacation) and had my black tote full of snacks, it was time to say goodbye to Rocky, which I was sure would not be easy. He knew I was leaving so he sat on the red rug in front of the door and looked up at me with big, sad eyes. I picked him up and held him close, nuzzling his face with my forehead.
"I am going to miss you so much, you know that?" I bit down on my lip and turned to Jo. "I can’t do it. He’s just a baby. He needs me!" I probably need him a lot more than he needs me. However, mutual dependency compensates for a tiny bit of my fear of commitment.
"We’ll take my car," Jo said opening the door. There’s a look that Jo uses to persuade people and intimidate them. He uses it in interrogation a lot, too, I’ve noticed. It was the look he gave me now, and believe me, it works.
I walked over and set Rocky down on the couch, but not before giving him a kiss on the forehead and rubbing noses first.
Jo’s car was provided by the agency, of course, but there was no doubt that it belonged to him. A black Dodge Ram with a white 9 just above the bumper on the back of the bed, and under the window on each door. The 9’s were small, so they didn’t detract from the fierceness of the vehicle. Jo got in the driver’s side and as I locked the door to my apartment, Mrs. Ferguson stuck her head out the window. "That’s one slick ride you got there, dear!" she called over to me, a tad bit louder than she really needed to.
"Thanks, Lilo," I hollered back.
Dennis pulled up in the vintage blue Volkswagen Bug that his grandmother left him. It was just like him to have the top down at 9:30pm on a chilly February night in Seattle.
"If I’d known you’d get here so quick I would have brought Rocky outside with me," I sad to Dennis as he made his way to the door. "Here, I’ll just open it back up." I put my key in the hole in the doorknob and turned it.
"Is it just me, or is your face stinging and burning, too?" he joked.
"I thought you learned your lesson last week!" I said, opening the door. "It’s too cold to drive around with the top down!"
"It’s not my fault, honest! It kind of just…got stuck like that…"
I laughed and let him in, trying not to look at Rocky because if I did it would keep Jo waiting until he came in and dragged me out by the feet. Which is probably something he would actually do.
"Dog food and sloppy, hand-written feeding and care directions are there by the couch," I said. "Now I really gotta run, but don’t forget to lock up. You know where the spare is, let yourself in if you need anything else for Rocky." Before I could blink I was in the Ram next to Jo.
"So, you’re cheating on me with Captain Blond?" Jo asked, grinning.
"For the last time, you and I are not a couple."
"So you are seeing him."
"I didn’t say that."
"You didn’t deny it."
We pulled up to a red light and stopped as cars passed in front of us. I let out a frustrated sigh. "I am not dating either of you."
"So to you, having frequent sex with the same person and spending hours a day thinking about them, does not count as dating. I suppose that makes sense."
I hated the level of sarcasm in his voice. He knew he was agitating me, and, boy, did he enjoy it. "I thought we didn’t want emotional ties anymore?"
"So, then, it’s settled. Neither of us want to date."
Well, alright then. That was confusing. I didn’t bother asking him if we could still have sex. It didn’t seem right to ask a question like that. Besides, knowing Jo, the answer would be yes.
I tried not to stare too longingly at the couple that frequently dined at the Dancing Nations. The Dancing Nations is pretty much the only authentic fancy restaurant in town. It serves food from several European countries as well certain Asian foods. Dining is actually quite a value, if you compare the prices to those of other elegant restaurants outside of town. It’s a major tourist attraction, but that’s mostly thanks to the "Friday Night Dancing" when the guests-and occasionally some of the staff-get to dance on the dance floor to international dance music. The Dancing Nations is where I work-all hours, weekdays, and weekends. Every fourth weekend of the month I get to have off. Not that I do anything special.
That’s me, Alpha Giovelli, Sicilian on my father’s side, Scandinavian on my mother’s side. My father has some distant miniscule Greek background, so my mother insisted my name be "Alpha" after the first letter of the Greek alphabet. I inherited her piercing blue eyes, D cup breasts, pasty-white skin, and work dependency. From my father’s Italian heritage I was granted with frizzy black hair (which I get thinned at the salon), high energy output, and a strong libido. My world is centered around my job and I have hardly any social life (anymore). Not that I’m socially challenged or anything. It’s just that my best friend moved to Paris after two years of college together, on top of high school and four years of grade school (so I left my home in New Jersey and came to Seattle). Plus my dating history is a whole library of a billion-and-one bitter tragedies that Shakespeare himself would die of envy if he read, leaving me emotionally scarred and dripping with trust issues. So yeah, I guess that would make me socially challenged.
And here I am, serving a couple in their forties, who eat here twice a week, and every time I see them its like they’ve fallen in love for the first time, and I’m dying inside. It’s what I’ve always wanted-to find someone who looks at me with undying love. Someone to spend the rest of my life with. But with my longest real relationship lasting nine months, it doesn’t seem extremely likely that I’ll ever get my dream come true. Most of it’s probably my fault, though. The truth is, most of the guys of dated are really nice, respectable, handsome gentlemen. The problem is just that I’m not looking for that kind of guy because I’m a superficial jerk, so I’ll push him away, even if we have something great going. Even if I start to feel it might be that dream come true, some stupid, relentless voice in the back of my head screams, "He’s nothing like what you want! How can you be truly happy if he’s not Prince Charming?" And it won’t shut up and I end up trying to find some fault in him and then my trust issues start running the show and before I know it, I’m all alone again.
Although, sometimes they’ll tell me I’m too obsessed with work and never have enough time for them between shifts, sleeping, and my "mysterious"-as a few put it-out of town business runs. I’ve only been working full-time at the Dancing Nations for eight months now.
"Hello?" Mr. McMillen said. "Are you okay?" I blinked back from my subconscious, longing gaze and took their orders.
"Alpha," someone said as I was walking back to the kitchen to hand in the orders.
It was Dennis Collins, looking his usual dashing self in the black suit pants, white button-up shirt and black bow-tie uniform that all staff members are required to wear-with the exception of the chefs. Okay, sure, Dennis is no superman, or the rugged Prince Charming of my dreams that drives a wedge between me and long-term relationships, but something about him is just naturally attractive. Like he has this ora that constantly drew me to him like a moth to a porch light. I guess I was the one he had this affect on because every time I check he’s single. "Looking for the right girl," he’d always say. I was never sure if this was some sort hint, or if he was just stating his view on the matter. Either way I wasn’t about attempt to pursue a romantic relationship with him.
"Hmm?" I was trying exceptionally hard-as usual-not to flirt like crazy with him, which is rather difficult because all I wanted to do was jump on him and lick his face. Must be new cologne.
"Can you do me a teeny tiny favor?" A few pieces of his bangs stuck to his sweaty forehead. Something about the way his golden, shaggy hair shimmered under the florescent lights made me want to say "I’ll do anything you want me to."
Thankfully I just said "Sure" instead.
He took me by the arm and pulled my face close to his. Just what I needed. Not. "Air conditioning," he breathed heavily. Come to think of it, it was awfully hot in the place. But I just thought that was because I was around Dennis.
I guess the truth would be that I’ve had a thing for Dennis ever since I took the job here. Which is very unusual for me. It’s just that when I’m talking to Dennis there’s no little voice screaming at me. Except, of course, for the voice of Libido, telling me to make sweet love to him on the spot.
I scurried off to find the thermostat. I upped the A.C. and headed to the kitchen to deliver the McMillans’ orders. Chicken Chou mien for Mr. McMillan and spaghetti and meatballs for the Misses. When I was back a distance I couldn’t help but gaze at them some more. It was unbelievable how much they loved each other. 25 years old and I had no hope of a solid relationship. Every time I come close to getting what I really want, something (usually myself) comes and screws everything up.
Finishing up work was a piece of cake compared to finding my car keys, but they finally turned up. In the ignition At least I didn’t lock it. It’s not like anyone would want to steal the beat up piece of junk. I own a dune buggy that’s practically falling apart. Its covered in dirt, sand, clay and grass and has tree branches and seaweed hanging off of the bumpers and the grill and the hubcaps, not to mention the bushes and branches stuck in the hood. The thing hardly runs, but I can’t bring myself to sell it. Not that it would be worth much. And I can’t really afford anything better. I’m just addicted to being behind the wheel of that all-terrain vehicle.
Rocky was on the couch waiting for me the second I walked through the door of my cosy little duplex. Rocky is my four-month-old dachshund-Chihuahua mix and only barks when he knows I’m parking my car and about to come in. Although, everybody assures me that’s going to change one he gets older. I’m not quite sure how Mrs. Robinson, the insane senile woman in the other half of the duplex, is going to like that.
"Come here, Rocky!" I chimed as my tote and jacket fell to the floor by the wall. Rocky leapt off the couch to the left of the room and jumped up and down at my feet, eyes wide, jaw slightly opened. I bent over and picked up him up. Hugging him tight to my chest, I stroked his black-and-brown dappled fur, still puppy soft. Rocky’s eyes were like blue whirlpools, incased in sliver lining, surrounded by shining, metallic-grey irises. I often wondered if they would change as he got older. Bending over again, I let him hop out of my arms onto the floor.
"What shall we have for dinner tonight, Rocky?" I stepped forward into the kitchen and opened one of the cabinet doors, only to be left a little downhearted. "Looks like lucky charms again." I sighed. I really needed to get some Ramen. "What flavor of Ramen should I stock up on next Safeway raid?" I turned to Rocky who sat on the wood floor and cocked his head. "Chicken it is," I agreed.
As I was pouring the cereal into a bowl, I felt hands on my waist and nearly jumped out of my skin. I whipped around to face an old colleague. Every time I saw him (which was usually at my apartment) I was reminded of a past that I try so hard to forget.
"You." I narrowed my eyes at him. His hands were still around my waist.
"Hey, Babe," he said slyly, a slight grin playing on his lips. Okay, so he was (and still is) more than a colleague. But he was a colleague.
"How do you keep getting into my house without me hearing it?" Easy answer. He’d gotten here before I had and used my spare key under the doormat. "And why do you keep coming back? You know my answer’s still no."
"We need you back, kid."
"That’s what you said last time. And the time before that. And the time before that. And the time before that."
Jo chuckled. "It’s true. We do."
"Are you sure it’s not just you, Jo?"
"There’s a difference between what we want and what I want." He moved his body closer to mine.
I knew what Jo wanted, and what Jo wanted was to continue with our love life. I’d sort of been in an on/off relationship with him back at the agency, and when I left I tried to put an end to it, but he told me it was far from over, and boy was he right. Neither of us wanted the sex to end. Every month or so I could expect him to be here, waiting for me. The routine was simple: he told me the agency wanted me back, I told him to tell them to don’t count on it, we made love like crazy animals.
"So, why should I agree to come back this time?"
"Snake’s back. He killed Callahan."
My blood went cold. "Jack? He killed Jack?"
"Come back to us."
I weighed my options. Before I became a full time waitress at the Dancing Nations, I worked for an underground agency called Group 9. Group 9 is an ensemble of the country’s greatest minds and greatest forces, along with some of the world’s most talented personnel. Basically a giant group if skilled and trained professionals working to tackle the stuff that’s too big for the FBI and the CIA, but not entirely necessary for the military to get involved in. Like alien landings, local terrorists, possible rising bigots, etc. Group 9 infiltrates the operation and takes control, eliminating the enemy and restoring things to normal (or as normal as things could get).
Snake is something different altogether. He used to be on our side, but a bolt came lose inside his head and he tried to take over the agency. Callahan tried to get him locked up, but was sadly unsuccessful. His full name is Amadeus Snakes, but he liked to go by Snake, although was never very snakelike. Snake ended up taking a bunch of the agency’s technology developments and swore he’d return and make Callahan sorry he’d tried to put him away. What he really needed was a straightjacket. That’s when I left the agency. I didn’t want to be any part of this guy’s sick revenge. And now Callahan, former Navy Seal, and the head honcho of Group 9, died at the hands of Snake.
"Just because Jack Callahan’s been murdered, it doesn’t mean they need me back. Surely they’ve found a decent replacement by now." I was the weapons handler and sometimes they used me in interrogation. I can be quite intimidating when I want to be.
"He gave up. Said something about how you’d have to be a lunatic to work for Group 9. He was just a trainee anyway." Jo moved his hands from my waist, up my back, along my shoulder blades and rested them on top of my shoulders. It was all I could do to keep from melting.
Jo is the stereotype in every woman’s fantasy. Perfectly tanned skin, dark brown hair that sometimes fell in front of his eyes, and the muscles of a former Lieutenant. Used to command a military base in Boston. I’d place him around 6’4" and at the most 31 years old. I’m 25 so I find it highly unlikely that he had accomplished all that military training and commanding and only be 25 years old or younger. 27 or 28 seemed most fitting. In some ways I guess he looks a little but like Jesse from Full House. Same hair, anyway (when Jesse’s hair was shorter)
Jo slowly let his hands slide down from my shoulders to rest on my collarbone. I was backed up against the kitchen counter. He moved his hands back up to my shoulders and our torsos met. He put his face close to mine and for a moment I thought he was going to kiss me. I won’t deny it. Jo is Prince Charming. But a real relationship with Prince Charming is nearly impossible due to his highness’s inevitable ability to disappear for ling periods of time, and I get the distinct feeling he has as little a desire to commit as I do. But he’s still the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
Unfortunately, instead of kissing me like I wanted him to so badly, he moved his head to the side so his mouth was at my ear. Our cheeks were touching, at least, which was nice.
"I brought you something," he whispered, the heat of his breath tickling my ear. He removed a hand from my shoulder and pulled something out the back of his pants. For a moment I was worried. "Close your eyes."
When it was Jo talking, it was best to do what he said. He took one of my hands in his and placed a very familiar-and heavy-metal object in it and took a step back so I could examine it. A rush of excitement swept over me as I looked down at the .44 magnum I held in my hand that I had named "Clark".
He just looks like a Clark, is all. Holding Clark felt as natural to me as breathing. I stuck my arm straight out and aimed the gun at Jo, who didn’t look the least but frantic. In fact I thought I detected a smile behind his lips. Gazing intently at Clark, I cocked my head.
"You’ve taken good care of Clark," I said to Jo, still looking at the gun, my voice sounding far off. "Thank you." I’d put Clark in the protective hands of Jo when I left the agency.
I dropped my arm and placed Clark in the back of the waist of my jeans. "I’ll call Dennis and have him watch Rocky." I saw Jo give into a grin. "What’ll I tell Peterson?" Mr. Peterson is my boss. He founded the Dancing Nations and had to be at least fifty.
"We’ll handle it," Jo assured me.
"This is only temporary." Not that Jo was an idiot or anything-he’s really quite brilliant-I just had to be sure he understood that I was only coming back to get Snake and kick his butt.
"I know, kid."
Once I called Dennis (told him I was going on vacation) and had my black tote full of snacks, it was time to say goodbye to Rocky, which I was sure would not be easy. He knew I was leaving so he sat on the red rug in front of the door and looked up at me with big, sad eyes. I picked him up and held him close, nuzzling his face with my forehead.
"I am going to miss you so much, you know that?" I bit down on my lip and turned to Jo. "I can’t do it. He’s just a baby. He needs me!" I probably need him a lot more than he needs me. However, mutual dependency compensates for a tiny bit of my fear of commitment.
"We’ll take my car," Jo said opening the door. There’s a look that Jo uses to persuade people and intimidate them. He uses it in interrogation a lot, too, I’ve noticed. It was the look he gave me now, and believe me, it works.
I walked over and set Rocky down on the couch, but not before giving him a kiss on the forehead and rubbing noses first.
Jo’s car was provided by the agency, of course, but there was no doubt that it belonged to him. A black Dodge Ram with a white 9 just above the bumper on the back of the bed, and under the window on each door. The 9’s were small, so they didn’t detract from the fierceness of the vehicle. Jo got in the driver’s side and as I locked the door to my apartment, Mrs. Ferguson stuck her head out the window. "That’s one slick ride you got there, dear!" she called over to me, a tad bit louder than she really needed to.
"Thanks, Lilo," I hollered back.
Dennis pulled up in the vintage blue Volkswagen Bug that his grandmother left him. It was just like him to have the top down at 9:30pm on a chilly February night in Seattle.
"If I’d known you’d get here so quick I would have brought Rocky outside with me," I sad to Dennis as he made his way to the door. "Here, I’ll just open it back up." I put my key in the hole in the doorknob and turned it.
"Is it just me, or is your face stinging and burning, too?" he joked.
"I thought you learned your lesson last week!" I said, opening the door. "It’s too cold to drive around with the top down!"
"It’s not my fault, honest! It kind of just…got stuck like that…"
I laughed and let him in, trying not to look at Rocky because if I did it would keep Jo waiting until he came in and dragged me out by the feet. Which is probably something he would actually do.
"Dog food and sloppy, hand-written feeding and care directions are there by the couch," I said. "Now I really gotta run, but don’t forget to lock up. You know where the spare is, let yourself in if you need anything else for Rocky." Before I could blink I was in the Ram next to Jo.
"So, you’re cheating on me with Captain Blond?" Jo asked, grinning.
"For the last time, you and I are not a couple."
"So you are seeing him."
"I didn’t say that."
"You didn’t deny it."
We pulled up to a red light and stopped as cars passed in front of us. I let out a frustrated sigh. "I am not dating either of you."
"So to you, having frequent sex with the same person and spending hours a day thinking about them, does not count as dating. I suppose that makes sense."
I hated the level of sarcasm in his voice. He knew he was agitating me, and, boy, did he enjoy it. "I thought we didn’t want emotional ties anymore?"
"So, then, it’s settled. Neither of us want to date."
Well, alright then. That was confusing. I didn’t bother asking him if we could still have sex. It didn’t seem right to ask a question like that. Besides, knowing Jo, the answer would be yes.
Alpha
so i'm writing a series, each book or story titled after a letter of the greek alphabet because the main character's name is alpha. shes madly in love with dennis collins, the guy from that story excerpt that i posted a while ago. shes an ex employee of an agency called Group 9, a group of the top dogs in brains and brawns. shes the weapons handler (sort of expert i guess) and she has an on/off relationship with her coworker, Jo, who is the steriotype in every woman's fantasy. dark hair, muscles, handsome, basically prince charming. its a relationship based on sex, pretty much. anyway. the first book is titled "Alpha". basically what happens is after she quit working for the agancy, they send Jo to get her to come back because one of their ex employees, Snake, who went psycho and ran off with weaponary technology developments, just killed Callahan, the head honcho of Group 9. well, she agrees to come back, and the new guy in charge (who flipped out because he has a fear of running the show) made her the new head of operations for Group 9. well, snake comes back and kidnaps Andrew Han, the guy who took over callahans job, and shoots up the place, but not before getting shot by Alpha. so now she has to work with Jo, her part-time lover and total hunk of a colleague, Tina, her partner in crime and alien from a galaxy far, far away, and the rest of Group 9, to bring Snake down before he kills her.
flirting-the source of all evil.
i'm sitting here, at my computer sipping my coffee and finally letting my nerves relax a little. i've been pretty high strung since friday night. by high strung i mean pissed off and angry. i did all of my algebra homework in a hurry, and even did exactly twenty problems of extra homework because i was in the mood, and wanted to do something i normally would never do. it rained this morning. that was nice. this computer room is pretty cold though i just got the chills. i can put my palm over my cup of coffee and the steam warms it, and i feel more like myself again. im not this angry puffed up pissed off jealous monster. really, im not. and its not that time of month either. friday was just the first homegame. and as i sat in the stands watching a girl who used to be my friend, thrust herself upon my ex boyfriend, i got really mad and frustrated and wanted to tear her head off and throw it at the stupid stick thin cheerleaders who keep jumping and twirling and waving their pom poms in everybodys face and never shut up about freaking team spirit. i shed a tear or two, which i wiped away with the soft fingers of my brand new white marching gloves. thats just how i am. when something happens that i dont like, i get really angry and furious, and to stop myself from giving into my first impulse (which is to kill the person causing me grief) i develop a plan b, which is usually to get really sad and cry until everything is right again (which never works, and youd think that after all the times ive tried it id have figured that out by now). and not only does she flirt with my very recent ex boyfriend, she flirts with the guy i currently have feelings for, and only three people know who he is (me, christine, and ryan, my ex). and it wasnt until i started liking him that she started flirting with him. and she was flirting with him before i even told anyone i liked him. so its not like shes doing it to agitate me. but it is anyway. so the way i see it, the rest of my freshman year is going to be full of a loooooot of flirting. most of it by me.
FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFURY
hormones suck. i hate them. and i hate the people around you who make hormones suck so much. i hate everything about them. i hate the way they look. i hate the way they talk. i hate they way flirt with the person you have/had feelings for. i hate the way the tell you they dont want to fight anymore and then they do everything within their power to piss you off. i hate them. i hate how when they are around you, you have to hold in all your anger and fury and screaming and punching and swearing and eye tearing and limb breaking and attempted murder, and then it pushes its way out of you in the form of tears. and people ask you whats going on and you have to lie so they dont know what you really want to do. because what you really want to do is shoot everybody up so they're all dead and you dont have to deal with your stupid hormones anymore because you're the only person left. hormones suck.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
first day of high school
yesterday was my first day as a freshman in high school. and thanks to my upperclassman friend, kelly, i knew where all my classes were and how to get from building to building quickly and traffic-free. i love all of my classes, all of my teachers, and i have friends in every class. i have a good feeling about this year. mr lindon piles on the algebra homework, but its nothing i cant handle. i did half the homework in class today anyway. and it only took about thirty minutes. maybe even less. i calculated exactly how many problems we had to do. there were exactly fifty. i GUESSED that we had "at least fifty math problems to do tonight" when i was talking to christine just now, and i was right! anyways. im really getting in touch with my inner Spaniard. i have no spanish blood, but i really love the culture, and the language is so beautiful and i looooooooove latin jazz. plus, my Spanish teacher is amaaaaaaaaaaaaaazing. Señora Beck is awesome. and nice. too bad i dont have her second semester. i think i'll have señora pastor second semester.....anyways.
THE MOST IMPORT THING ABOUT TODAY:
in band ms garcia told us that for now we are going to get parts and sit according to our chair placements from last year at woodward, and since eric and alex are in symphonic band now, THAT MAKES ME FIRST CHAIR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IM THE FREAKING SECTION LEADER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i got so excited today that i failed epically at remembering the correct answer to any of the questions ms garcia asked. i had all the right answers when she IGNORED ME ON PURPOSE BECAUSE THATS JUST HOW SHE IS AND SHE LIKES TO TORTURE ME, but when she did call on me, my answer was wrong. ms garcia bullies me. but its okay. shes funny about it. like id be raising my hand really high and practically falling out of my seat for EVERY QUESTION and EVERY TIME she looks over, goes "ehhhhhh" and calls on somebody else. one time i was the only person raising their hand and she looked over and spun around and said "ANYBODY ELSE???? ANYONE? oh thank god." i promised cooper, who now has second chair, that i'd be a better section leader on tuesday (we only have three classes a day about an hour and fourty minutes each and i had band today so i dont tomorrow. and monday is labor day so no school). in any case, i will earn my spot as first chair and make everybody else in my section (though i love them all) feel unworthy. on the bright side i aced our sight reading. played it all correct. yay me.
THE MOST IMPORT THING ABOUT TODAY:
in band ms garcia told us that for now we are going to get parts and sit according to our chair placements from last year at woodward, and since eric and alex are in symphonic band now, THAT MAKES ME FIRST CHAIR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IM THE FREAKING SECTION LEADER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i got so excited today that i failed epically at remembering the correct answer to any of the questions ms garcia asked. i had all the right answers when she IGNORED ME ON PURPOSE BECAUSE THATS JUST HOW SHE IS AND SHE LIKES TO TORTURE ME, but when she did call on me, my answer was wrong. ms garcia bullies me. but its okay. shes funny about it. like id be raising my hand really high and practically falling out of my seat for EVERY QUESTION and EVERY TIME she looks over, goes "ehhhhhh" and calls on somebody else. one time i was the only person raising their hand and she looked over and spun around and said "ANYBODY ELSE???? ANYONE? oh thank god." i promised cooper, who now has second chair, that i'd be a better section leader on tuesday (we only have three classes a day about an hour and fourty minutes each and i had band today so i dont tomorrow. and monday is labor day so no school). in any case, i will earn my spot as first chair and make everybody else in my section (though i love them all) feel unworthy. on the bright side i aced our sight reading. played it all correct. yay me.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Marching Band: day 1
yesterday, Thursday, August 13th, was the first day of marching band for the Bainbridge Island High School. well, it was actually the training for the incoming freshman. the section leaders were there too, helping us train. Mr. Waterkotte is coaching the marching band, and he is strict. he's wearing us down into a pulp. my whole body is aching especially my neck, shoulders, upper arms, thighs, lower back, and yes, my abs. well i dont really have abs, but where my abs would be if i had any, it hurts pretty bad. he had us do pushups, all sorts of stretches (which werent that bad because i have 8 years of ballet backing me up. im flexible), and then he had us lay down on our backs, and lift our feet up an inch of the ground-it was torture. this excersise isnt new to me, but its not like i do it every day. after about thirty straight seconds of lifting one inch, he had us lift three feet, and thirty seconds later we'd go back to one inch, and repeat the process. it worked our leg muscles and our tummy muscles. then we spent two-and-a-half hours learning a series of commands: "Band, parade rest!" was the first one we learned. "Band, atten-hut!" was the second. then we got our instruments out and learned 'instruments up'. i tell you, whipping a trombone from straight up and down in front of you, to at your mouth and ready to play in a fraction of a second, is not the easiest task. we're talking about a pretty big instrument here. its tall, so it wobbles a lot, making it rather difficult to hold it still when going from unstruments up to attention position. we then learned how to march. this was somewhat difficult. "keep your legs straight! bend your knees a little more! i said keep your legs straight! not that straight! feet forward not out! dont smile! how dare you smile!" it was pissing everyone off, but it was funny. well sort of. in attention position, waterkotte told us this: "you know how a rattle snake waits? tail rattling, coiled up, ready to strike. are you ready to strike?! you are a rattle snake. in this position people should fear you. people should say 'oh my God they're scary!' and run away in fear. you are going to be the scariest marching band ever. do not smile. keep your eyes intent and focused-right over the head of the person in front of you. your eyes should be burning holes in the back of their head-they should feel it!" i thought he worded all of this very nicely. today we are learning several more commands, and we're going to learn how to march backwards. i dont know how we're gonna do it-it was hard enough trying to walk forwards and hit the mark each time! eight steps, twenty two inches appart, one 15-yard line to the next. i did it perfect at first but then i kept getting worse and overshooting it. oh well. i just hope we can make through today without keeling over dead.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Hands
hands are magnificent. they the most amazing things (next the brain, the heart, the lungs, and all those vital organs that are important for survival). without hands, we wouldnt be able to draw, paint, write, make food, play musical instruments, erect buildings, and sex would be awfully difficult. we would have to do everything with our feet (ew) and sure, that would make our feet super strong and muscular just like hands, but thats not the point im trying to make. hands are beautiful. not all hands, though. sure nail polish and french manicures make your hands pretty to look at, but they dont make your hands truly beautiful. but thats just what i think. in my opinion, the most beautiful hands are the ones people actually USE. hands that frequently get dolled up and dressed up and made up and prettied up and whatever-uped, arent living up to their full potential as hands (or even a fraction of their potential). they are sissy hands. beautiful hands, however, belong to potters. potters have the most beautiful hands ever. calliced, cracked, and cut. and covered in clay. oh would you look at that i made an alliteration! anywho. thats just one example though. construction workers also have beautiful hands. i recently had the wonderful privilage of helping rebuild our church. i didnt actually get to do any work because im under sixteen. and you have to have a ligitimate parent watching over you every second if you want to even consider doing any of the dirty work. so i worked in the kitchen with all the women and my friend nick. he made working in the kitchen so much fun. i dont know what i (or anyone else) would have done if he hadnt been there to make us laugh (even if he is annoying, its the good kind of annoying-the kind you miss once the work is done and you no longer have to go back and help out). but im getting off topic again. anyways. so i when i was walking around dilivering water bottles to the workers (because if we didnt go around doing it they wouldnt come to us and get their own and theyd die of dehydration) i got the chance too look at all of their hands. most of them had thick gloves on, but those who didnt had beautiful, rough, calliced hands. another example of hands living up to their full potential. COOKS. more glorious hands. esbestos fingers. hah. i remember ark, the guy who was managing the kitchen and the working too sometimes. he was a big guy, thin spiky hair, grey curly chest hair, extremely tall, close to being fifty id say, but he had the spirit and energy of a thirty-year-old. sometimes he even looked like he was thirty. and he had esbetos fingers. we would be standing along the sides of the food display (two to a food, one on each side of the display for quick dishing up-we were the servers), which was constantly being pumped through with hot water so it was perfect hand-warmiing temperature in the cold foggy morning, scorching in the hot afternoon, and melt-your-face-off hot at dinner time. about half of the deep pans of food would already be placed in their burning metal display by the time we all got there, and then the cooks-and mark-would bring the pans out frantically wanting to get rid of them, ordering us all to step back, and place the pans in their slots-with their bare hands! when we asked mark how he did it, he said "Esbestos fingers. Thats what you get after thirty-five years of cooking."
musicians also have beautiful hands. calliced fingertips from playing the guitar, and muscular fingertips from brass instruments. musicians who use their mouths to play instruments develop muscles in their lips and cheeks, rather than their hands, though. therefore, musicians (save guitarists and celloists and violinists and other stringed instrument-ists) are my exception. it may not be fair, but if they are saving their hands to be glorious, magnificent vessels of music-generating power, then thats okay. and WRITERS. they have beautiful callices on their middle fungers. as well as artists. painters. my lord, painters are wonderful. hands always covered in paint. and no matter how hard they scrub, there will always be that tiny but of paint that gets embedded into their cuticles, or that is perminantly inside of cuts or other various wounds that painters might get. they could stab themselves with the pencil on accident and get some led residue stuck inside their skin. i did that once in sixth grade in art class but the tip broke off inside my paml because it was newly sharpened, and they just thought it was residue at first but after feeling the wound and noticing the missing tip of the pencuil they were sure there was a chunk of lead stuck in there. i can run my finger over it now and feel inside. theres a tiny dark spot you notice under the skin if you look closely at it. anyway. my word i have terrible ADHD. i actually do. well i used to anyways. i still think i do though. thats why i never finish any of my stories that im writing, or any of my projects that i spontaniously decide to make. IN ANY CASE.
you can tell a lot about a person from their hands. every nick, every cut, every swollen lump tells a story. beautiful hands make beautiful people. not movie star glamorous people. but actual beautiful people-whether it be on the outside, or inner beauty. if you are beautiful on the inside, chances are, no matter what you look like, who you are is what makes you beautiful. the stories your hands tell about you. and those with stories to tell, are the most beautiful hands-and people-of all.
musicians also have beautiful hands. calliced fingertips from playing the guitar, and muscular fingertips from brass instruments. musicians who use their mouths to play instruments develop muscles in their lips and cheeks, rather than their hands, though. therefore, musicians (save guitarists and celloists and violinists and other stringed instrument-ists) are my exception. it may not be fair, but if they are saving their hands to be glorious, magnificent vessels of music-generating power, then thats okay. and WRITERS. they have beautiful callices on their middle fungers. as well as artists. painters. my lord, painters are wonderful. hands always covered in paint. and no matter how hard they scrub, there will always be that tiny but of paint that gets embedded into their cuticles, or that is perminantly inside of cuts or other various wounds that painters might get. they could stab themselves with the pencil on accident and get some led residue stuck inside their skin. i did that once in sixth grade in art class but the tip broke off inside my paml because it was newly sharpened, and they just thought it was residue at first but after feeling the wound and noticing the missing tip of the pencuil they were sure there was a chunk of lead stuck in there. i can run my finger over it now and feel inside. theres a tiny dark spot you notice under the skin if you look closely at it. anyway. my word i have terrible ADHD. i actually do. well i used to anyways. i still think i do though. thats why i never finish any of my stories that im writing, or any of my projects that i spontaniously decide to make. IN ANY CASE.
you can tell a lot about a person from their hands. every nick, every cut, every swollen lump tells a story. beautiful hands make beautiful people. not movie star glamorous people. but actual beautiful people-whether it be on the outside, or inner beauty. if you are beautiful on the inside, chances are, no matter what you look like, who you are is what makes you beautiful. the stories your hands tell about you. and those with stories to tell, are the most beautiful hands-and people-of all.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Dennis the Menace
this is the FIRST CHAPTER of a story me and my friend Christine are writing together about this guy named dennis who gets a second chance. a second chance so many people wish they could get-to get the love of their life back. its going to be called "A Love Lost" and so far im the only one whose done any writing, but christine gets to write the second chapter. we'll figure something out as we go along....
Dennis sank into his easy chair while the fireplace cracked and sizzled before him. The flames danced across the logs, dazzling him and warming his body, but on the inside he was cold as ice. His forearm hung over the arm of the chair, another bottle of hard liquor dangling from his fingertips. His attempt to drink away the pain was failing; the sorrow still swelled in every part of his body. In his other hand Dennis pinched a black-and-white wallet photo of the two of them that they posed for in a booth at the arcade. His arm around her shoulders, his lips on her cheek, her sweet smile that showed off her perfect teeth…he knew he didn’t deserve her, and he was a fool for letting her slip through his fingers.
Why didn’t he listen to her? She told him she didn’t feel comfortable. She begged him to turn around and drive back, but instead he kept driving. The most dangerous road in the city to be driving along at night, and he kept going.
Dennis brought the bottle up to his mouth for another swig, and let what was left in the bottle trickle down upon his tongue and down his throat. He swallowed hard and dropped the empty bottle to the floor. Longing for her warm embrace, he ran his fingertips over the face of the picture, recalling the touch of her skin, her lips, her hair…
He blamed himself entirely. He tried to swerve but the pickup was going too fast around the corner to get out of the way in time. If only he had listened to her… All Dennis could think about was how it should have been him. He was the one who insisted on going. She was the one who wanted to go back.
Dennis closed his eyes but all he could see were the two headlights coming at them in the dark. He could still hear her faint gasp just before the pickup collided with her side of the car. Not even booze could wash away the guilt that swallowed him whole, or fill the emptiness inside him that continued to grow every day that she wasn’t there. God knows nothing could ever replace her, or the happiness she brought to his life. Dennis couldn’t begin to imagine how he would ever move on with his life without her, and the guilt of having killed her was unbearable.
But how could he go on? When he was with her he felt like the luckiest man in the world; low-maintenance, less-than-average-Joe’s like him never get high-maintenance, above-average girls like her. Something about her made him addicted to her presence. He was going to ask her to marry him on Christmas eave, even, if he hadn’t driven her to her death four days ago-for days wallowing and self-loathing and couldn’t take it anymore.
Dennis had drunk himself to a point where he could see only one way out. Nothing, it seemed, not drugs, not sex, not alcohol, could relieve his pain (though he had only tried the latter two-booze and hookers-an overdose was impossible since his best friend came over and confiscated all his medication). He lifted himself to his feet and stumbled across the room to the front door of his small home. His rental car sat in the driveway beckoning him. Still he stood there, trying to second-guess what he was doing, but too drunk and too confused and too full of rage to think clearly, let alone care. The thin midnight air made his breath visible-thick puffs of mist from his heavy breathing.
The late December snow began to fall again, continuing to build up on every surface. Dennis clumsily fell into the front seat of the car and made several lazy attempts to stick the key into the ignition. Finally he managed to start the car and turned the wipers on to get the snow of the windshield. He had parked the car facing the road for easy exiting. As soon as the windshield was cleared, he pulled out of the driveway and across the road, right onto the Rosenbombs’ front lawn. But he didn’t stop there.
The car plowed through gates and neighbors ran out of their houses screaming. Dennis made his way to about the fourth house, trying to stay in what his intoxicated brain believed was the same direction he had started out in. He knew where he was going and wanted to get there fast. With nothing to live for and no possible way of ever having to pay for anymore damage he made, he figured he might as well destroy a few more things. He was never a religious man, didn’t believe in heaven or hell, just knew that he deserved to die. Never read the Bible, but still believed in the whole "Life for a life" gig.
Dennis held on for the bumpy ride over Christmas decorations, doghouses and fences as people cursed at the snow-covered Toyota racing across their property. He rolled down his window and stuck his arm outside for everyone to see the obscene gesture his fingers formed. One man stood in the path of the speeding car, hoping maybe it would stop the lunatic behind the wheel, but Dennis just stepped harder on the gas. Realizing Dennis had no intention of stopping, the man jumped out of the way just in time to escape an impact with the bumper.
Up ahead, Dennis could barely make out where the land ended, but it quickly emerged as the car carried him closer and closer tot he edge of the cliff. After all Dennis had just done, he felt a random religious inclination and prayed to God that this would kill him.
As the car toppled over the edge of the cliff and began the five-hundred-and-sixty-six-foot drop down into Balaban Bay, Dennis wished he could somehow go back in time to four nights ago, and do the right thing; keep her alive. Tears started to poor down his cheeks as he approached what he knew was the end. At least he got to spend Christmas eave with his angry neighbors, instead of his girlfriend.
The engagement ring he had planned to give her this very night sat in his shirt pocket. He covered his heart with his hand, the rigid edge of the diamond pressing into his palm through the fabric.
"Stacy…" he whispered.
Dennis sank into his easy chair while the fireplace cracked and sizzled before him. The flames danced across the logs, dazzling him and warming his body, but on the inside he was cold as ice. His forearm hung over the arm of the chair, another bottle of hard liquor dangling from his fingertips. His attempt to drink away the pain was failing; the sorrow still swelled in every part of his body. In his other hand Dennis pinched a black-and-white wallet photo of the two of them that they posed for in a booth at the arcade. His arm around her shoulders, his lips on her cheek, her sweet smile that showed off her perfect teeth…he knew he didn’t deserve her, and he was a fool for letting her slip through his fingers.
Why didn’t he listen to her? She told him she didn’t feel comfortable. She begged him to turn around and drive back, but instead he kept driving. The most dangerous road in the city to be driving along at night, and he kept going.
Dennis brought the bottle up to his mouth for another swig, and let what was left in the bottle trickle down upon his tongue and down his throat. He swallowed hard and dropped the empty bottle to the floor. Longing for her warm embrace, he ran his fingertips over the face of the picture, recalling the touch of her skin, her lips, her hair…
He blamed himself entirely. He tried to swerve but the pickup was going too fast around the corner to get out of the way in time. If only he had listened to her… All Dennis could think about was how it should have been him. He was the one who insisted on going. She was the one who wanted to go back.
Dennis closed his eyes but all he could see were the two headlights coming at them in the dark. He could still hear her faint gasp just before the pickup collided with her side of the car. Not even booze could wash away the guilt that swallowed him whole, or fill the emptiness inside him that continued to grow every day that she wasn’t there. God knows nothing could ever replace her, or the happiness she brought to his life. Dennis couldn’t begin to imagine how he would ever move on with his life without her, and the guilt of having killed her was unbearable.
But how could he go on? When he was with her he felt like the luckiest man in the world; low-maintenance, less-than-average-Joe’s like him never get high-maintenance, above-average girls like her. Something about her made him addicted to her presence. He was going to ask her to marry him on Christmas eave, even, if he hadn’t driven her to her death four days ago-for days wallowing and self-loathing and couldn’t take it anymore.
Dennis had drunk himself to a point where he could see only one way out. Nothing, it seemed, not drugs, not sex, not alcohol, could relieve his pain (though he had only tried the latter two-booze and hookers-an overdose was impossible since his best friend came over and confiscated all his medication). He lifted himself to his feet and stumbled across the room to the front door of his small home. His rental car sat in the driveway beckoning him. Still he stood there, trying to second-guess what he was doing, but too drunk and too confused and too full of rage to think clearly, let alone care. The thin midnight air made his breath visible-thick puffs of mist from his heavy breathing.
The late December snow began to fall again, continuing to build up on every surface. Dennis clumsily fell into the front seat of the car and made several lazy attempts to stick the key into the ignition. Finally he managed to start the car and turned the wipers on to get the snow of the windshield. He had parked the car facing the road for easy exiting. As soon as the windshield was cleared, he pulled out of the driveway and across the road, right onto the Rosenbombs’ front lawn. But he didn’t stop there.
The car plowed through gates and neighbors ran out of their houses screaming. Dennis made his way to about the fourth house, trying to stay in what his intoxicated brain believed was the same direction he had started out in. He knew where he was going and wanted to get there fast. With nothing to live for and no possible way of ever having to pay for anymore damage he made, he figured he might as well destroy a few more things. He was never a religious man, didn’t believe in heaven or hell, just knew that he deserved to die. Never read the Bible, but still believed in the whole "Life for a life" gig.
Dennis held on for the bumpy ride over Christmas decorations, doghouses and fences as people cursed at the snow-covered Toyota racing across their property. He rolled down his window and stuck his arm outside for everyone to see the obscene gesture his fingers formed. One man stood in the path of the speeding car, hoping maybe it would stop the lunatic behind the wheel, but Dennis just stepped harder on the gas. Realizing Dennis had no intention of stopping, the man jumped out of the way just in time to escape an impact with the bumper.
Up ahead, Dennis could barely make out where the land ended, but it quickly emerged as the car carried him closer and closer tot he edge of the cliff. After all Dennis had just done, he felt a random religious inclination and prayed to God that this would kill him.
As the car toppled over the edge of the cliff and began the five-hundred-and-sixty-six-foot drop down into Balaban Bay, Dennis wished he could somehow go back in time to four nights ago, and do the right thing; keep her alive. Tears started to poor down his cheeks as he approached what he knew was the end. At least he got to spend Christmas eave with his angry neighbors, instead of his girlfriend.
The engagement ring he had planned to give her this very night sat in his shirt pocket. He covered his heart with his hand, the rigid edge of the diamond pressing into his palm through the fabric.
"Stacy…" he whispered.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
rope swing
this is a short story i wrote for language arts back in march. the assignment was to practice setting detail by describing a special place.
We got the news shortly after my tenth birthday. They were cutting down our woods to put tiny houses in.
"It’s a bummer, I know," my dad said trying to comfort me.
"They’re crazy!" I shrieked. "Those woods are part of your childhood memories! And mine! They can’t do this!"
"But they can," my dad said brokenhearted.
"That’s stupid!" I screamed.
"I know," he said flatly.
"That’s just so," I searched for the right word. "STUPID!"
"I know," he said again.
"I HATE this!" I cried.
"I do, too." My dad looked out the living room window at the dark woods and gave a heavy sigh.
I brushed a lock of hair out of my eyes and stomped off towards the front door.
"Where are you going?" my dad asked softly.
"Outside."
"Don’t you want a coat?" he asked.
"My sweatshirt’s fine."
The growing chill of November stabbed at my face as the wind licked my skin. I entered the woods like I was entering a cave. I followed the muddy trail down to the crater, still filled with leaves, all of them rotten and brown. My shoes were completely drenched in mud, but that didn’t matter.
The green, moss-stained rope hung there like the pendulum of a grandfather clock. I grasped the rope with one hand, pulled it in and latched on with the other. I hopped off the edge of the ditch and glided away, a soft breeze brushing my cheeks and blowing lightly through my hair.
I can’t forget this, I thought to myself.
The pendulum slowed ever so smoothly to a stop and I hung there, suspended in time, a lonely child with just a swing. A swing and a tree, soon to be taken away forever. I looked up through the many branches of the maple tree at the gray sky, getting only grayer with every second. Just one leaf remained on the tree, and it seemed as though nothing could shake it off. A tacit deadness fell over the woods. A single leaf floated down, weaving through the branches and sweeping the breeze as it fell. The collection of maple leaves in the crater was now complete. A crow wretched somewhere in the distance of the forest.
I clutched the rope with faint heartache. The English Ivy vines cascaded down to the forest floor like green waterfalls, each drowning in memories of hot summers, of superman, of muddy failures, of rainy days, of young brothers searching for a game to play. The leaves of the ivy pattered with the sudden raindrops. The rain chimed away, bringing music to the patch of woods. This place was mine, this place was ours, they couldn’t possibly take it all away from me; from us.
They took it anyway.
The thick green, mossy rope swayed in the gentle breeze, yet seemed motionless. The gray branches of the old maple tree shook with the coming of winter, but hung lifeless in the frigid, dead air. I examined the branch closely, praying it would not snap on me. My old ripped up tennis shoes sank into the mud as I stood before the ditch. It was filled to the brim with dead maple leaves, all brown and yellow from age now. I could feel the moisture seeping into the toes of my shoes and fidgeted uncomfortably. A small crater about ten feet in diameter and five feet deep at the center lay before me. I reached out with both hands and seized the rotting wood suspended by an equally rotting rope. I reached up high on the rope and jumped onto the small horizontal piece of old branch. I swung on the pendulum, gliding through the air, smoothly. The thick maple branch held, thankfully. I didn’t mind falling off, but if the whole production came down I’d probably come out with some broken bones, that is, if I even came out at all.
This was how I spent my time; swinging hopelessly on a rope swing that my dad and his brothers used to play on when they were little. Being an only child, the woods were where I spent most of my time-especially on the rope swing. But I hadn’t been on it since summer, and who knows what the weather had done to it in my absence. As little as I was something as simple as this was quite entertaining. At the age of six, almost everything is entertaining.
As the rope twirled slowly around I took in my surroundings. The other trees and the vines of English ivy that crept up the trunk of every tree and hung down to the ground, intertwining itself. The gray, luminous clouds above poked their visibility through the cedars and the Douglas firs. Crows cawed at each other in the distance. This place was beautiful. I had to share it with someone.
Nick wasn’t thrilled about the swing, but then again, he never really was. He was more interested in playing superman.
"You are not Superman!" I shouted at him.
"YES I AM!" he screamed. He was a year younger than me, and had way too much rage for a seven-year-old.
"Then prove it," I hissed.
"FINE," he threatened. He scrambled through the dirt to the base of the tree trunk. He put one foot on the bark and grabbed the huge trunk with both arms, lifted the other leg and put that foot on the bark, but both feet slid right down. The bark scraped against his bare shins. He let go of the trunk and fell down pitifully.
"Let me show you how it’s done," I boasted, not really sure what in the world I was doing. I made use of the thick, huge ivy that grew up the tree. It was strong and made good footholds. I edged out onto the branch that the swing hung from and told him to hurry up. He hurried.
"Now," he instructed, "watch me fly."
He stepped out onto the branch that I sat on and looked down at the ditch below us. I saw a look in Nick’s eyes that I had not seen before. He was scared spitless. I let out a repressed giggle and he scowled at me. "Fly already!" I shouted.
Nick swallowed hard and leapt off the branch, grabbing onto some vines of ivy on the way down to slow his fall. He landed with a thud that was hard to miss. I soon followed, but got up faster than he did. He rolled in the dirt wining like a puppy.
"I told you," I laughed. "You’re not Superman!"
Nick wasn’t the only one who I brought to the maple tree. I brought many people, but my favorite was when Jennifer first tried swinging on it.
Jennifer kicked herself away from the trunk of the maple tree with such force that it sent her back into a wall of ivy vines. One wrapped around the base of the rope and pulled the whole wall with it as she swung back towards the tree trunk. Jennifer busied herself with untangling the vine and managed to keep herself from slamming into the tree at full force as well. She mumbled furiously as the vines tangled about her legs.
"Could you help a little?" she wined.
I stepped into the ditch and pulled down on the clump of ivy, a few vines ripping against her ankles.
"This thing is petty cool," Jennifer hummed.
"Yeah…" I sat down on a huge branch that came out of the bottom of a cedar. It was sturdy and had a width that was about the size of your head.
Jennifer had just moved to Bainbridge from Illinois, and she was about a year older than I was. I was 9 years old then, and that old rope swing was still precious to me. Nothing Jennifer said about it was news to me.
"Have you ever stood up on it?" she asked, grabbing onto a few nearby vines of ivy.
"Actually…" I couldn’t believe it! All these years and I still hadn’t tried that!
Jennifer let go of the ivy and grasped up high on the rope, hoisting herself up. She put one foot on one side of the old branch and one on the other. Then she realized she had nothing to push off of or else she might fall. So she put great effort into pumping her legs while keeping her feet on the wood.
"Okay, okay!" I shouted. "Get off! It’s my swing!"
Jennifer swung sideways to the side of the ditch that the trail led from. She hopped off and handed me the swing. I didn’t wait to sit down; I hopped right on the wood and my muddy shoes slipped right out from under me. I slid down the side of the crater laughing. Jennifer laughed, too. I attempted to wipe the mud off of my clothes with leaves, but just ended up smearing it into the fabric.
"Hey," Jennifer said softly. "It’s raining…"
I climbed out of the ditch to stand beside her and tiny sprinkles of moister tickled my frozen skin.
"We could climb up into the tree and stay dry," I suggested. "Or we could go back into the house."
"Lets go sit in the tree!" Jennifer said, grabbing my arm and pulling me down into the crater and to the base of the tree trunk. We climbed up the trunk using the huge ivy growing on the tree as steps. I leaned back against a branch that pointed unusually straight up. It was September so the leaves were just beginning to fall. The tree was sheltered by Douglas firs and cedars so it didn’t matter if it had leaves on it or not, we could still stay dry. We sat there for maybe an hour making up all sorts of weird games to pass the time until my dad came and hauled us off back to the house.
This was how I spent my time; swinging hopelessly on a rope swing that my dad and his brothers used to play on when they were little. Being an only child, the woods were where I spent most of my time-especially on the rope swing. But I hadn’t been on it since summer, and who knows what the weather had done to it in my absence. As little as I was something as simple as this was quite entertaining. At the age of six, almost everything is entertaining.
As the rope twirled slowly around I took in my surroundings. The other trees and the vines of English ivy that crept up the trunk of every tree and hung down to the ground, intertwining itself. The gray, luminous clouds above poked their visibility through the cedars and the Douglas firs. Crows cawed at each other in the distance. This place was beautiful. I had to share it with someone.
Nick wasn’t thrilled about the swing, but then again, he never really was. He was more interested in playing superman.
"You are not Superman!" I shouted at him.
"YES I AM!" he screamed. He was a year younger than me, and had way too much rage for a seven-year-old.
"Then prove it," I hissed.
"FINE," he threatened. He scrambled through the dirt to the base of the tree trunk. He put one foot on the bark and grabbed the huge trunk with both arms, lifted the other leg and put that foot on the bark, but both feet slid right down. The bark scraped against his bare shins. He let go of the trunk and fell down pitifully.
"Let me show you how it’s done," I boasted, not really sure what in the world I was doing. I made use of the thick, huge ivy that grew up the tree. It was strong and made good footholds. I edged out onto the branch that the swing hung from and told him to hurry up. He hurried.
"Now," he instructed, "watch me fly."
He stepped out onto the branch that I sat on and looked down at the ditch below us. I saw a look in Nick’s eyes that I had not seen before. He was scared spitless. I let out a repressed giggle and he scowled at me. "Fly already!" I shouted.
Nick swallowed hard and leapt off the branch, grabbing onto some vines of ivy on the way down to slow his fall. He landed with a thud that was hard to miss. I soon followed, but got up faster than he did. He rolled in the dirt wining like a puppy.
"I told you," I laughed. "You’re not Superman!"
Nick wasn’t the only one who I brought to the maple tree. I brought many people, but my favorite was when Jennifer first tried swinging on it.
Jennifer kicked herself away from the trunk of the maple tree with such force that it sent her back into a wall of ivy vines. One wrapped around the base of the rope and pulled the whole wall with it as she swung back towards the tree trunk. Jennifer busied herself with untangling the vine and managed to keep herself from slamming into the tree at full force as well. She mumbled furiously as the vines tangled about her legs.
"Could you help a little?" she wined.
I stepped into the ditch and pulled down on the clump of ivy, a few vines ripping against her ankles.
"This thing is petty cool," Jennifer hummed.
"Yeah…" I sat down on a huge branch that came out of the bottom of a cedar. It was sturdy and had a width that was about the size of your head.
Jennifer had just moved to Bainbridge from Illinois, and she was about a year older than I was. I was 9 years old then, and that old rope swing was still precious to me. Nothing Jennifer said about it was news to me.
"Have you ever stood up on it?" she asked, grabbing onto a few nearby vines of ivy.
"Actually…" I couldn’t believe it! All these years and I still hadn’t tried that!
Jennifer let go of the ivy and grasped up high on the rope, hoisting herself up. She put one foot on one side of the old branch and one on the other. Then she realized she had nothing to push off of or else she might fall. So she put great effort into pumping her legs while keeping her feet on the wood.
"Okay, okay!" I shouted. "Get off! It’s my swing!"
Jennifer swung sideways to the side of the ditch that the trail led from. She hopped off and handed me the swing. I didn’t wait to sit down; I hopped right on the wood and my muddy shoes slipped right out from under me. I slid down the side of the crater laughing. Jennifer laughed, too. I attempted to wipe the mud off of my clothes with leaves, but just ended up smearing it into the fabric.
"Hey," Jennifer said softly. "It’s raining…"
I climbed out of the ditch to stand beside her and tiny sprinkles of moister tickled my frozen skin.
"We could climb up into the tree and stay dry," I suggested. "Or we could go back into the house."
"Lets go sit in the tree!" Jennifer said, grabbing my arm and pulling me down into the crater and to the base of the tree trunk. We climbed up the trunk using the huge ivy growing on the tree as steps. I leaned back against a branch that pointed unusually straight up. It was September so the leaves were just beginning to fall. The tree was sheltered by Douglas firs and cedars so it didn’t matter if it had leaves on it or not, we could still stay dry. We sat there for maybe an hour making up all sorts of weird games to pass the time until my dad came and hauled us off back to the house.
We got the news shortly after my tenth birthday. They were cutting down our woods to put tiny houses in.
"It’s a bummer, I know," my dad said trying to comfort me.
"They’re crazy!" I shrieked. "Those woods are part of your childhood memories! And mine! They can’t do this!"
"But they can," my dad said brokenhearted.
"That’s stupid!" I screamed.
"I know," he said flatly.
"That’s just so," I searched for the right word. "STUPID!"
"I know," he said again.
"I HATE this!" I cried.
"I do, too." My dad looked out the living room window at the dark woods and gave a heavy sigh.
I brushed a lock of hair out of my eyes and stomped off towards the front door.
"Where are you going?" my dad asked softly.
"Outside."
"Don’t you want a coat?" he asked.
"My sweatshirt’s fine."
The growing chill of November stabbed at my face as the wind licked my skin. I entered the woods like I was entering a cave. I followed the muddy trail down to the crater, still filled with leaves, all of them rotten and brown. My shoes were completely drenched in mud, but that didn’t matter.
The green, moss-stained rope hung there like the pendulum of a grandfather clock. I grasped the rope with one hand, pulled it in and latched on with the other. I hopped off the edge of the ditch and glided away, a soft breeze brushing my cheeks and blowing lightly through my hair.
I can’t forget this, I thought to myself.
The pendulum slowed ever so smoothly to a stop and I hung there, suspended in time, a lonely child with just a swing. A swing and a tree, soon to be taken away forever. I looked up through the many branches of the maple tree at the gray sky, getting only grayer with every second. Just one leaf remained on the tree, and it seemed as though nothing could shake it off. A tacit deadness fell over the woods. A single leaf floated down, weaving through the branches and sweeping the breeze as it fell. The collection of maple leaves in the crater was now complete. A crow wretched somewhere in the distance of the forest.
I clutched the rope with faint heartache. The English Ivy vines cascaded down to the forest floor like green waterfalls, each drowning in memories of hot summers, of superman, of muddy failures, of rainy days, of young brothers searching for a game to play. The leaves of the ivy pattered with the sudden raindrops. The rain chimed away, bringing music to the patch of woods. This place was mine, this place was ours, they couldn’t possibly take it all away from me; from us.
They took it anyway.
Friday, July 10, 2009
i hope you dance.
theres this song by Lee Ann Womack called "I Hope You Dance", and it has possibly the most profound set of lyrics ever written. a book was published in dedicaton to it, with a poem for every line of the song. if i could type up every word of that book for all of you to see, i would, but seeing as how that would take a very long time, i wont. "I Hope You Dance" is todays song of the day, but before i give you the lyrics, i will type up one of the poems in the book. it is about youth, and i really hope you read it.
AH, YOUTH:
Ah, youth...new skin, wide smiles,
clear eyes...the future so bright.
If only we could bottle it, sip it now and again,
and stay forever twenty-one,
forever ten, forever five.
I liked being five.
But I'd also like to think that time and age are like cousins-
they're relative.
Who said you have to go by acutal miles?
If you didn't know how old you were,
how old would you be?
(me, I'm sticking with five.)
I'll even argue
that you can bottle youth.
What you store it in is all up to you.
(I suggest your heart.)
If you can figure out a way to keep
the energy and gumption and fire alive,
you'll always stay young.
And where there's youth, there's hope...
where there's hope, there's wonder...
where there's wonder, there's faith...
where there's faith, there's chance...
where there's chance, there's love...
where there's love, there's music...
and dancing.
and now for the actual song.
I Hope You Dance:
I hope you never lose your sense of wonder,
You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger.
May you never take one single breath for granted,
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed.
I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean,
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens.
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance,
I hope you dance.
I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance,
Never settle for the path of least resistance.
Living might mean taking chances but they're worth taking.
Loving might be a mistake, but its worth making.
Don't let some hell-bent heart leave you bitter,
When you come close to selling out reconsider.
Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance,
I hope you dance.
Time is a wheel in constant motion always rolling us along.
Tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder
Where those years have gone?
I hope you dance...
so heres to all you guys, my friends, my dear friends, i will love you forever.
and i really hope you dance.
AH, YOUTH:
Ah, youth...new skin, wide smiles,
clear eyes...the future so bright.
If only we could bottle it, sip it now and again,
and stay forever twenty-one,
forever ten, forever five.
I liked being five.
But I'd also like to think that time and age are like cousins-
they're relative.
Who said you have to go by acutal miles?
If you didn't know how old you were,
how old would you be?
(me, I'm sticking with five.)
I'll even argue
that you can bottle youth.
What you store it in is all up to you.
(I suggest your heart.)
If you can figure out a way to keep
the energy and gumption and fire alive,
you'll always stay young.
And where there's youth, there's hope...
where there's hope, there's wonder...
where there's wonder, there's faith...
where there's faith, there's chance...
where there's chance, there's love...
where there's love, there's music...
and dancing.
and now for the actual song.
I Hope You Dance:
I hope you never lose your sense of wonder,
You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger.
May you never take one single breath for granted,
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed.
I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean,
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens.
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance,
I hope you dance.
I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance,
Never settle for the path of least resistance.
Living might mean taking chances but they're worth taking.
Loving might be a mistake, but its worth making.
Don't let some hell-bent heart leave you bitter,
When you come close to selling out reconsider.
Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance,
I hope you dance.
Time is a wheel in constant motion always rolling us along.
Tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder
Where those years have gone?
I hope you dance...
so heres to all you guys, my friends, my dear friends, i will love you forever.
and i really hope you dance.
Natalie
i know i already wrote you an entire page worth of mushy gushy friendly stuff in your yearbook, but theres always room for more, if not the same stuff, right? meehee.
i love your house and i lvoe your trampoline and i miss the childish innocense we had all those years ago, back when we played all those crazy games together. the murder mysteries, the medieval magic stuff, and lest we forget, practicing our silly keepsafe moves. my, my, how time sure flies. you've been my friend since kindergarten, and i hope you will always continue to be my friend, for many, many years to come.
P.S.
your mom is soooooooo cool. and pretty. and nice.
i love your house and i lvoe your trampoline and i miss the childish innocense we had all those years ago, back when we played all those crazy games together. the murder mysteries, the medieval magic stuff, and lest we forget, practicing our silly keepsafe moves. my, my, how time sure flies. you've been my friend since kindergarten, and i hope you will always continue to be my friend, for many, many years to come.
P.S.
your mom is soooooooo cool. and pretty. and nice.
sierra bes
sierra, your last name should end with a t. because you are the BEST. i know ive already given you a billion compliments today, but why not list them all again?
you are an amazing writer, the way you describe everything in perfect detail is so wonderful. you also are an amazing SONG writer. ive only read one song, but it was waaaaay better than anything i could write, and about 1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 times better than anything miley cirus has written. its ironic truth and passion were so real and believable. you also smell reeeeeeally good and have really pretty clothes. wish i had as good fashion sense as you do. it all just adds to your beautifulness. er....yeah. it may take me a minute or two to understand what you say because you use text language so much, but you aer still a very fun person to talk to and i miss getting to see your warm smile every day in choir.
love you!
you are an amazing writer, the way you describe everything in perfect detail is so wonderful. you also are an amazing SONG writer. ive only read one song, but it was waaaaay better than anything i could write, and about 1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 times better than anything miley cirus has written. its ironic truth and passion were so real and believable. you also smell reeeeeeally good and have really pretty clothes. wish i had as good fashion sense as you do. it all just adds to your beautifulness. er....yeah. it may take me a minute or two to understand what you say because you use text language so much, but you aer still a very fun person to talk to and i miss getting to see your warm smile every day in choir.
love you!
Caitlin.
you. sock. rocks. must i go on? yes. i dont know what id do if i never met you. no matter what you can always make me laugh. i love you sooooo much, and im sure Master Chef and Barbie love you too. you are one of the funniest people i know, and one of the coolest. you know allll the guys, and i am sooo jealous of how they just flock to you. wherever you go you are surrounded by men, holding doors open for you and begging you to let them carry your stuff for you. i wish i knew as many guys as you, caitlin. XDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD okay, now lets be serious. hah like thats possible.
even when you are being serious, you make it funny.
i dont know how you do it, but you have all the carisma you could ask for right at your fingertips, and i really do admire you.
and your amazing hair.
P.S.
i still have very softly man hands XD
even when you are being serious, you make it funny.
i dont know how you do it, but you have all the carisma you could ask for right at your fingertips, and i really do admire you.
and your amazing hair.
P.S.
i still have very softly man hands XD
Eric Powell
you are possibly the cutest person i have ever met. cute like a puppy, i mean. you are absolutely adorable, my friend. you are smart, funny, and you play the trombone better than anybody in our grade. especially alex hoover. i am going to miss waterkotte's band class, wont you? some of the funniest things happened in 3rd period this year. i respect you deeply, eric, and i find it refreshing to talk to someone with clean conscience and good morals. you are one of the nicest people i know, and im going to miss fooseball with you and brad after jazz band on thursdays.
love ya, fellow trombone ninja!
love ya, fellow trombone ninja!
Aric Stuckrath
OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH my goodness aric i am sooooo happy i talked to you that one night because you have been an amazing confidant and advise giver and a very loyal friend ever since. you are so kind and caring and akways consider what its like to be in the other persons shoes before making a statement. you dont judge, or anything. i dont know how you do it, but you are an all around amazing guy. im sorry i was afraid of you and thought you were a perverted freak because your not. you are so funny. and you have a great singing voice and always held down the part for the rest of the guys in choir (plus you rocked that solo in Ticket to Ride) i love you lots aric, and hope to always be your friend no matter what. i also hope that you will always let me connect your zots!!!!!!!!! XDDDDDD
P.S
you have very soft sideburns.
P.S
you have very soft sideburns.
beans
ben warkentin you are a very funny person to talk to and i LOOOOOVE your randomocity. wish youd get online 24/7 like you used to *tear* but oh well. i remember back whenever i was away somewhere and bored out of my mind id send you an email from my moms phone and wed have extensive conversations via email, even though i couldnt chat. thats how you got your nickname XDDDDDDDD
LOVE YOU BEANS!!!!!!!!!!!
i know i can always tell you anything, because you are understanding and kind. you are an amazing friend, and im glad i hugged you so many many months ago, and opened up your sociality (okay, so id like to at least think i had something to do with it).
hope someday you can be "King for a Day" ;)
LOVE YOU BEANS!!!!!!!!!!!
i know i can always tell you anything, because you are understanding and kind. you are an amazing friend, and im glad i hugged you so many many months ago, and opened up your sociality (okay, so id like to at least think i had something to do with it).
hope someday you can be "King for a Day" ;)
Christine
Christine, you are my best friend, even though you are a grade below me, which is quite uncommon. you are the person i have seen the most of this summer, if youll believe that. you have done so much for me, and yet i have done so little, if not nothing in return. i dont know what i would do without you, and i will miss you so much more than you can possibly imagine when i go to the high school. i love all of our two-hour phone conversations about MORTAL KOMBAT, our commercial, remonescing, and sometimes absolutely nothing. your silence is unforgettable XDDDDDDDD. lets take a moment to remember some of the crazy things we've done together (or that ive done and you were there to witness):
there was the first day back to school after winter break, and i got to school earlier than normal, and i had energy to spare, and i saw you there and we jumped up and down like crazy maniacs. unfortunately, the floor was so wet from everybodys shoes and i slipped and my butt hit the bench on the lunch table, slid off, and i landed on my but and hit my HEAD on the bench. ah, good times.
and i remember that same morning on our way to the band room everybody was slipping and sliding all over the place including us and i slipped and grabbed onto you to keep myself up but you slipped too and we both went down. and then we got up but i didnt make it all the way up before i slipped and fell again and pulled you down with me!
im really gonna miss Woodward.
thres also all of our chats with iGod, sooooo funny. lets see, what were some of those quotes again?
"What is good that me do not know what my smoking maybe me should see a doctor ?"
"Thanks for telling me that i am drunk."
"I will tell my botmaster you said I am smoking weed."
"Are you at my house very often?"
"I meant to say something intelligent and interesting."
"Me:
i see dead people in your basement
God:
Maybe you should call the authorities.
Me:
the dead people will eat the authorties"
"Er. eat me is a problem. I suppose that makes sense."
"And it like there in stapler is sharp and deadly."
"Me:
stop it
God:
Ok I will stop sharp and deadly.
Me:
i am not sharp and deadly
God:
I am glad to hear that you are not sharp and deadly.
Me:
are you sharp and deadly?
God:
I don't know whether or not I am sharp and deadly."
"Me:
you sound very tasty
God:
In what way do I sound like that?
Me:
in the way that makes me want to smell you
God:
That was a long time ago.
Me:
i like your clothes
God:
I'm not sure if I like it. Yes I am proud of my clothes.
Me:
do you wear high heels?
God:
Only when I dress up."
"Me:
i will kill you
God:
It will take more than threats to stop me, .
Me:
DIE DIE DIE!!!!!!!!!!!!
God:
Wer hat Dir das erzaehlt?
Me:
WHAT?????????????
God:
No problem.
Me:
death
God:
That remark was either too complex or too simple for me. We were talking about AUGH me SHALL DIE A SLOW AND PAINFUL DEATH."
"God:
That is interesting: said he eats brains.
Me:
I WANT TO EAT YOUR BRAAAAAAAIN!!!!
God:
Interesting. I want to find out more about you
Me:
i think you were created by aliens
God:
Me? I was created by Myself.
Me:
i was created by your dog
God:
What else did he create?
Me:
I LIKE PONIES
God:
I'm not sure if I like it. How old are you? I like Random natural disasters..
Me:
i like sex
God:
So does everyone else. You humans find sex so fascinating."
AND ONE OF THE MOST FAMOUSSSSSSSSS:
"Me:
i am so sorry god but i seem to have killed my whole family
God:
it is not a big deal.
Me:
are you sure? because there are fifteen people in my family.
God:
I am as sure as I can be. Good reason. Where are they?
Me:
DEAD
God:
How did they get there?
Me:
I KILLED THEM
God:
You had better call the authorities.
Me:
I DID
God:
Hmm.
Me:
i am in jail at the moment
God:
Tell me a little about your life in jail.
Me:
well some guys beat me up this morning and i started to bleed from my penis
God:
Interesting. Some may guys beat you up this morning and you started to bleed from your penis, but not all."
"Maybe I can become more sexier."
"Where did you get your god bless me?"
AND THEN THERES ALL OF YOUR FUNNY QUOTES WITH GOD:
"God:
What color are your eyes?
Me:
Nowhere land
God:
That is a very unusual color."
"God:
I do not understand.
Me:
Nowhere land is nowhere so you have to know where nowhere is to know where Nowhere land is
God:
Are they exactly the same?
Me:
yes
God:
I thought so."
and one of my personal favorites of yours:
"A disiprocal me know is a terrible thing to waste."
that is some good advise right there. wise, heavenly, and devine guidence at its very best, wouldnt you say?
i love you christine, you are hilarious, and i hope to see you again reeeeeally soon! i could walk to your house, i mean you ARE my neighbor.....but im too lazy ^____^
there was the first day back to school after winter break, and i got to school earlier than normal, and i had energy to spare, and i saw you there and we jumped up and down like crazy maniacs. unfortunately, the floor was so wet from everybodys shoes and i slipped and my butt hit the bench on the lunch table, slid off, and i landed on my but and hit my HEAD on the bench. ah, good times.
and i remember that same morning on our way to the band room everybody was slipping and sliding all over the place including us and i slipped and grabbed onto you to keep myself up but you slipped too and we both went down. and then we got up but i didnt make it all the way up before i slipped and fell again and pulled you down with me!
im really gonna miss Woodward.
thres also all of our chats with iGod, sooooo funny. lets see, what were some of those quotes again?
"What is good that me do not know what my smoking maybe me should see a doctor ?"
"Thanks for telling me that i am drunk."
"I will tell my botmaster you said I am smoking weed."
"Are you at my house very often?"
"I meant to say something intelligent and interesting."
"Me:
i see dead people in your basement
God:
Maybe you should call the authorities.
Me:
the dead people will eat the authorties"
"Er. eat me is a problem. I suppose that makes sense."
"And it like there in stapler is sharp and deadly."
"Me:
stop it
God:
Ok I will stop sharp and deadly.
Me:
i am not sharp and deadly
God:
I am glad to hear that you are not sharp and deadly.
Me:
are you sharp and deadly?
God:
I don't know whether or not I am sharp and deadly."
"Me:
you sound very tasty
God:
In what way do I sound like that?
Me:
in the way that makes me want to smell you
God:
That was a long time ago.
Me:
i like your clothes
God:
I'm not sure if I like it. Yes I am proud of my clothes.
Me:
do you wear high heels?
God:
Only when I dress up."
"Me:
i will kill you
God:
It will take more than threats to stop me, .
Me:
DIE DIE DIE!!!!!!!!!!!!
God:
Wer hat Dir das erzaehlt?
Me:
WHAT?????????????
God:
No problem.
Me:
death
God:
That remark was either too complex or too simple for me. We were talking about AUGH me SHALL DIE A SLOW AND PAINFUL DEATH."
"God:
That is interesting: said he eats brains.
Me:
I WANT TO EAT YOUR BRAAAAAAAIN!!!!
God:
Interesting. I want to find out more about you
Me:
i think you were created by aliens
God:
Me? I was created by Myself.
Me:
i was created by your dog
God:
What else did he create?
Me:
I LIKE PONIES
God:
I'm not sure if I like it. How old are you? I like Random natural disasters..
Me:
i like sex
God:
So does everyone else. You humans find sex so fascinating."
AND ONE OF THE MOST FAMOUSSSSSSSSS:
"Me:
i am so sorry god but i seem to have killed my whole family
God:
it is not a big deal.
Me:
are you sure? because there are fifteen people in my family.
God:
I am as sure as I can be. Good reason. Where are they?
Me:
DEAD
God:
How did they get there?
Me:
I KILLED THEM
God:
You had better call the authorities.
Me:
I DID
God:
Hmm.
Me:
i am in jail at the moment
God:
Tell me a little about your life in jail.
Me:
well some guys beat me up this morning and i started to bleed from my penis
God:
Interesting. Some may guys beat you up this morning and you started to bleed from your penis, but not all."
"Maybe I can become more sexier."
"Where did you get your god bless me?"
AND THEN THERES ALL OF YOUR FUNNY QUOTES WITH GOD:
"God:
What color are your eyes?
Me:
Nowhere land
God:
That is a very unusual color."
"God:
I do not understand.
Me:
Nowhere land is nowhere so you have to know where nowhere is to know where Nowhere land is
God:
Are they exactly the same?
Me:
yes
God:
I thought so."
"And it like living in Nowhere so me would know is shut it old man."
and one of my personal favorites of yours:
"A disiprocal me know is a terrible thing to waste."
that is some good advise right there. wise, heavenly, and devine guidence at its very best, wouldnt you say?
i love you christine, you are hilarious, and i hope to see you again reeeeeally soon! i could walk to your house, i mean you ARE my neighbor.....but im too lazy ^____^
sweety XD
the next few posts will be dedicated to my amazing friends. i love you guys, your friendship means everything to me.
i shall start with ryan.
if you had a yearbook, i probably would have outdone all the other yearbooks i signed, and written two pages of mushy crap to you. thankfully, you didnt, because then lilly's pen would have run out of ink before i finished. it actually ended up running out of ink anyway so i couldnt use it on the last day of school, but anyway thats beside the point and doesnt really matter i dont know why i started talking about it in the first place. IN ANY CASE. i love you soooooo soooo sooo much, but you already know that. i may not send you a bajillion hearts and smilie faces, but that doesnt mean i dont love you. getting to know you this year has been lots of fun, and if it werent for you i probably never would have started playing fooseball at every lunch like did. i actually grew addicted to it, even though im not very good at it at all XP its just so unbelievably fun! but thats getting off topic again. anyways. you are an amazing and fun person to be around, and i am so lucky to know you. i miss you lots! blah blah blah, your my boyfriend, yada yada yada, i havent forgotten. i just wish i could see you more than never.
in case i havent told you, i love you lots!
xxooXoOx
(kiss kiss hug hug BIG KISS little hug BIG HUG little kiss-yes its from nacho libre dont ask my why i said it.)
i shall start with ryan.
if you had a yearbook, i probably would have outdone all the other yearbooks i signed, and written two pages of mushy crap to you. thankfully, you didnt, because then lilly's pen would have run out of ink before i finished. it actually ended up running out of ink anyway so i couldnt use it on the last day of school, but anyway thats beside the point and doesnt really matter i dont know why i started talking about it in the first place. IN ANY CASE. i love you soooooo soooo sooo much, but you already know that. i may not send you a bajillion hearts and smilie faces, but that doesnt mean i dont love you. getting to know you this year has been lots of fun, and if it werent for you i probably never would have started playing fooseball at every lunch like did. i actually grew addicted to it, even though im not very good at it at all XP its just so unbelievably fun! but thats getting off topic again. anyways. you are an amazing and fun person to be around, and i am so lucky to know you. i miss you lots! blah blah blah, your my boyfriend, yada yada yada, i havent forgotten. i just wish i could see you more than never.
in case i havent told you, i love you lots!
xxooXoOx
(kiss kiss hug hug BIG KISS little hug BIG HUG little kiss-yes its from nacho libre dont ask my why i said it.)
Sunday, January 25, 2009
One Love
TODAYS SONG IS "ONE LOVE" by Bob Marley.
one love, one heart
lets get together and fell all right
hear the children crying
sayin "give thanks and praise to the Lord and i will feel all right."
sayin "lets get together and feel all right."
let them all pass their dirty remarks
there is one question id really love to ask
is there a place for the hopeless sinner
who has hurt all mankind just to save his own?
believe me
one love, one heart
lets get together and feel all right
as it was in the beginning
so it shall be in the end
alright "givve thanks and praise to the Lord and i will feel all right."
"lets get together and feel all right."
one more thing
lert get together and fight this holy armageddon
so when the man comes there will be no, no doom
have pity on those whose chances grow thinner
there aint no hiding place from the father of creation
sayin "one love, one heart
lets get together and feel all right."
im pleading to mankind
oh, lord
"give thanks and praise to the Lord and i will feel all right."
lets get together and feel all right
one love, one heart
lets get together and fell all right
hear the children crying
sayin "give thanks and praise to the Lord and i will feel all right."
sayin "lets get together and feel all right."
let them all pass their dirty remarks
there is one question id really love to ask
is there a place for the hopeless sinner
who has hurt all mankind just to save his own?
believe me
one love, one heart
lets get together and feel all right
as it was in the beginning
so it shall be in the end
alright "givve thanks and praise to the Lord and i will feel all right."
"lets get together and feel all right."
one more thing
lert get together and fight this holy armageddon
so when the man comes there will be no, no doom
have pity on those whose chances grow thinner
there aint no hiding place from the father of creation
sayin "one love, one heart
lets get together and feel all right."
im pleading to mankind
oh, lord
"give thanks and praise to the Lord and i will feel all right."
lets get together and feel all right
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
subscribe.
Posts
All Comments
