She jumped out the window. I told her, "I love you. Please don't." But she did it anyway. Just pushed her palms into the sill and kicked her legs outward. My best friend pushed herself out of her three story bedroom window towards the street below.
For several minutes before, I had been inching towards the window, conscious of her twitching fingers and her blank stare below. As her hand slid off the metal of the window jamb my hand-eye coordination kicked in (finally, after 22 years) and my white bony fingers fisted firmly around her wrist.
She dangled. Her feet kicked in the air for a bit. Her whole body relaxed and I held my best friend by her wrist above the street three stories below. I looked down at her and dripped my tears onto her hanging body. She stared down at the street longingly, her head cast down and not up, as one would if they wanted to come back up.
They say that adrenaline kicks in and mothers can lift cars off of babies and break concrete to get to their loved ones. Maybe in those first few seconds I was she-man with the muscles and energy to hold a girl twice my size against gravity that she wanted to take her, but then I felt my fingers cramp and her arm straining out of her shoulder socket. All this I could feel.
Her skin had always been dry. That is perhaps why I could hold on as my face dripped tears and sweat beads. There was nothing slippery about it. Heavy, but not slippery. At first my arm was bent at the elbow and my intention was to lift her up, but without her help I could barely keep her at a standstill against the brick building, and my elbow unbent and my arm strained as it straightened.
Meanwhile she did not look at me or move. She didn't make an effort to extract her arm from my fingers, but neither did she grab on with her other hand. Sometimes will actually means no movement in any direction. What effort it must have took for her to clear her mind enough to actually push off. Or what darkness.
No one came. People on the street never look up. It was only us in the building, or only me I guess.
As my arm numbed to the weight on the end of it and everything in me stopped physically hurting to accommodate it, I broke the impasse.
"I'm going to hold you here. I'm not letting go. But I'm not strong enough to lift you. So until you want to come up - and that is your only option understand - I will hold you here."
"I will not call 911 to have them use a fire ladder or ship you off to the loony bin again. I won't betray you like that. But I will not let go."
"Until you want to live, I will hold you here." She did not respond.
It took sixteen hours.
I begged her for three. I claimed I couldn't hold her any more, which is honestly how I felt about every five minutes. My motivation would renew, and she would still be there on the end of my arm. I imagined her arm ripping out of her shoulder socket. At times I imagined she was tensing her muscles to stay in my grasp, but she would always go limp again when I came to reality. I told her every memory I could recall of our five years of knowing each other, almost six. I talked about her family. I tried to shame her. I told her lies about things and dreamed about her future out loud. I tried to scare her about death.
In the fourth hour I tried silence. You have to know me, I never stop talking. I worried in those moments that I talked so much that I didn't listen. I knew she was depressed. I knew. But did I listen often enough? So I fell silent. I gave her peace. Perhaps not the kind she wanted, but silence for her to respond. She didn't.
Then I got bored. I no longer felt the strain of her limp body as an extension of mine. I was resolved to hold on, but I stopped caring about making the time shorter. She would definitely decide to live, it was only a question of when. I had caught her at 2 am. The sun was rising. We were on the west side of the building, so I couldn't see the sun, only the clouds in the west getting brighter and whitening the sky. Thankfully it was warm and calm. I prayed for zero precipitation.
I surveyed my surroundings in the room. I had half battery life in my cell phone. I had promised not to call anyone, though she didn't ask me not to. I contemplated that for a minute before deciding I could always use it later and turned it off.
My arm was bent twisted with the white part facing out, my hairs brushing against the brick. My shoulder was indented against the window sill and I sat sideways on the mini-fridge. In the mini-fridge there was tons of bottled water, bread butts from two loaves, peanut butter M&Ms, and a soggy frozen dinner stuffed in the "ice" box.
I could see her alarm clock and pulled it toward me using the cord plugged in below the refrigerator plug. It was a newer one with a CD player. I could get the radio if I wanted. I used my feet to inch out and try to pull over the comforter from the bed, unmade and half on the floor. I could just touch it with the toe of my running shoe, but I had no traction on the slippery fabric. I decided to come back to that if it started to get cold.
I was afraid to sleep. I thought my body might betray me and let her go. I thought she might claw out of my grasp if she noticed. Despite having been up from 7 am the previous day and partying for half the previous night, I wasn't tired. There is a point for me when I get past tired. Past the point where my eyelids are drooping and more into an absurd state of consciousness where everything is good and fine. Even holding her out the window was fine.
I wondered if she had tried to sleep. At least that would be something. I peeked over the window, making sure to keep most all my body weight inside the room, and moved my head at different angles to see if I could make out her face. The most I got was her ear through her hair. I went ahead and assumed she was still staring at the ground below.
I did not look at the street. I've been terrified of heights since I was a kid and I learned buildings sway on purpose. When I looked down I felt the falling sensation and imagined lots of pain. It was probably equivalent to the phantom pain in my arm I could no longer feel unless I shifted her back and forth in the air. I could probably do that to get her attention later.
There were bound to be more people around as the day went on. It was the weekend though, and most people were home for the long holiday. I realized I didn't want anyone to find us, and that was a confusing way to feel.
I took out my cell and began to play games. I got one text message, from my Dad, exclaiming about the football game in badly typed mass text. I checked my email but there were just advertisements. I looked at my bank balance and was shocked that it was so high, and then remembered my Mom transferred money from my 529 for textbooks. I played Flow until my phone was at 15%, and then I turned it off in case I needed it later when my arm fell off.
I looked over and studied the brick wall that was eating into my arm. I knew to keep her close to it, since objects attract each other. I looked for a hand hold between the bricks where the concrete had come loose. There was a brick poking out pretty far, so I jiggled it with my other hand to see if it would come loose. A piece of the corner cracked off the brick and fell. I watched it bounce along the wall and break into pieces. I started to feel nauseous. There was a space now where she could put her fingers. She wasn't wearing shoes, but maybe that would make it easier for her to connect with the brick when she decided to climb back up.
I turned my attention to the comforter inside as my stomach continued to roil. Perhaps if I twisted onto my stomach like I did when I peered down at her I could get more traction. To do that I'd have to switch which arm was holding her. I didn't want to take any chances. Instead I twisted even further back to get my arm over my head. I got a bit more length that way.
I tried it with one shoe. Then I took off my shoe and sock with my back against the fridge and window. I got the corner between my big toe and the rest of my foot pad and pulled a couple of times. It got a little closer, but then I realized my mistake. Even if I could get my shoe and sock back on, I couldn't tie the laces with one hand. I gave up on the comforter.
My nose started to run. The night before I had wiped it on my sleeve, so that was now so saturated with snot I didn't have anything to wipe it on. I just let it trickle down into my mouth and sniffed repeatedly.
I ate M&Ms and sipped water. I kept the bottle in case I needed to pee later (that would be an interesting experience). It was noon. I watched the clock for a bit, periodically checking on her to make sure she was still there since I still couldn't feel my arm. Time goes so slowly when you watch for it.
I bit the bullet and tried to sleep. I was sideways on the fridge so I just let my head rest on the sill and kept my feet jammed into the floor, one heel under the fridge for leverage. I kept my butt hanging off the fridge too. I didn't fall asleep, but I did dream.
My friend became a spider who crawled up my arm. She turned into a snake and tried to eat my wrist like one might eat a mouse. She screamed and screamed. These were good dreams. They were my body imagining her efforts. The other dreams were of a closed casket funeral, a stump at my shoulder, claw marks on the brick wall, and her eyes wide with sudden fright. In my dreams I let her go, only to find her still hanging there at the end of my arm when I opened my eyes.
I turned on the radio. Weekend radio was always top 40 stuff. I put on the country station and sang. Sarah Evans came on and I shivered while I sang out, "Just a little bit stronger!" I thought I heard her humming, but I think it was just an echo. "You get the couch back, you get the dog back, you get your best friend Jack back...that's what you get when you play a country song backwards!" I started to talk to her again, this time like normal.
"I wonder why that song never comes on the radio. Rascal Flatts is how I got into country you know. I see it isn't one of your presets so I guess you don't like it that much. Remember when we sang that Taylor Swift song all the time? You liked to make fun of it with a twang, but I liked the words."
"Maybe I'm like Atlas, you know? I've got the whole world on my back. Or who is the one who has to push the rock up the hill forever? Or the sand pile grain by grain? Maybe we'll be here for all eternity. Maybe we've always been here or we aren't here at all. Like Inception. You'll wake up in another dream as soon as I let go. But then I guess I'll be stuck. My talisman can be your wrist, which I think I'd know by heart unlike anyone else. I suppose that isn't a proper talisman."
"Maybe that's how this idea came into your head. Someone planted it there long ago. And it grew."
"You know, this is how I've always felt trying to help you. I can hold you here if I'm always vigilant, but I can't decide whether you stay or go. I'm not strong enough to help you. If you decided to help yourself, stay, put in the effort, I will be there for you the whole time."
I think that is when the fire department came. I heard the sirens. I had never looked down, so I didn't know there was a group of people watching on the street, praying with me. I heard someone unlock the door to the apartment. I yelled at them not to come in. Please not to come in. And they didn't. I whispered to myself and you, over and over again, "We can do this. We can do this. They won't know you jumped. I won't tell them, I swear. We can do this." I heard the clock tower right then too, ringing one two three four times for the Saturday service.
I stared intently at the top of her head for the first time since the initial couple of hours. I saw that her scalp was still red and that her whole arm was white. I saw goose bumps on her neck. She was alive! She was living and breathing!
Then I saw her neck twist and her cheek twitch with effort. My dead arm started to feel her shoulder tighten (for real this time). Her face slowly turned towards me. There were her eyes, wide. She was terrified of falling! I don't know when the transition happened. I didn't care. I nodded to her.
She looked at the wall for the first time. I reached my free arm down and pointed to the hole I'd made. I leaned my whole upper body out the window to reach out to her with my second hand. I squished my toes under the refrigerator and bent my knees to the corner of it. I felt it shift up slightly under me so the front end was up and the corner under the window was wedged up against the wall.
I saw the scratches where her nails dug into the wall. Her whole body was tensely swinging in towards it and reaching for me. Her knees and bare feet were scraping against the wall, sometimes making it difficult for me to hold onto her. She braced both feet against the wall and lunged up at me, catching my aching wrist. Briefly I wondered if she would try to loosen my grip, but when I reached my other arm to her she started crawling up my arms.
She would alternate fingers in the loose brick hole and try to get further up my forearm to my elbow. Every time her feet slipped she would wince and I would wince. I started to bend my arms for the first time in hours and buried them into the wall, creating instant bruises that I didn't care about. I needed to slowly move backward to help her in, to get to where she could grab the window ledge again, reversing her action fifteen and a half hours ago.
I started to lift the refrigerator with my feet so I could get them against the wall. This would leave the refrigerator on top of me, but she could grab onto that too if she needed. Eventually it fell sideways as I wiggled my feet towards the wall and tensed my back and shoulders. She helped by curling her fingers into the cracks in the brick and trying to stand sideways on the concrete between them. To those below, it probably looked like I was trying to drop her. Little did they know, right?
I don't remember letting go. I know eventually she pushed herself up on the ledge like someone getting out of a pool and stuck her knee in, leaned her body forward, and fell into me and the fridge and the room. Water got all over the floor from the melting ice box and there were peanut butter M&Ms squished under it from when the door fell open. I don't know when my hand left her wrist.
I don't know when I trusted her not to fall backwards into the abyss. I remember looking at her twisted up face as she strained against death by cracked head on the sidewalk. I remember her huge round eyes as she fell, but onto the carpet and not to the other gravity outside the window. We fell instantly asleep on our stretchers after insisting on the same ambulance. I woke up a couple times to see she was still here. Her choice, not mine.
Sunday, February 3, 2013
Saturday, January 19, 2013
Resolve to Resolve
A new year is upon us, and though it will take me until June to remember to write 2013 instead of 2012, I'm going to focus anew. In case anyone didn't notice, I did not complete my goal last year of writing once per week. I got to 50/52 I think...I'm choosing not to look back. I am not going to see this as a failure because the product was great and my expectations are always too high. I did what was intended: I wrote more and ended up with lots of new pieces I'm quite proud of.
There is a Homily that has always stuck with me - forgive me for always repeating this story - about how one can go about becoming their best self (in the image of Him). In realizing that trying to change everything is very difficult and being perfect seems unattainable, this particular priest talked about a system akin to Ben Franklin's. For those of you who don't know, Ben was very interested in being perfect, and he systematically eliminated sin from his life until it became too much (starving yourself and also trying to remain active are a bit contradictory, his standards were too high as well). Nevertheless, this system involves choosing one thing to focus on at a time and making it a natural part of your life, a conscious change. Once this conscious change becomes part of your routine, then you begin with another, periodically returning to the first to check in (Ben had a lot of trouble maintaining because he never re-reflected on the sins he was eliminating). In the Homily, this referred to the weekly reminders given in the Homily - be conscious of God, set an example for others, forgive - to name a few. A week is not enough time for me to do this, so I've started with years instead.
Last year, I wanted to write more and expand my portfolio of work. With that accomplished, I am starting with a fresh addition to my routine. Those who know me well, know me as a reader. Throughout my childhood, I would not be found without a book so long as I was indoors. I read through the smoke alarm on my birthday one year, during my family birthday party. I would read in class and listen with my other ear for directions (I used to be so good at that and now I find it impossible). When completing work I would listen to the reading group at the front of the room. To this day I've never read that book and I don't know the title, but I know just what it's about (dog-sled team run by a young boy whose best dog dies before he can cross the finish line).
As I've gotten older, reading has stayed a passion, but it has died down a bit. I still get a new stack of books for Christmas every year, but instead of finishing them by my birthday, they sit in a stack until summer. I read for my English degree of course, and have a love for good literature and analysis, but that was more likely to take my focus off reading for pleasure than to kindle it, because it involved writing huge papers or preparing for class. I rarely read a book I don't enjoy, which helped when I was in college and reading nonfiction and textbooks, but didn't thrill my brain and make me smile. I get distracted by my todo lists, planning for classes, spending time with friends, etc. There is always something that needs to be done, and reading takes a back seat.
This last half year that I've been a teacher, I've been teased. I read books so that my students can analyze them (or not). I'm in a book club with my best friends, but we only discuss a book a month and I don't always have time to read them. This incessant nagging of having books to read and putting them aside has made me jealous of my young self. Thus, I am remedying this problem by resolving, in 2013, to read 50 books. I'm starting low, so as to not overwhelm myself or set the expectation too high. I'll get about 12 from book club and a few from work, so I have a built in motivation. Reading books feeds my motivation to read books. I want to feed my passion. I'm going to hopefully track the books I read on this blog because I love to write about what I read.
I've already completed one book, Oliver Sack's "The Mind's Eye" which is a bunch of psychological case studies about losing particular abilities and how they affect one's life. That is the January book club book. I'll leave the discussion for that one to my friends and I because I don't want to spoil it for them, but it truly makes you think about how the body/brain adapts to not only function, but thrive.
My second resolution is also quantifiable. I would like to take and pass both Praxis I and the Praxis II tests I need for my teacher certification this year so that I can begin the process. I'm already taking a Praxis I preparation class to take the Praxis I sometime after the school year ends or in April if I'm feeling spunky. Then I'll begin studying for the second set of tests, to hopefully pass by the end of the summer. That way, I can turn in my initial review and figure out what classes I need to take. I found out that I can use my GRE instead of Praxis I, but I had already signed up for the class, so I'm just going to take it and go from there.
I have goals for my job as well (we had to put them together in Professional Development), but they are easily summarized: use parent suggestions, track what works for students, and develop personally by reading education research articles.
There is a Homily that has always stuck with me - forgive me for always repeating this story - about how one can go about becoming their best self (in the image of Him). In realizing that trying to change everything is very difficult and being perfect seems unattainable, this particular priest talked about a system akin to Ben Franklin's. For those of you who don't know, Ben was very interested in being perfect, and he systematically eliminated sin from his life until it became too much (starving yourself and also trying to remain active are a bit contradictory, his standards were too high as well). Nevertheless, this system involves choosing one thing to focus on at a time and making it a natural part of your life, a conscious change. Once this conscious change becomes part of your routine, then you begin with another, periodically returning to the first to check in (Ben had a lot of trouble maintaining because he never re-reflected on the sins he was eliminating). In the Homily, this referred to the weekly reminders given in the Homily - be conscious of God, set an example for others, forgive - to name a few. A week is not enough time for me to do this, so I've started with years instead.
Last year, I wanted to write more and expand my portfolio of work. With that accomplished, I am starting with a fresh addition to my routine. Those who know me well, know me as a reader. Throughout my childhood, I would not be found without a book so long as I was indoors. I read through the smoke alarm on my birthday one year, during my family birthday party. I would read in class and listen with my other ear for directions (I used to be so good at that and now I find it impossible). When completing work I would listen to the reading group at the front of the room. To this day I've never read that book and I don't know the title, but I know just what it's about (dog-sled team run by a young boy whose best dog dies before he can cross the finish line).
As I've gotten older, reading has stayed a passion, but it has died down a bit. I still get a new stack of books for Christmas every year, but instead of finishing them by my birthday, they sit in a stack until summer. I read for my English degree of course, and have a love for good literature and analysis, but that was more likely to take my focus off reading for pleasure than to kindle it, because it involved writing huge papers or preparing for class. I rarely read a book I don't enjoy, which helped when I was in college and reading nonfiction and textbooks, but didn't thrill my brain and make me smile. I get distracted by my todo lists, planning for classes, spending time with friends, etc. There is always something that needs to be done, and reading takes a back seat.
This last half year that I've been a teacher, I've been teased. I read books so that my students can analyze them (or not). I'm in a book club with my best friends, but we only discuss a book a month and I don't always have time to read them. This incessant nagging of having books to read and putting them aside has made me jealous of my young self. Thus, I am remedying this problem by resolving, in 2013, to read 50 books. I'm starting low, so as to not overwhelm myself or set the expectation too high. I'll get about 12 from book club and a few from work, so I have a built in motivation. Reading books feeds my motivation to read books. I want to feed my passion. I'm going to hopefully track the books I read on this blog because I love to write about what I read.
I've already completed one book, Oliver Sack's "The Mind's Eye" which is a bunch of psychological case studies about losing particular abilities and how they affect one's life. That is the January book club book. I'll leave the discussion for that one to my friends and I because I don't want to spoil it for them, but it truly makes you think about how the body/brain adapts to not only function, but thrive.
My second resolution is also quantifiable. I would like to take and pass both Praxis I and the Praxis II tests I need for my teacher certification this year so that I can begin the process. I'm already taking a Praxis I preparation class to take the Praxis I sometime after the school year ends or in April if I'm feeling spunky. Then I'll begin studying for the second set of tests, to hopefully pass by the end of the summer. That way, I can turn in my initial review and figure out what classes I need to take. I found out that I can use my GRE instead of Praxis I, but I had already signed up for the class, so I'm just going to take it and go from there.
I have goals for my job as well (we had to put them together in Professional Development), but they are easily summarized: use parent suggestions, track what works for students, and develop personally by reading education research articles.
Saturday, December 8, 2012
The Web
I did not complete NaNoWriMo. I got busy. I wrote 11,000 words approximately. That's still good, even if I didn't finish.
48/52 for 2012...because I am compelled to finish that.
People have been asking since the dawn of thought what our purpose is here. This is probably the most depressing pursuit a person can have, because it makes most day-to-day activities meaningless. I was thinking about those meaningless things today, what I call "The Web" and at first I was feeling lost without purpose. However, stuff exists for a reason, even if we don't know what that reason is, and so there must be purpose in the individual things.
Take my trip to CVS today. I went to CVS to get a razor so that I could shave my legs. I was shaving my legs because I haven't done it in awhile. I haven't done it in awhile because no body was going to see them or touch them. This week my friends and I are getting photos done. Someone will see those photos, and so I needed to shave my legs. The reason we were doing the photo shoot was to have nice pictures for our respective SOs. They like to see us looking nice. We want them to see the photos because we like the way they react.
Okay so that is an example of The Web. A whole bunch of seemingly meaningless things lead to a center thing. However, I was getting very caught up in the trip to CVS. My mind breezed over the other stuff. It was just one more thing I had to do in an endless stream of stuff. As a kid life was simple, and thus meaningful. You did one thing, you got one result. As life became more complicated, there were more steps in between. The trick is to find the meaning in the steps, and not to always be thinking of the end.
So this is what happened. I found what I needed. I went to check out. The guy at the checkout was really nice to me. Keep in mind it's 9:30 on a Saturday night and he is working and I am a pretty girl buying a razor. However, I've worked retail, and it is hard to be nice to even the prettiest, easiest of customers when you are working late on a Saturday night. He made me feel better, and I appreciated how hard it was for him to do that.
And so I started to think about it differently. What if the purposes are all the same? If being nice is the motivating factor for being nice (in a perfect world, keep in mind), then the steps aren't meaningless. That guy was nice to me. I felt better, happier. I was giving money to him, not causing him any trouble, and getting something I needed (two things, if you count the razor) in return.
So then expand to the example Web I gave earlier. Simply, it is that I needed to go to CVS to make my boyfriend happy. Better, it is that I needed to go to CVS so that I could feel the chill in the air that I love and so that my car would warm up after sitting all day. I needed the razor because I appreciate being able to buy things with my money, money that I worked hard for. It helps that I found the exact thing that I was looking for. I'm shaving my legs because I like the way it feels and looks. I'm doing the photo shoot because I like the way that I look and I want to spend time with my friends having fun. I'm giving the photos to my boyfriend because he likes them and I like to see his face when he looks at them. Everything that I do is being nice to me or to someone else - in the hopes that someone will be nice to me in return.
So what if it is all about being nice. The reason people are nice is so that they will continue to be nice. You do one thing in The Web, not to facilitate the next thing, but to continue the thread of niceness. I don't know if this will make sense to anyone else. If it does, I hope that it comforts you, makes you feel better, makes you want to be nice and consider all the nice things happening to you.
48/52 for 2012...because I am compelled to finish that.
People have been asking since the dawn of thought what our purpose is here. This is probably the most depressing pursuit a person can have, because it makes most day-to-day activities meaningless. I was thinking about those meaningless things today, what I call "The Web" and at first I was feeling lost without purpose. However, stuff exists for a reason, even if we don't know what that reason is, and so there must be purpose in the individual things.
Take my trip to CVS today. I went to CVS to get a razor so that I could shave my legs. I was shaving my legs because I haven't done it in awhile. I haven't done it in awhile because no body was going to see them or touch them. This week my friends and I are getting photos done. Someone will see those photos, and so I needed to shave my legs. The reason we were doing the photo shoot was to have nice pictures for our respective SOs. They like to see us looking nice. We want them to see the photos because we like the way they react.
Okay so that is an example of The Web. A whole bunch of seemingly meaningless things lead to a center thing. However, I was getting very caught up in the trip to CVS. My mind breezed over the other stuff. It was just one more thing I had to do in an endless stream of stuff. As a kid life was simple, and thus meaningful. You did one thing, you got one result. As life became more complicated, there were more steps in between. The trick is to find the meaning in the steps, and not to always be thinking of the end.
So this is what happened. I found what I needed. I went to check out. The guy at the checkout was really nice to me. Keep in mind it's 9:30 on a Saturday night and he is working and I am a pretty girl buying a razor. However, I've worked retail, and it is hard to be nice to even the prettiest, easiest of customers when you are working late on a Saturday night. He made me feel better, and I appreciated how hard it was for him to do that.
And so I started to think about it differently. What if the purposes are all the same? If being nice is the motivating factor for being nice (in a perfect world, keep in mind), then the steps aren't meaningless. That guy was nice to me. I felt better, happier. I was giving money to him, not causing him any trouble, and getting something I needed (two things, if you count the razor) in return.
So then expand to the example Web I gave earlier. Simply, it is that I needed to go to CVS to make my boyfriend happy. Better, it is that I needed to go to CVS so that I could feel the chill in the air that I love and so that my car would warm up after sitting all day. I needed the razor because I appreciate being able to buy things with my money, money that I worked hard for. It helps that I found the exact thing that I was looking for. I'm shaving my legs because I like the way it feels and looks. I'm doing the photo shoot because I like the way that I look and I want to spend time with my friends having fun. I'm giving the photos to my boyfriend because he likes them and I like to see his face when he looks at them. Everything that I do is being nice to me or to someone else - in the hopes that someone will be nice to me in return.
So what if it is all about being nice. The reason people are nice is so that they will continue to be nice. You do one thing in The Web, not to facilitate the next thing, but to continue the thread of niceness. I don't know if this will make sense to anyone else. If it does, I hope that it comforts you, makes you feel better, makes you want to be nice and consider all the nice things happening to you.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Excerpt from "100 Things"
Hey everyone! Check out this excerpt from my NaNoWriMo novel. I'm just trying to get words on paper at the moment, but I'm really concerned that the voice of the character is boring because he doesn't know a wide range of vocabulary or sentence structures. What do you guys think?
Go to the movies with friends
I can only go to the mall with my Mom. I can never see movies that I want to see because she always has to come with me. I like to see the same movies as my other classmates. But they get to go on their own so they see all of the movies and I never do. So then we can’t talk about the movies.
My mom is always worried that some bad stranger is going to come find me because they always find kids like me who have disabilities. I try to tell my Mom that I’m not dumb and that I won’t go off with strangers but then she asks me if I would if they said they knew her and I say yes. That’s not the right answer because she doesn’t want me to believe lies. So she always goes with me.
None of the other kids in my class are allowed to go to the movies by themselves either. For some of them it is because they might get sick when they are at the movies and then their friends won’t know how to help. Like Sarah who has epilepsy. Plus then the other kids might freak out and not want us to go to the movies with them.
No one ever asked me to go to the movies with them. I figured I would meet them there one day when I was by myself and they’d be like, “Hey, we’re going to see this movie. Wanna come?” And then I could say yeah that I want to come and then I would make a friend. Especially if I stood by the movie theater. kids from my school go there because I’ve seen them.
When I’m with my Mom and I see people I know, I always hide in the arcade. Mom says I’m being silly when I do that, but I think I’m old enough to be on my own and they’d think I was a baby. The janitors always yell at me when I hide in the arcade because they are scared I might break something.
No one thinks I should do anything by myself because of my Down Syndrome. They don’t think I can because they say I look stupid. When they talk to my Mom they always say liability. I don’t know what that means but it seems like it means your stupid kid can’t do stuff on his own. And that’s mean.
I’m not stupid and I can go to the movies on my own so I can make friends. If I made friends we could talk about the movies we saw. No I can only talk about baby movies and romances because that’s all my Mom lets me see. I want to see rated R movies and action and horror movies like Saw. I heard people talking about that movie once and all the bloody hands and jumping out parts. If I was cool I could talk about that stuff too.
I can only go to the mall with my Mom. I can never see movies that I want to see because she always has to come with me. I like to see the same movies as my other classmates. But they get to go on their own so they see all of the movies and I never do. So then we can’t talk about the movies.
My mom is always worried that some bad stranger is going to come find me because they always find kids like me who have disabilities. I try to tell my Mom that I’m not dumb and that I won’t go off with strangers but then she asks me if I would if they said they knew her and I say yes. That’s not the right answer because she doesn’t want me to believe lies. So she always goes with me.
None of the other kids in my class are allowed to go to the movies by themselves either. For some of them it is because they might get sick when they are at the movies and then their friends won’t know how to help. Like Sarah who has epilepsy. Plus then the other kids might freak out and not want us to go to the movies with them.
No one ever asked me to go to the movies with them. I figured I would meet them there one day when I was by myself and they’d be like, “Hey, we’re going to see this movie. Wanna come?” And then I could say yeah that I want to come and then I would make a friend. Especially if I stood by the movie theater. kids from my school go there because I’ve seen them.
When I’m with my Mom and I see people I know, I always hide in the arcade. Mom says I’m being silly when I do that, but I think I’m old enough to be on my own and they’d think I was a baby. The janitors always yell at me when I hide in the arcade because they are scared I might break something.
No one thinks I should do anything by myself because of my Down Syndrome. They don’t think I can because they say I look stupid. When they talk to my Mom they always say liability. I don’t know what that means but it seems like it means your stupid kid can’t do stuff on his own. And that’s mean.
I’m not stupid and I can go to the movies on my own so I can make friends. If I made friends we could talk about the movies we saw. No I can only talk about baby movies and romances because that’s all my Mom lets me see. I want to see rated R movies and action and horror movies like Saw. I heard people talking about that movie once and all the bloody hands and jumping out parts. If I was cool I could talk about that stuff too.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Hurricane Sandy at Stoney Beach
47/52
NaNoWriMo starts in two days. Meanwhile, I've spent the last two days off of work for the hurricane not doing much. It's amazing how when I have the time to write, I can't bring myself to, but when I'm busy busy busy I'm always more inspired.
The rain washes in sheets
down the road
like waves on a beach.
All the water falls
straight from the sky
and then blows
to the side,
tapping on the windows.
All the time the whipping
wind hoots in
through the cracks
and makes the siding ripple
and the trees creak.
I watch from inside
the water rising up
over the dock.
The sub-pump turns on
and a humming fills
the drain pipes,
but our house doesn't sink.
The lights flicker
and we are left
sleeping in the dark
with only the sound
of the storm
to drift us off.
Coldness creeps in as
I stay huddled
under the covers,
afraid to brave the chill.
NaNoWriMo starts in two days. Meanwhile, I've spent the last two days off of work for the hurricane not doing much. It's amazing how when I have the time to write, I can't bring myself to, but when I'm busy busy busy I'm always more inspired.
The rain washes in sheets
down the road
like waves on a beach.
All the water falls
straight from the sky
and then blows
to the side,
tapping on the windows.
All the time the whipping
wind hoots in
through the cracks
and makes the siding ripple
and the trees creak.
I watch from inside
the water rising up
over the dock.
The sub-pump turns on
and a humming fills
the drain pipes,
but our house doesn't sink.
The lights flicker
and we are left
sleeping in the dark
with only the sound
of the storm
to drift us off.
Coldness creeps in as
I stay huddled
under the covers,
afraid to brave the chill.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Independence Road
46/52
Thar's a storm a'comin.
So Sandy is on her way - sort of already here. Plus NaNoWriMo is set to begin Thursday and I haven't wrapped up my blog posts. I suppose I'll just have to write more blog posts after October (that is still 2012 after all) until I get to 52. Being so close to my goal and just failing at it is difficult, so instead I'm granting leniency. No need to get stressed about self-imposed deadlines that don't affect anyone but you - not worth it.
I had planned on going cross country after graduation. See all I could see. But between all the parties and gifts, I lost my lust for travel. Instead I applied for graduate programs near home.
The only one that would take me I had sent in before graduation, when my plan was still ripe in my mind. Tenessee. Nashville and Belmont University. A small school in the middle of a big city. So now that I'd settled on staying, I was forced to go by my own pride.
Outside the Northeast walls of my world, and driving, nonetheless, I was naked in my dependence. I couldn't quite grasp hold of the cities I went through. My budgeting skills were nonexistent, so I quickly began hoarding it for a rainy day. It seemed to rain every day I drove through Delaware, Maryland, Virginia.
At the suggestion of a slimy mechanic I replaced my tires prematurely and had a full service brake inspection. When I talked to my father later that day, he told me in an exasperated tone that I overpaid.
More hoarding of cash. This meant no stops on the road for coffee or granola bars. I only ate the food that I brought with me, which was mostly chocolate and pretzels and tons of water bottles. No wonder I was falling asleep at the wheel and having to stop for pee breaks in the woods. I had brought toilet paper.
I was not above tailgating on the highway and cutting from lane to lane to go twenty over in the boring two lane roads between mountains. I had learned a more aggressive driving style living in the suburbs than these easy-driving folks.
On the way I would make phone calls from different apartment leasing offices making phone appointments to sign a lease. I would follow up with a call to my mother asking me what to ask. Then I would call internet, leasing, phone, and water companies to set up automatic payments. After a confirming call to my mom I would purchase rental insurance. Then I would call her back to check my bank balance.
I would painfully yawn in the darkness with headlights flashing at me, and listen to the music as loud as it went.
Thar's a storm a'comin.
So Sandy is on her way - sort of already here. Plus NaNoWriMo is set to begin Thursday and I haven't wrapped up my blog posts. I suppose I'll just have to write more blog posts after October (that is still 2012 after all) until I get to 52. Being so close to my goal and just failing at it is difficult, so instead I'm granting leniency. No need to get stressed about self-imposed deadlines that don't affect anyone but you - not worth it.
I had planned on going cross country after graduation. See all I could see. But between all the parties and gifts, I lost my lust for travel. Instead I applied for graduate programs near home.
The only one that would take me I had sent in before graduation, when my plan was still ripe in my mind. Tenessee. Nashville and Belmont University. A small school in the middle of a big city. So now that I'd settled on staying, I was forced to go by my own pride.
Outside the Northeast walls of my world, and driving, nonetheless, I was naked in my dependence. I couldn't quite grasp hold of the cities I went through. My budgeting skills were nonexistent, so I quickly began hoarding it for a rainy day. It seemed to rain every day I drove through Delaware, Maryland, Virginia.
At the suggestion of a slimy mechanic I replaced my tires prematurely and had a full service brake inspection. When I talked to my father later that day, he told me in an exasperated tone that I overpaid.
More hoarding of cash. This meant no stops on the road for coffee or granola bars. I only ate the food that I brought with me, which was mostly chocolate and pretzels and tons of water bottles. No wonder I was falling asleep at the wheel and having to stop for pee breaks in the woods. I had brought toilet paper.
I was not above tailgating on the highway and cutting from lane to lane to go twenty over in the boring two lane roads between mountains. I had learned a more aggressive driving style living in the suburbs than these easy-driving folks.
On the way I would make phone calls from different apartment leasing offices making phone appointments to sign a lease. I would follow up with a call to my mother asking me what to ask. Then I would call internet, leasing, phone, and water companies to set up automatic payments. After a confirming call to my mom I would purchase rental insurance. Then I would call her back to check my bank balance.
I would painfully yawn in the darkness with headlights flashing at me, and listen to the music as loud as it went.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Two-a-days
I guess I'm on two-a-days since I can't even remember to post every day no matter how much I remind myself. How am I going to write 2700 words a day if I can barely write 100 once a week?
Everything is high school comes in twos.
Two books for each class: a textbook and a reading book.
Two credits for Advanced Placement.
Two required P.E. courses.
Two valedictorians.
Two plays a year.
Two hours of rehearsal, two times per day, for two weeks, twice a year.
And this on top of classwork and homework and life. The musical is always worse than the Fall play. All that dancing in step with everyone and singing at a higher pitch than your voice goes just to contrast with your prepubescent costar who is supposed to be a tenor. By the end you might as well be singing opera and breaking all the glass props (mostly vases, vases...whatever).
But in the Fall play, despite there being no aching feet and broken vocal chords, there are still the two-a-days with no hope. The days are short and so they go like this: Wake up at 4:30 am, shower, eat a bar or shake, remember to dress in leggings under jeans, forget brushing teeth, out the door and thank goodness you live two minutes by car, at school by 5 am in the freezing cold darkness just as the custodian arrives, do stretches and practice lines, greet the director-teacher at 5:05, walk through, talk through, act through, then again with each cast member as they arrive, consult with the lighting, sound, stage director, and set builder, check props, go over lines with peers and practice micro-expressions made large, walk across from stage left to right and then back four or five times, go over one or two imperfect scenes, practice the kiss and the slap and costume changes, without seeing any light in the sky grab books and change and go to English, World, Health, Bio, Art, P.E., and somewhere in there lunch, drink two gallons of water and squirt lemon juice down your throat, don't forget the vitamin C, stare listlessly at your friends, glare at your understudy, and high fives, hold hands with your boyfriend for five minutes after school, giggle with the girls for another two, call Mom just in case, annnnnd rehearsal at 4 pm, run through and over, through again and repeat, costume fitting number five, meet with director, voice coach, and then blocking, blocking, blocking, snack, scenes with scenery, alter walk throughs for new scenery pieces, try and remember where to turn, walk, stand, face, then finally when the stars are bright or it's raining crunch through leaves to the car with keys in hand, two minutes home, sit with Mom for dinner and a lecture about how "it's too much," English essay, math practice, Art drawing that was due last class, an AP practice test and one more run through of lines in your head while you brush your teeth and wash your face and fall into bed, tossing and turning over whether or not your friend is mad that you kissed your boyfriend in front of her.
At least in the Spring you see the sun.
Everything is high school comes in twos.
Two books for each class: a textbook and a reading book.
Two credits for Advanced Placement.
Two required P.E. courses.
Two valedictorians.
Two plays a year.
Two hours of rehearsal, two times per day, for two weeks, twice a year.
And this on top of classwork and homework and life. The musical is always worse than the Fall play. All that dancing in step with everyone and singing at a higher pitch than your voice goes just to contrast with your prepubescent costar who is supposed to be a tenor. By the end you might as well be singing opera and breaking all the glass props (mostly vases, vases...whatever).
But in the Fall play, despite there being no aching feet and broken vocal chords, there are still the two-a-days with no hope. The days are short and so they go like this: Wake up at 4:30 am, shower, eat a bar or shake, remember to dress in leggings under jeans, forget brushing teeth, out the door and thank goodness you live two minutes by car, at school by 5 am in the freezing cold darkness just as the custodian arrives, do stretches and practice lines, greet the director-teacher at 5:05, walk through, talk through, act through, then again with each cast member as they arrive, consult with the lighting, sound, stage director, and set builder, check props, go over lines with peers and practice micro-expressions made large, walk across from stage left to right and then back four or five times, go over one or two imperfect scenes, practice the kiss and the slap and costume changes, without seeing any light in the sky grab books and change and go to English, World, Health, Bio, Art, P.E., and somewhere in there lunch, drink two gallons of water and squirt lemon juice down your throat, don't forget the vitamin C, stare listlessly at your friends, glare at your understudy, and high fives, hold hands with your boyfriend for five minutes after school, giggle with the girls for another two, call Mom just in case, annnnnd rehearsal at 4 pm, run through and over, through again and repeat, costume fitting number five, meet with director, voice coach, and then blocking, blocking, blocking, snack, scenes with scenery, alter walk throughs for new scenery pieces, try and remember where to turn, walk, stand, face, then finally when the stars are bright or it's raining crunch through leaves to the car with keys in hand, two minutes home, sit with Mom for dinner and a lecture about how "it's too much," English essay, math practice, Art drawing that was due last class, an AP practice test and one more run through of lines in your head while you brush your teeth and wash your face and fall into bed, tossing and turning over whether or not your friend is mad that you kissed your boyfriend in front of her.
At least in the Spring you see the sun.
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