• ?
• Butterfly Kisses
• Come Back
• The Death Of Day
• Dream of Truth
• Inspiration
• John D.
• Midnight Ramble
• one moment 
• rendezvous
• The Rival
• The Test
• Whitney
• Why?
• Willpower Lacking

• How To Eat Corn--The Right Way??

• Confusion
• Consequences
• December Winds
• Friends
• An Hour of Recognition
• One Single Word

No chesire cat’s moon-smile
Is as bright as your luminous white grin
Which flashes by me and through me
And cheers me on continually
It’s like looking at a bright yellow light
That flashes behind my eyes each time I blink
Glowing, for minutes after I first see it
I am not blinded, only wounded
And the back of my eyes are singed
And the back of my mind is still carrying you around
But I am not blinded by your smile, only wounded
And today of all days I resent you being next to me
I’ve been forging your signature onto my ego
And forging my way through the mud
To come out of the forest behind you.
So today let me go, let me go
Into the forest alone
Because I felt the pain of following behind you
For decades of races and centuries of running
Watching your legs kick up dirt and grass
Kick up anger and resentment, directed at me
And pride in the swiftness of your feet.
Your superiority has guided me for too long
I’ve had enough of living inside a cell
With just me and your outer shell
Today’s the last time I will see you
It’s the last time to greet you
So now I will ungreet you
With an empty voice, a heartless hug
And my always inferior smile.

There is a moment...

when all you feel
is blood pumping through your veins
when all you hear
is the roar of the crowd
when all you see
is a blur of tears
when all you smell
is salty sweat
when all you taste
is sweet victory
when all you think
is nothing at all

and they say people can't fly.
show
them
your
 wings.

Why?

When I speak, can you even hear me?
When I shine, Why are you dimming the light?
When I run , Why are you just standing there?
When I cry, where's my tissues?

When you speak, I am vaccinated
When you shine, I am happy for you
When you run, I follow
When you cry, my shoulder is open

When I am mad at you, it doesn't matter
When you are mad at me, it hurts
When you wanna die, I help you
When I want to die, you don't care

face to face
with truth
i'm standing scared
shaking...
afraid...
hesitant to move towards
the only way
i've known
hesitant to move far
from the only place
i've belonged
face to face
with my fears
it's becoming hard
to breathe...
to feel....
numb to the danger
of uncertainty
i carry on
numb to the pain
of defeat
i gamble once more
face to face
with my time to change
i'm standing still
motionless....
static...
drunk with the pride
of youth
i stand fearless
in fear
drunk with hope
for tomorrow
i let today
fade away...
forever i'll remember
this brave rendezvous
with my fears.

Morphine plagued my rotted teeth,
Gulp down candycane innocence
And wash down forged discipline,
Acrid yearnings claw at my hungry eyes,
Stretch and retract the folds of my overpowered guilt,

I never touched clean tablecloths-
stained with promised pleadings and
                                       unaware condemning,
And maybe we could find refuge
      under the supple gardens of our fulfillment,
And maybe we could just -stop-
                                         our foolish rampages,
For craving killed my serenity
                               and drowned my hope for a lighter life,
Purged in this flat fizzed soda contentment,
I will someday overcome.

In step he treads down shadowed way
in circled, woven line.
In thought he stands too far away,
cloaked in dark at death of day
that roves since wake of time.

The spider's tangled web weaves not
the secrets of his heart.
Trapped in his stormy, troubled thought,
his eyes now drab, his face distraught,
emotion dies apart.

In travelling down the path he chose
the truth stays lost behind him.
But as for that the passing goes,
bloody thorn of silken rose,
no traces left to find him.

Is he content?
 Is he willing?
Angered by all the casual killing?
In love with the sun?
Or better yet full of blind faith...
Maybe he sits next to his casket,
foolishly waiting to be saved.
Is he kind?
Is he snug?
Does he remember how to love?
Or is he evil?
Does he hate?
Will he for no reason,
spit blood in your face?
And tell me this,
in all innocence,
who will decide
his fate?

"It hurts God,can't you see?
Losing my best friend, it went in too deep.
The pain, the thoughts, the loss of trust,
I can't get it back Lord, it's just too much.
In bed I lie, making an ocean of tears,
Just thinking about it, fills me with fear.
Pictures on my wall, sorrow they bring,
Memories take over of how it use to be.
'So I'm like the brother you never had'he'd say,
Oh God, please bring him back!
Why Lord, I don't understand,
Can't it all go away in just one stab?
Inside my heart I'm torn apart,
Why God did you let this start?
My mind goes crazy, can't make it stop,
I remember every time we use to talk.
The feelings, the thorns, even trips to the mall,
They were all let out in just one call.
Now that I see him, I wanna cry,
I ask you to just let me die.
Missing his laughs, his jokes, his smile,
Wish he'd come back just like a child.
I want to escape from the pain that awaits,
Knowing my heart will soon, poorly break.
As always Lord, he's in your hands,
Help me get through this,just bring him back.

Bedtime stories,
Soft gentle butterfly kisses,
Cold rainy nights,
Soft pink covers being pulled up,
Soothing perfume scents,
The soft beating from the heater,
Warm air flying in,
Soft words being whispered,
Pitter-patter of soft rain drops,
Swishing of the icy cold winds,
Dim lights cast a dark spell over the room,
Slow shutting of the bache door,
Comfortably closing my eyes and drifting,
Drifting off into a peaceful sleep,
Then out of no where a sudden burst of coughing,
Mom rushing into check,
Then the soft whisper of "Sweet Dreams,"
One last butterfly kiss.

I went to sleep one night
and woke up in a dream
clouds, bounding like spun cotton into the heavens
angels singing sweet glorias
while my ears yerned for more
My dream was such a sweet place
I had the feeling of being whole
I was me, not some other girl
wearing a mask to meet the approval of others
I was surrounded by nothing,
I was alone
and yet, I knew I wasn't
and never would be again
My whole body tingled
as if every deep breath I took filled me with life
I was finally living
and inside I knew,
for the first time
For our lives in reality are not how they should be
and we do not start living
until our earthly lives are complete
it was then I realized I wasn't in a dream
this was my life as it should be
and I was finally
home

You sent me here as a test
Could I be strong and fix the mess
That the world is becoming and withstand the rest
Of the problems I will face?

You created the world with beauty in mind
It must've taken forever but you had plenty of time
To get into this place, I would stand in line
For as long as it would take

But I didn't have to wait for long to gaze up at the sky
From down upon the earth, under Your watchful eye
Now I live my life the best I can until it's time to die
When You decide to take me back

So, God, now I ask You to gather me in Your arms
Hold me there, under Your wing, and protect me from all harm
Talk to me in Your gentle voice and soothe me with Your charm
Then I'd know, pass or fail, I had completed the test.

My head drops lower and I squint my eyes
Not enough life to quench my craving taste
Whelping blackness bobbled by a cloud
My eye has its own synchronized attention

Sitting on ancient iron, rusty memory and black paint
Flapping alone in the rushing wind
Hands tied back in my own wrought
Waiting for nothing but time

My writhing mind slows to calm trembles,
Thought wound down to an unchilled frost
And so I sit away from the unknown
Opaque blindness becomes my realization

The steamy breeze quickens my thoughts
Shifting my pace and ceasing my ponders, I climb
And as I saunter so delicately slow
My tears silently tread their predestined paths

I stumble across the dirt ridden pavement
Glaring, straining, I read the plea
"This is not reality"
And pathetically it comforts me

I will never forget the day
the day you passed away
The many hours I cried
The many times I tried
The many tears I wept
The many hours I slept
The many pictures I have
The lonely days I had
I never thought it would be so sad
To know you were had
In Gods hands
I will never forget how many times
I told God he was wrong
For taking you so young
I wish I could have done more
To prevent God from opening that door
I wish I could be brave
And have me in your graveI wish I could have pride
For the tears your mom cried
I wish I could turn back time
And make things better
But I can’t
I will always remember you as the
Smiley little girl
Who loved life
I will always love you no matter what
I will live my life for you
Because it’s my duty to
I will see to it that I do
All I want to say is, I miss you.

In loving memory of Whitney McDoor, I miss you!

I'm sitting here
My pen in hand
My paper white as snow

My mind is too
A snow-white sheet
Ah, the lengths I wouldn't go

To find an inspiration
To find a place to start
To find a little tidbit
That will finally touch my heart

Help me, I cannot write today,
And wouldn't be able to if you offered me pay.

I have this thing called writer's block,
My pen is under key and lock.

I want to write, I honestly do,
But it is so hard to create something new.

Stories of heroes are often told,
But my pen can't possibly be that bold.

Maybe something graceful will work,
Or something scary where villains lurk.

Help me, please - I really need it,
I think I'm falling into a bottomless pit!

Of all the things that could happen to me,
Why must it be these three?

Oops, I actually think it's two,
I think I'll cry now, boo-hoo.

I must leave my paper for a while,
So when I return, maybe I'll smile.

Did you know that there are six billion potential corn lovers on this planet? Sadly, only half of them know they possess this ability though.  People around the world sit down at their dinner tables and eat their corn lifelessly everyday. Why is this happening? Because they have not learned how to give new hope and meaning to the word “corn”. Six billion people don ’t know how to eat corn the right way, but soon you will. There are six steps to eating corn the right way.

First, you must buy your corn. At the supermarket you will find many varieties of corn, such as: creamed corn, corn on the cob, frozen corn, popcorn, etc. For example, you decide to select creamed corn, two choices now await your decision—canned or frozen? Canned is a classic way to go but there have been new advances in frozen corn. The decision is easy, always choose canned; canned corn cooks faster, tastes better, and is the only right choice when eating corn the right way. Purchase the corn, and take it home with you as carefully as possible. Remember that corn is a delicate substance.

Second, you must cook the corn. Creamed corn can be cooked two different ways, in the microwave or on the stove. Because of our unique preparation techniques we must choose the stovetop directions. Using a can opener, open the can and pour the contents into a cooking pot gently. Place the pot on the burner on medium heat for ten minutes.

Next, while your corn is cooking you have a good opportunity to relax and contemplate the pleasures of good corn consumption. Sit down at the kitchen counter and close your eyes. Breathe deeply and meditate on the wonders of corn. If you like you may hum softly or chant “Corn, corn, corn!” repeatedly. This may help you stay focused and excited about your corny experience. You will find this meditation technique most enjoyable.

When the timer sounds it is time for your fourth step—presentation. Find a bowl for your corn that will show off the textured beauty of each mushy kernel. If you have a bowl that has some significant meaning or emotional attachment to you it would be wise to use it. For extra pleasure replace the normal dinner spoon with a soup spoon for twice the depth and quicker consumption. Use your spoon to draw a smiley face in the corn; this will remind you of how happy an occasion this really is.

Next, stand near your corn and get ready for the corn pep rally. This step will include your song and dance portion of this experience. Don’t be shy—express yourself, don’t repress yourself. As you sing these words, repeat the motions in the song: “You put your right foot in, you put your right foot out, you put your right foot in and you shake it all about. You do the hokey pokey and you turn yourself around. That’s what corn’s all about!”

For your sixth and final step you will find the most pleasurable moment in this whole experience—consumption. Pick up your spoon and blow gently so your tongue remains unscathed when eating. Slowly, eat the corn, savoring each bite like it is your last. Close your eyes and imagine yourself in a field of corn, and you are the corn king or queen, ruling your kingdom. 

Sadly though your journey must come to an end. But this has been a wonderful journey through the joys of corn consumption. As you go about your day to day business be reminded of this: You have been saved from corn despair. After discovering these six steps to eating corn the right way, you will never want to go back to that dark, desolate way of consuming corn again.

Sarah stood in the hallway, kids bustling by her, talking, laughing, and shrieking playfully, rushing to go home for the long summer that awaited them. Their school year was done!

Sarah's green eyes scanned the packed hallway looking for Jenny, her best friend of eight years. Sarah's light brown hair was pulled into a ponytail.  She was average height for a fifteen-year-old.

Suddenly, Sarah felt a yank on her backpack. She whirled around ready to give someone a dirty look, but instead faced the laughing eyes of Jenny.

"We're tenth graders! Sophomores!" Jenny said excitedly.

Sarah smiled and gave her friend a quick hug.

"Let's get out of here!" Sarah exclaimed. The two girls dashed through the thinning crowd of kids and rushed out the doors of Westwood High and into the cool Minnesota air.

Sarah turned to face the school and yelled, "See you in three months! I'm going to Canada!" Laughing, she turned around to see the dismal little grin on Jenny's face.

"Did you have to remind me of that now?"

"Oh Jenny, it won't be so bad."

"But, Sarah, you're leaving tomorrow! We can't even celebrate our first day of summer together!" Jenny whined.

"Jenny, we've been through this already. It's not my fault my aunt is getting married on Sunday. Tomorrow is Saturday. It takes long to get there and get settled, so we need to leave tomorrow," Sarah explained for what seemed like the umpteenth time.

Jenny sighed, "Okay, I understand. Let's go."

Sarah and Jenny walked to their neighborhood. They stopped at the corner where they split up.

"Well, I have to go," Sarah said.

"I'm going to miss you so much!" Jenny cried.

They gave each other a hug.

"I'll send you a postcard."

"Don't forget."

The two friends smiled at each other, and waved several times until Sarah walked into her house. She closed the door.

"Mom! I'm home!" Sarah called.

"In the office!" Diane, Sarah's mother, called back.

Sarah dropped her things in her room and then walked into her mom's office.

It had been her dad's, but her mom remodeled it to fit her needs when he had passed away two years earlier.

"Hi Mom," Sarah gave her mother a kiss. "What are you doing?"

"Well, I'm getting our important papers put together. I didn't want to misplace them, so I'm taking them out at the last minute. So how was your last day of school, honey?"

"It was wonderful! I'm really going to miss Jenny though."

"I bet. Okay, all I need now are our birth certificates. They're in the filing cabinet. Oh, gosh I need to run to the bathroom. Why don't you get yourself a snack, honey? I'll get the birth certificates, okay?" Diane retreated into the hallway.

Sarah went to the filing cabinet to get the birth certificates as a favor to her mother. She pulled open the drawer. She reached into the folder labeled "Birth Certificates." She pulled out two envelopes, one labeled "Diane Simmons," the other labeled "Sarah Simmons". Sarah put down her mom's and opened hers. Sarah became curious and pulled out a folded piece of thick paper from the envelope.

Suddenly, Sarah got an apprehensive feeling in her stomach.

"Maybe I should put this back," she whispered to herself. She started to put the certificate back into the envelope.

But suddenly Sarah got a rush of determination and threw the envelope to the ground. She opened the folded paper. A small, white square of paper fell out and onto the ground. Sarah ignored it and studied the document in her hand. She read:

Name: Sarah Lynn Parker (Simmons)

"What? Where did Parker come from?" The feeling in Sarah's stomach grew intense.

Then she saw it. One single word: ADOPTED. Sarah dropped the paper and  covered her mouth with one hand and her stomach with the other. She grew very faint.

Suddenly she heard the toilet flush. She grabbed the birth certificate, shoved it into the envelope and put it and her mom's back into the drawer and slammed it shut. Then she saw the little piece of paper on the floor.

She quickly grabbed it and stuffed it into her pocket. She stood up, stumbling, and made her way to the kitchen. She grabbed a banana and sat down at the table. Her heart was beating hard and wild in her chest. Her hands trembled uncontrollably. Sarah heard her mom go into the office.

Sarah slowly reached into her pocket and pulled out the little piece of paper. It read:

"This is stating the approval by the Court of Minnesota and by the biological mother of Sarah Parker; the adoption of Sarah Lynn Parker by Mr. Steve Simmons."

Sobs escaped from Sarah's throat. She put the paper back into her pocket, and the banana back in the kitchen. Trying to quiet her sobs, she passed the office where she saw her mother putting both envelopes into her briefcase.

She ran up to her room. She lay on her bed with billions of questions running through her head. Why hadn't her parents told her? Who are her real parents? Are they still alive? Why was she put up for adoption?

Before she knew it, she had fallen asleep. She awoke to the sound of the doorbell. She stood up groggily. Then she remembered. She sat down on the bed and tried hard to act cheerful and natural.

She went downstairs. Her mom was closing the door. She held a pizza. Sarah took a deep breath, forced herself to smile, and went into the kitchen where Diane had gone.

When she walked in, Diane turned around. "Oh! Well there you are. You must have been tired! How was your nap?" Her mom asked.

"Oh, it was - okay."

"Oh. Well, here's some pizza. I didn't want to wash anything tonight. We can drink sodas. They're in the ‘fridge'."

Sarah grabbed two cokes from the refrigerator and went to the table. As they started eating, Sarah's mother started asking questions about her last day of school. Sarah answered, but only half-heartedly, even if she did try hard to act normal and happy.

"Sarah, do you feel okay?" Her mother asked suddenly.

Sarah stuttered on her words. "Oh, uh, y-yeah Mom, I just have a terrible headache that's all."

"Are you sure?" Diane asked cautiously.

"Yes! I'm positive! I'll just take something and go watch TV if you don't mind."

"Oh no honey, not at all."

"Thanks, M-mom." Sarah said, forcing a fake smile. She headed back up to her room. She swallowed the hard lump in her throat.

A tear trickled out of the corner of her eye. She lay down on her side and the tear slowly went over the bridge of her nose and dropped onto the bed.

More tears soon followed with hushed sobs.

She got up, turned off the light, and climbed into her bed, avoiding the wet tear spot.

She remembered something! Sarah set her alarm clock for 3:00 AM. Then she closed her eyes.

* * *

"Beep beep beep beep..." Sarah opened her eyes. A red 3:00 stared back at her. She reached over and switched the alarm off.

An immediate depressing feeling came over Sarah as she remembered the birth certificate and the small paper. Sarah knew her mom would be asleep by now, so she pulled out the white paper from her jeans, which she still had on.

She then crept quietly downstairs. She tiptoed into her mother's office.

She opened her briefcase. She found the birth certificates in the pocket under the top. She pulled out her envelope. She stuffed the piece of paper into it, put the envelope back, and shut the briefcase. She slunk back upstairs to her room.

She was now wide awake as terrible thoughts and questions crammed her mind.

Sarah walked to her window and parted the curtains. Silvery light from the almost-full moon fell over her. She gazed at it with tired, bloodshot eyes.

It looked so peaceful and serene, the exact opposite of how Sarah felt. She reached up and touched her cheek. It was stiffened with dried tears. She closed her eyes. Confusion and pain burned through her body. She could still envision the moon through her mind's eye. She longed deeply to be like the moon; peaceful and serene. Sarah dropped her hand and opened her eyes. The moon was blurred. Sarah stepped back and closed the curtain.

She climbed into her bed. Her cheeks were once again streaked with wetness as she fell into a troubled sleep.

* * *

"Good morning! How do you feel sweetie? It's time to go!" A lively voice disturbed Sarah's slumber. Sarah slowly opened her eyes. She saw Diane's bright, smiling face.

Sarah sat up. The awkward feeling hit again. Sarah knew it would be with her for a long time.

"I'm ready to go." Sarah stated.

"Oh good!" Sarah's mother let out a sigh of relief. "We can stop at IHOP for breakfast if we hurry." Diane flitted out the door.  Sarah pulled on a clean new pair of pants and a nice shirt for the plane ride.

* * *

"We made it! I'm so relieved!" Sarah's mother breathed her second sigh of relief. They were seated in the plane. Sarah was by the window. She watched as the plane took off. They were on their way!

As they ascended into the clouds, Sarah turned to look at her mother. Even though they had just taken off, her mother already had her eyes closed.  Sarah knew she was worn down. There had been plenty of running around that morning.

Soon, Sarah found herself studying her mother's face. Sarah had always thought they had the same mouth and the same green eyes. Tears welled up in Sarah's eyes. Sarah knew it was impossible if she was adopted. She turned to look out the window instead.

As she thought, she suddenly felt annoyed. Why hadn't her mother told her sooner? Now she had found out by herself.

* * *

Bump! The plane touched ground. Sarah's mother abruptly awoke.

"Oh my goodness! We're here! I don't believe it," Diane said surprised. " I must have been more tired than I thought!"

When the plane finally came to a stop, people hastened about to get their belongings from the compartments overhead. They then filed off.

Sarah and Diane found their way to all the required stations of the active Nova Scotia airport. Then they made their way to the rental car area and rented a small car.

Finally, everything was prepared and Sarah and her mother were on their way to Aunt Christy's house. During the drive, the two were busy listening to different radio stations.

After 15 minutes, they pulled into a driveway of a medium-sized house made of light-colored stone. Ivy hung from the roof. Sarah and Diane got out and walked up to the door and rang the doorbell. They waited for about four seconds until the door swung open and there stood lovely Aunt Christy, with her blond hair sweeping her shoulders, and her sparkling blue eyes so delighted. "You're here! Oh, I'm so glad!" Instead of inviting them in, she rushed out to hug them. After they exchanged hugs and kisses, Aunt Christy said, "Oh! I apologize, come in! I'm just so happy to see you two!"

When the trio walked inside, they saw a simply decorated, orderly house.

They heard steps coming down the stairs. In came Sarah's future uncle, Jack. He was tall and a little on the husky side with brown hair and eyes.  They also greeted each other, and exchanged hugs and kisses.  The whole time, Sarah felt very small. On the outside, she appeared content  and ordinary, but on the inside, she was in her own secluded, and scary  world. She knew she couldn't go on living like this.

* * *

The church was hushed and still except for the shuffling of shoes, and an occasional cough. Sarah sat next to her mother near the front. The wedding was starting!

Suddenly the wedding music started and the procession led down the aisle.

Sarah observed her family that surrounded her, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins.

Suddenly a realization hit her like a drumstick to a drum. She realized that not one person in that church was her real family. She was completely alone. A little adopted kid. All alone. She suddenly felt very frightened and panicky. Not even Diane was her real mother!

Meanwhile, the bride started to step down the aisle. Aunt Christy was not her real aunt!

Suddenly, the music sounded far away. Sarah looked around for some sort of help but only found more discomfort in seeing everyone around her, smiling, not caring a bit about how she felt. It all became too much.

An unexpected whimper escaped from Sarah. Her mother looked at her in alarm. The people in front of Sarah turned to look at her.

As soon as Aunt Christy reached the front, Sarah's mother was forced to take Sarah out into the front of the church. Sarah was crying uncontrollably now.

"Sarah! Sarah! What is it? What's wrong? Are you hurt? Oh my God! Sarah, please!"

Sarah sat down on a bench and tried to calm herself down. When she had finally relaxed enough to utter words, Diane kneeled in front of her and said, "Now tell me what's wrong."

All Sarah could mutter was "I know."

"You know? You know what?" Sarah's mother asked anxiously.

Sarah took a deep, long breath and said, "You're not my real mother! My last name is P-Parker! I was adopted! Adopted!!" Sarah's cried returned.

Diane stared at Sarah in stunned silence. Then she slowly pulled Sarah into her arms and held her.

Suddenly, Sarah jerked away from Diane.

"How come you never told me?" Sarah glared at her mother.

"Oh Sarah! You don't know the whole truth! Sarah, I am your mother!" Diane clasped Sarah's limp hands into her shaking ones. It was Steve-that wasn't your father."

"What?!" Sarah exclaimed in shock.

"You see, I used to be married to a man named Dan Parker. He is your real father. Well, he wasn't a good person to me and you. An alcoholic. I divorced him when you were barely two. Then I soon met Steve. I married him and he became your stepfather. He adopted you so that in case anything happened to me, you could stay with him. But Sarah, honey, I am your real mother! I'm so sorry you had to find out like this!"

Sarah stared speechlessly at her mother's tear-glistened eyes. Suddenly Sarah threw her arms around her mother. She felt unexpected relief as she knew she was in the arms of and surrounded by real family. Sarah still had plenty of questions in her mind but knew she would have to get answers later. She stood up, grabbed her mother's hand and led her into the church.

They happily witnessed the "I do's" of Aunt Christy and Sarah's new Uncle Jack.

* * *

Later in the night, at the reception, Sarah found a moment alone with her mother.

"Mom? How come you never told me about Dad earlier?"

"Well honey, I had planned on telling you when you were thirteen, but then your father was in the car accident, and uh, I didn't want to shock you with this so soon."

Sarah nodded her head in understanding. She sat down at a table and thought about Steve. She had known him as her dad, and she loved and missed him, just like she would a biological father. It was at that moment that Sarah finally understood with all her heart that adoption didn't make Steve her "unreal" father. He had loved her and cared for her in all the ways a biological father would. That's what made him a "real" father.

* * *

Sarah's month in Canada was halfway over. Sarah sat down at a desk and filled out five pages and a postcard for Jenny. She had much to tell!

"Come here with us, Sarah." Uncle Jack called from the living room as soon as she was done.

Sarah was once again thinking about Steve. "One moment." She got up and took her mail to the mailbox. As she was walking inside, she stopped for a moment, looked up into the bright sky, and said, "I love you Dad!"

There is a tree on top of that hill just a few miles away from here.

I’ll take you there. You can’t possibly know what it’s like to be in its

presence, to smell its burnt-ash fragrance sink in from the sky, to feel its

holiness within you, not until you’ve seen it yourself.

Give me your hand. I’ll take you there – it’s worth the walk.

I used to live here. Right on this street – in that yellow house down by the

corner, see it? Mom and I lived in the upstairs part, with soft white

curtains laced over that big window. Mom bought those curtains after we

moved in to block the sun from slicing in through the window. She always

hated the sun.

We lived here two Decembers ago. It never snowed. All we had was the

breeze, toppling newspapers and chasing leaves while the sun played an

endless game of hide-and-seek with itself. Streets were always deserted. We

were afraid of the gray in the air. Afraid that it would suck us into some

wild dimension, some cold and lonely world with no one to smile at but the

lampposts.

The leaves turned red and yellow during winter. They’d scatter

around the feet of the trees in perfect rings, mossing around the dirt like

some fire-colored force field. But that tree, the one on top of the hill –

the leaves stayed on. It’s not one of those trees that stay green all year

round; it turned red-orange in autumn and yellow-green in spring. Nobody

asked about it, and nobody bothered to explain.

The tree is as big as any tree is – if you tried to hug it your arms

wouldn’t even fit halfway around. But it’s – sacred, for some reason. Light.

Glorious. The branches and trunk are bone-white and they stretch out at the

top in all sorts of directions, kind of like it’s trying to catch the world

in its arms all at once. Like it’s trying to pick out pieces of the sky to

put in a locket to hang around its neck. Or maybe – maybe like it’s grabbing

little bits of you and putting them in the locket, to keep you safe inside

forever.

I never believed Ricky Ricella when he told me: “You know that tree

down by Cabrillo Park? That one with the white wood? It’s got devils inside

it, I know.”

“You’re talking crazy,” I scoffed. “Devils don’t live in trees, they

live in fire an’ stuff. Bad things. That tree ain’t bad.”

“Yeah it is, and you’d better watch out, Danny, I hear that weird

girl goes up to it every Sunday and worships them devils.” He popped a

purple Skittle into his mouth and began to chew. “She’s a freak, man.”

“What girl?”

“What’s-her-name,” he replied helpfully, shrugging. “She has the

same English teacher as me.”

I never replied, only saw in my mind that tree, those golden-fire

leaves and lily-white wood draping around its shoulders. Devils, he said.

What did he know about devils?

You could say it was Ricky who drew me to the tree that Sunday. Just

to see if it was true, if some girl did worship it. I wanted to prove him

wrong – but I guess some part of me hoped he wasn’t. I can’t explain it to

you right now – wait until we get there. Then you’ll know. Then you’ll

understand.

She was the only thing I saw when I arrived at the foot of the hill

just before sunset. She had this black hair that fell to her shoulders in

little waves, like a sort of dark ocean clinging to her for dear life. Those

eyes – those eyes that stared right through mine, they were gray, all the

feared gray that poured from the sky, the deadly gray that threatened to

choke and suffocate us if ever we looked into it. But her gray – hers was

different somehow. Weary, a gray that wasn’t threatening, rather, calloused

and beaten. Like she’d been tossed and thrown between two walls all her

life, shaken and worn, tattered and bruised – but, somewhere in the midst of

her gray, there was a grain of hope. Of life, of a shine of glory, of –

happiness.

She was only about three feet away from where I stood, clutching her

black leather jacket and sending the wind and leaves into whirls as she

spoke with hardened white lips in a whisper that echoed through the

mountains, through the lakes and skyscrapers, through the wind and the rain,

and the invisible snow:

“Are you coming to see the tree?”

Immersed in the gray, I nodded.

“Give me your hand. I’ll take you there,” she said, grasping my arm,

her lips emitting some evaporated smile. Her fingers dug into the flesh of

my palm and we journeyed up the hill.

The yellowed grass was flickering in the wind, paling as the sun

began to lower behind the trees, grinning as it settled into its newest

hiding place. She must have seen the sun too, because she turned to the

dimming light and her eyes grinned back.

“What’s your name?” she breathed as the rubber soles of our shoes

clambered up the grassy slope.

“Daniel,” I replied. “What’s yours?”

“Olivia. It doesn’t matter to them, though.”

“Who?” Devils, I thought.

She only clutched my hand tighter.

I knew I was staring at her the rest of the way up, but I didn’t

care. She was just – absolutely – amazing. I didn’t know what it was. I

still don’t know what it is. It wasn’t the gray in her eyes, it wasn’t the

way that cherries fizzed in a sea of grape soda when her mouth slid into a

smile. It was just – something.

<i>Olivia,</i> I thought.

The tree was standing at the top, strong and broad, just like any

other would stand. But this one was gold, shining and glimmering with pure

liquid gold in its veins. Perfect, as it was born to be. Glorious.

We stopped when there was no more slope to climb. Her hand dropped

from mine, and she walked ahead of me towards it.

“Forgive me,” she whispered, and dropped to her knees. The wind was

blowing harder now, whipping her black waves against the back of her neck. I

stared into her face – her eyes were wide, her lips set back in shame.

“Forgive me, for I have sinned.”

I half-expected some strange force to burst out of the tree, to pour

out of the branches and respond. Maybe I even expected the devils to fly out

with their spear-tails, cackling as their flaming breaths ignited the air.

But there weren’t any devils. Only the wind and the strange, soft

thunder-glow spread from the white wood to the golden leaves. And Olivia

still kneeled on the grass, hands pressed to the ground, head bent,

whispering for divine forgiveness.

I walked to her side slowly as she muttered, and put my hand on her

shoulder. The whispered pleas ceased for a moment, and she looked up at me

with weary gray eyes.

“It’s true, then,” I said softly. “Is it – is it true – that’s a

devil-tree…”

Olivia stared at me, all expression drained from her face. “See for

yourself,” she answered.

I gazed at the tree, which was fading with pink and violet as the

sun began to die. Its magnificence, its pride and its warmth drew into me,

grabbed those bits of me and kept them inside its golden veins, along with

the souls of the weak and the hungry.

And I fell to my own knees.

“Save me,” I whispered, so softly I might not have said it at all.

“Save me from this world – please.”

Olivia grasped my hand and repeated the same thing.

As the stars were being thrown up to the sky, and the melted rainbow

of color faded into black, and the winds trapezed through the atmosphere in

flapping wisps, nobody realized that Olivia and I were being purified, being

forgiven and saved by something higher than us, something that we ourselves

didn’t even know about. It was forgiving us, saving us all through the dusk

and through the dawn as we slept on the grass beneath the frayed yellow moon

and the spinning planets, the swollen stars, the collapsed worlds. It looked

at us, two stone figures in a world of convoluted oxymorons and 3-D

anagrams, lying together at the foot of glory, and smiled.

Olivia was awake already when my eyes opened and stared at the

lemon-drop sun and the foaming sky.

“You should go home,” she told me. “Your parents will worry.”

I knew Mom wouldn’t, but I didn’t say anything. I stood up and

stretched, then let out a breath.

“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you…”

My eyes drifted to the trunk of the tree, ashen and smooth as stone,

with two flecks of gold resting against it.

I bent over and took the leaves in my hand. They were like paper,

soft and smooth, dry, dripping golden dust on my skin.

“Here,” I said to Olivia, extending my arm. “You take one – they’re

for us.”

She stared into my hand for a moment, and then took the leaf. “Thank

you,” she said with an elusive grin. “Goodbye – Daniel.”

“Goodbye.” <I>Olivia,</i> I thought silently. <i>Olivia--</i>

I started down the hill, leaf in hand, sprinkling gold dust wherever

I walked.

All my clothes and $.99 baseball cards were in boxes when I got

home. Mom was loading the car with chairs and packages of food. Her mouth

opened as soon as she spotted me.

“We’re leaving,” she shouted. “We’re leaving right now – away from

this place. I’ve packed all your things already – just get in the car and

don’t ask questions.”

So I did. And I didn’t. After a few minutes, we were on the highway

to Colorado. She never did tell me the reason why we left, but I couldn’t

keep from thinking that somehow, it was glory. Some way, somehow, it saved

me.

We’re almost there. I can see it already – do you see that mountain

in the distance? That’s where it is. I can almost smell December flying

through its branches. Can almost taste the lazy snow on the ground. You’ll

see it soon enough – and then you’ll understand what I’m telling you. You’ll

understand it all.

December winds don’t feel like any other kind of wind. They’re soft,

but they like to stick you in the sides every once in a while, just to

remind you that you’re alive. And every time those December winds blow,

every time they flow and seem to rain right through your body – that’s when

I always see her, her and the tree. And I always say to myself, right when

the winds are about to leave, that I’d seen it for myself, and there couldn’

t be anything bad about it, absolutely couldn’t. Olivia – the tree – it was

so…beautiful. Too beautiful to be filled with devils. Impossible.

But maybe some devils are beautiful too.

I remember when I first met you. You walked right up to my little clique I

was

kickin’ it with. You had looked at me with such surprise as if you had not

expected me

to be with those people. One of them was your cousin, my best friend Jackee

’. She and I

had known each other for so long and yet we never met.

Funny how coincidences happen. My best friend , your cousin. And we are

just

now meeting.

We also had a class together. And we never noticed each other. You came

right

by my desk and we both looked at each other surprised. Shocked. Amused.

All at the

same time. That was when it all began…….

***

“That’s my cousin. His name is Darius,” Jackee’ told me.

It was lunch and we were chillin at our spot. We ran deep with 7 girls.

All my

friends were just kickin’ it and gossiping about everyone. Except me, I’m

not the one to

gossip.

“He’s cute,” I commented. “How come I’ve never seen him before?”

I had known Jackee’ for almost a year and not once had I met him or even

heard

about him.

“How long has he been around?”

“He’s been here ever since his freshman year,” she replied.

“Who’s been here?” Madicella asked. My patna’ Madicella. That’s my girl.

We’ve been through heaven and hell together. Through breakups, makeup’s,

arguments,

and fights. I would chunk anyone for her anytime. That’s my best friend.

But sometimes

she did get a little nosy.

“Look at you, all late!” Jackee’ said.

“My bad, My bad. Continue,” she replied with a little grin on her face.

Dumb broad.

“Anyways.”

“What grade is he in?” I asked.

Jackee’ gave me a look and smiled.

“What you like my cousin now?”

“Whatever.”

I just wanted to talk about something.

***

“I took pictures last Friday,” Darius told Jackee’.

“Really! Let me see.” She took the photos out his hand.

“Oh, how cute,” she commented.

I leaned over to look. Not bad, I thought.

“Can I have one,” I asked…

***

To Trini

I hope you like my picture. Keep it 4 ever. Remember me always.

C01

-Darius-

h: 555-0709

p: 555-2376

***

“So Jackee’s birthday is in a little bit huh?” said Jackee's aunt.

“Yah. And you know her, she told me everything she wanted in an instant.

She

wants a pager, clothes, and a big party,” Jackee's mom laughed.

“That’s Jackee’ for you.”

“Yah, but Tammy will always be modest about that kind of thing-”

Beep.

“Hold on sis’, it’s my other line…”

Click.

“Hello?” (Jackee's aunt)

“Hi, may I speak to Darius?”

“He’s not back from work…who’s calling?”

“Would you tell him Trini called?”

“I sure will.”

“Thank you.”

Click.

“Hey sister.”(Jackee's aunt)

“Who was that?”

“Some Trini girl for Darius.”

Silence.

“Trini!…Jackee’ come here.”

***

“I didn’t expect you to call me,” Darius said, still in shock. “I had

little hope.”

“That’s what you put the number on the picture for right?” I replied.

“Well I guess now I’ll know now that I can have faith in you now.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t do anything I don’t want to.”

***

It’s been a few days and we’ve become really good friends. You’re one of

those

boys you rarely find because there are so few. Those nice boys that don’t

front. If that

isn’t such a turn off.

We talk everyday on the phone. I blow your pager up religiously. I really

enjoy

talking to you. You’re so sweet! I like you so much. I really do…

***

To Trini:

Hi, how are you doin? Fine I hope. How do you feel? Last night you

sounded pretty bad. Must

have caught a cold. Anything I can do to help?

Well, I’ve been thinking about you, a lot…I don’t know if you’re ready for a

relationship. But I’ve

been thinking and picturing ‘us’ together and I like what I see. I don’t

know if you see it, but when you do,

let me know…

Yours truly,

Darius

***

I looked across the room. And there you sat, smiling at me.

Okay…

***

Every night we talked. And everything we talked about. You told me about

your

goals, loves, first time, experience, your lessons learned, as did I. I

seem to be able to

tell you anything with no embarrassment. I like that! It’s so rare to

find. But you’ve

been acting very strange. Like I’m your woman now. You call me baby, you

buy me

lunch, call me every night, and you tell me you miss me…

And I’m no better.

I let you call me baby, I accept the food, I page you most the time, and I

let you

tell me you miss me.

Am I leading you on?

I already told you I wasn’t really over my last. I don’t think I really

want to be.

We’ve known each other for so long, we’ve been through so much… can I just

through it

all away?

***

“He lives in Pittsburgh. Far away. I don’t know what happened to us. We

use to

be tight. Inseparable. We just stopped talking. Stopped calling each

other. Everything.”

“You miss him,” Darius asked.

I thought long and hard.

“Yah, I do…

***

So you know. You’ve been told, more than once. I’m not over him. I’m not

sure

if I want to be. And yet you choose to stay. Why? What did I do that was

appealing to

you?

***

“Oh, he’s so cute!” Madicella said. We were in our last period class. I

was so

happy school was almost out.

She had been looking through my pictures and saw a picture of Darius. And

she

liked the goods…

“That’s my friend, Darius,” I said.

“Hook it up girl, hook it up!”

***

“My friend likes you.”

He looked at me.

“And.”

“And…”

“She’s not you. So why should I care?”

“Oh, it’s like that now?”

He grabbed my hand.

“Always.”

***

Always? Always what? We’ve only known each other for a few weeks. You

only say always to the love of your life. Not to me!

***

“Madicella?”

“Yeah girl.”

“I have something to tell you about me and Darius…”

She smiled.

“You guys talk huh?”

“Are you mad?”

“Girl, please! That’s all you.”

I guess, I thought.

***

“I miss you. I love talking to you on the phone. We always have stuff to

talk

about.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked. It was really bothering me. All that ‘I

miss

you’ stuff. “You know how I feel about-”

“I’ll wait. I can wait for you. Your all I want, all I need..”

You don’t even know me!!!

***

I miss him. Not you, Darius. Him. I miss the way he held me. The sound of

his voice.

Everything. Should I call him? No, I can’t… your still here. Waiting just

like you said.

But you won’t be waiting long. No one waits forever. Or do they? No. No

they don’t.

so why am I making you wait? Why are you letting yourself wait? You like

me, I like

you. But you like me more. You miss me more. You care more. You want me

more.

You claim you love me. I’ve been through this before. All that rushing. I

hate that!

Stop getting closer to me! Just go. Leave and don’t come back! Never.

But I don’t want to say goodbye. You’re so nice, so sweet.

So nice. So sweet…

Then why am I hurting you? I’m playing with your emotions. You know it and

I

do. I’m leading you on. On to what? Nothing but hurt. I can see it. it’

s so obvious. I

don’t want to hurt you. I can’t. I won’t. I won’t hurt anyone, anymore.

Not someone as nice as you. No not again, I won’t let it happen again…

Jess took one last deep breath before slamming down the phone and

running out the door. She would deal with that conversation later. He was

just stepping out of the car as she ran down the driveway.

"Ready?" he asked flashing that devilish grin of his. Kyle always seemed to

be grinning about something.

Jess just tossed her head to the side laughing, "Alright, let's go already."

She took another deep breath as she hopped into the passengers seat, she

still wasn't sure what to make of all this. Kyle had called about an hour

earlier, Jess was a little surprised to hear his voice when she picked up.

But friends went to the mall together, right? Friends, that's such a funny

word she thought. They got along so well, she laughed at his jokes and

listened to his problems. Most of the time they involved his girlfriend, a

fact which made Jess's stomach turn. She glanced over at him and smiled, he

looked so cute when he sang along with the radio. Kyle looked over and

grinned. I could get used to this she thought.

* * * * *

The engine groaned as the car pulled back into Jess's driveway. She quickly

glanced at the clock on the dashboard, it was only 1 o'clock.

"Hey, do you mind if I come in for a sec? I don't have anything else

planned for today."

Jess couldn't help but smile as she nodded her head. They had had fun at

the mall, they always had fun together. Nothing happened except their usual

talking and joking around, but Jess was still a little confused. She

couldn't help wondering where all this was going. It was obvious to her

that he was still in love with Melissa, but then why was he doing this?

"Well," she thought, "if he's trying to confuse me, it's working."

Friends, what a funny word.

* * * * *

Jess collapsed onto her bed with the cordless in her hands. She stared

expectantly at the phone, silently commanding it to ring. Why hadn't he

called?! It had only been two days since she had seen Kyle, but she

couldn't seem to get him out of her head. Jess kept tracing his picture

with her mind. His sandy brown hair and intense green eyes appeared every

time she closed her eyes. Kyle's face suddenly disappeared as the phone's

piercing ring called her back to reality. Jess's heart thumped

uncontrollably as she brought the phone to her ears.

"Hello?" Jess stammered into the receiver.

"Hi sweetie, it's mom."

It figures, Jess thought, but she had to cover her mouth to keep from

laughing at herself. She couldn't believe how stupid she was being. Since

when did she have nothing better to do than wait for some guy to call? But

that was just it, Kyle wasn't just some guy.

"Hi mom, what's up?" Jess managed to say casually.

"Well I'm running a little late, but I'll be home soon okay?"

"Alright mom, I'll see ya soon."

"Okay honey ,bye."

Jess hung up and let the phone fall to the floor. So, the other day must

have meant nothing to him. But had it meant something to her? And of

course, there was always Melissa.

"Will someone please tell me what's going on!?!" she shouted to no one in

particular. Great, she thought, just great.

* * * * *

Jess smiled to herself as she glanced into the mirror. She couldn't help

thinking how good she looked and how Melissa, Kyle's girlfriend, would never

fit into this outfit. Jess had made up her mind to have fun at this party

even before she found out that Kyle was going to be there. Her lips

instantly curved into a smile at the thought of him. He never did call her,

but she was trying not to think about it. Friends or not, she was going to

have fun.

Jess tried not to appear desperate as she quickly glanced around the room.

She held back a sigh when she realized that Kyle wasn't there. Looking at

several of her friends, Jess wondered if any of them knew what was happening

between her and Kyle. Then again, she didn't really know what was

happening, so how could they?

Ten minutes later, Jess was sitting with some friends watching a movie

someone had brought when she felt something brush against her leg. She

looked up just in time to catch Kyle's devilish grin as he sat down next to

her. Maybe she did mean something to him after all!

"Hey, whatcha watching?" he asked teasingly. Jess tried not to blush, she

had no idea what the name of the movie was, she hadn't been paying much

attention. She managed to smile and stammer something about how she hadn't

been watching for very long.

"That good huh?" he said still grinning. Suddenly, Jess realized that

Melissa wasn't there. She knew that they had been having trouble, but could

things have gotten that bad? As if he could hear her thoughts, Kyle glanced

down at the floor and said quietly, " We're not staying together over the

summer. We decided we needed to take a break."

"Oh, Kyle I'm sorry," Jess said softly. She hated to see him unhappy, but

part of her was relieved that it was over, at least for a while.

"Yeah, well we all knew it was coming. I don't really want to talk about it

tonight, okay?" Jess could see the sparkle returning to his playful eyes.

She relaxed, knowing that he was there beside her and things would be okay.

Her face lit up as she noticed that their knees had stayed just barely

touching. Still, she thought slightly confused, that didn't necessarily

mean anything. But as Kyle reached out to take her hand in his, she knew it

meant something much more.

* * * * *

Kyle stared up at the ceiling of his room trying to get Jess out of his

head. He wasn't sure what he had been thinking at the party, as usual he

had made a mess of things. What would Melissa think of all this? Then

again, she was the one who had wanted to split things up. But what about

Jess? Kyle used to think of her as his best friend, right now he didn't

know what to think of her as. But no matter how he felt about Jess, it

didn't change the way he felt about Melissa. Melissa knew it, he knew it,

but did Jess? Just the thought of her left him completely confused.

"Kyle, you jerk, what are you doing?" he asked himself. Well, it wasn't as

if he had kissed her or anything.

* * * * *

I wonder if he'll kiss me, Jess thought excitedly. It was amazing how much

better she felt, now that she knew Kyle felt the same way about her. He had

to, after the way he held her hand all night. But no matter what she told

herself, Jess couldn't seem to escape that feeling of doubt welling up

inside of her. No, she thought forcefully, I've always doubted the way he

felt about me….but not anymore. She smiled to herself, as she pictured him

for the millionth time that night. Smiling about Kyle was becoming a habit

of hers, one which she intended to continue. Jess couldn't help believing

that all of her dreams were starting to come true!

* * * * *

"I'm so sorry, Jess…" his words echoed in her mind as she struggled to

speak. How could he do this to her when only last night they had been so

close!

"Jess…please don't hate me for this. I do care about you, it's just that…"

Jess slammed down the phone before he could finish. She wasn't about to

listen to anymore of his polite excuses. This was not at all the way she

had pictured things would be. Instead of telling her how much he loved her,

Kyle had called saying that he was still very much in love with Melissa.

How could he be so cruel?

As if sensing her anger and tears, the sky rumbled loudly and began to pour.

* * * * *

Kyle sat silently, listening to the constant rhythm of the rain as it slid

across his window. He wasn't surprised that Jess had hung up on him, he

wouldn't have blamed her if she never wanted to speak to him again. She

hadn't yelled at him or anything, all that he heard was that deafening

silence. He probably wouldn't have felt so guilty if she had screamed at

him, or even just said something…anything. But all he got out of her was

silence.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked himself softly. In the year that Kyle

had known Jess, she had never done anything to hurt him. In fact, it was

just the opposite. Kyle still remembered all the times she had cheered him

up when Melissa was in one of her moods. Never once had she mentioned any

of her problems, why hadn't he noticed that? If you needed someone to talk

to, Jess was always there, but trying to get her to open up was pretty much

impossible.

Well that's just great, he thought. Jess has always been there for me and

this is how I repay her. When did I become such a jerk, he wondered?

You're not a jerk, he thought suddenly, you're just scared. You're afraid

of what might happen if you admit just how much you care about her.

Kyle grabbed his keys and ran to the door, how could he have been so stupid?

* * * * *

Was someone knocking on the door? She glanced out her window as the rain

continued to fall, was someone out there? Jess quickly dried her face and

hurried down the stairs. She couldn't think of a reason why anyone would be

out when what had started as a standard storm, had turned into something

more along the lines of a monsoon. Jess quickly opened the door and was

shocked when the dripping figure turned around to reveal an all too familiar

grin.

"Kyle?" Jess wasn't sure if she wanted to hug him or slam the door in his

face. But before she could say anything, he silently took her hand and

pulled her into his arms. Jess looked up at him and saw that he was no

longer grinning. Where those tears on his face or was it just the rain?

"Jess, I…" for the first time in his life, Kyle was at a loss for words.

But one look at those unforgettable eyes said it all.

"It's okay," she whispered as she wiped the tears from his cheek, "I know."

He pulled her closer and the world began to spin as she felt the warm press

of his lips upon hers. She felt all of the pain and confusion fading away

as she pressed up against him.

And as they stood soaking wet in each other's arms, Jess thought happily to

herself, "Friends…what a funny word."

I will never forget the day Jill died. Both of us were drinking, but Jill

wanted to drive, and she was unstoppable. I was scared for her and for

myself, but I needed to go with her, otherwise who knows where she would go

or what she would do. And then all of a sudden it happened. Her new silver

Porsche was crushed against a telephone pole. Jill’s rosy face, moments ago

drunken and delirious, and now, pale and frightened, looked at me. “Am I

going to die?” She had whispered.

The memory of her face haunts me in dreams, looking at me desolately. Deep

down inside Jill knew she had not long to live. My father came then, who

barely knew me; he came and stayed beside me, and he made sure I was okay.

My father once forgot about my birthday, missed my first 3rd grade soccer

game, and didn’t pick me up from school on the day of the blizzard. He

smiled when the paramedics told me I was okay, and he cried when they told

us Jill was dead. For once he really showed he cared.

If only Jill was alive now. We would sit, on a cold winter night with our

hot chocolates, and we would laugh about that accident, the scary one that

destroyed the new Porsche daddy had bought for her. But Jill isn’t here with

me; she is leaving me to reminisce by myself, crying under the covers, my

hot chocolate gone cold.

And I remember it so clearly too…

“Brooke, Jillian’s here,” Mara called up to me. I dropped my silver brush

onto my bureau, grabbed my book bag, and rushed down the stairs to greet

Jill. Coming out into the brilliant California sunshine, I said good-bye to

the housekeeper, and was taken aback by the sight in front of me.

Jill sat tall in the driver’s seat, proud and happy in her new silver

convertible. “I cannot believe you!” I ran up, and jumped in.

“It’s Friday!” Jill shouted, “we are gonna go out tonight and show this baby

off, Brooke!” Jill revved the engine, showing off. Moments later we were

cruising down the main street, with our hair flying out behind us, Jill

almost losing her sunglasses.

The six and a half hours of school could not go by quickly enough, but

finally the last bell rang. It took us some time to get ready, but by seven

o’clock we were eager to go to a party at this guy Cole’s house. Instead of

arriving early though, we stopped off to get some beer, Jill readily paying,

presenting her fake ID without hesitation.

She came back to the car, carrying several six-packs. Jill started the car,

lowering the top of the convertible, and off we went. By eight-thirty we

arrived at Cole’s house. There were already people there, the music was

blaring and people were drinking, dancing, and smoking all over the mansion.

Cole came into sight, holding what appeared to be his fifth or sixth beer.

“Brookie,” he said, swaggering up, a lopsided grin on his face.

“Hi Cole,” I smiled, and willed the small butterflies in my stomach to be

still. Jill presented the beer to Cole with a laugh, and we went inside.

She found her boyfriend, and asked if I wouldn’t mind if she went off for a

while. I just grinned uneasily, and let her go.

I had never been too much of a party person. My life was more aimed at

getting a good education, going to Harvard, or NYU, or Yale maybe. I guess

my uncomfortable-ness was obvious, because as soon as I sat down on the

plush leather couch, a girl, a junior I think, named Lauren

something-or-other, joined me.

“Hi,” she said. “You don’t look too happy.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” I lied. “I’m just not much of a party person I guess. Do

you go to a lot of these parties?” I wondered.

She nodded. “Yeah, I’m pretty much a regular.”

I nodded, and pretty soon she got up and left, leaving me to wander by

myself, finding some people to talk to.

Despite my boredom, the party went by quickly, and soon Jill wanted to

leave.

“Jill, what’s wrong with you?” I asked, her face was flushed and she was

acting strange. “You aren’t going to drive while you’re so drunk,” I told

her firmly, but Jill paid no attention.

“Brooke, what are you talking about?” she laughed hysterically, as though

something was incredibly funny, “I’m just a little buzzed, I’m safe to

drive, I swear!” I couldn’t let her drive while she was like this, but I

could do nothing to stop her. And I didn’t offer to drive her car, because

I had never gotten the opportunity to learn to drive stick shift.

“Let’s get a cab, you shouldn’t be driving,” I argued, hoping Jill would

realize. But she only shook her head, and stumbled outside to the car.

“Jill, you aren’t going alone,” I told her. Though I knew I shouldn’t, I

got into the car anyway; I had tried to stop Jill, but she wouldn’t be

stopped, and there was no way I’d let her go alone in the shape she was in.

“You can’t even put the key in the ignition!” I exclaimed as Jill tried and

missed.

“Oh, yes I can, Brooke, you know what your problem is? You worry too much.”

Jill giggled, and started the car. Revving the engine impressively, she

pulled out of the long circular driveway, racing onto the street.

“Jill!” I shouted. Riding in the car I could feel myself getting shaky.

Jill would press the accelerator, going top speed, and then suddenly hit the

brake, as if stopping short before hitting something. “What are you doing?”

I started to get angry with Jill; she was stupidly risking both of our lives

by doing this.

“God, Brooke! I am having fun, but you are just trying to ruin it! You

always try and ruin a good time, we are both fine, and we are both going to

be fine, you don’t always know what’s right and what’s wrong.” Jill was

stubborn, and she started to get angry, therefore was speeding even faster.

“Jill!” I yelled with terror, for she was about to cross a major

intersection, and we had a yellow light, about to turn red. She kept going,

faster than before. “Are you trying to kill us?” I shouted, becoming

terribly afraid. Reaching down, I tried to push the brake with my left

hand, but all of a sudden I felt the thrust of an impact, we were thrown to

the left, Jill spun the steering wheel frantically, but nothing happened.

As I looked up, I could see the telephone pole; we are about to hit it!

Shielding my face, I threw myself out of the car, and into the street. I

curled up, afraid a car was going to hit me, but I felt nothing. Hearing

the crash of metal, tons of horns, and a desperate cry of anguish and

unbearable pain, I slowly looked up, and collapsed again onto the street.

I had just seen the scariest sight in the world: the car was wrapped halfway

around a telephone pole, metal was everywhere, and blood was spattered all

over the inside of the car and the street. A path of blood linked me to the

once whole, silver car. Instantly I threw up, and lay there, heaving in the

street.

“Jill,” I sobbed, “Jill are you okay?” I tried to stand up, but when I put

pressure on my right arm, it collapsed under me. I crawled to my feet, and

made it to the car. “Jill!” I yelled, warm, salty tears started raining

down my face. In the distance I could hear the sirens of the ambulance.

I knelt in the street, leaning my upper body on the torn passenger seat.

Jill’s head was resting on the steering wheel, blood was coming out of it,

and I could see metal fragments had torn her skin. Her clothing was in

shreds, her hair a bloody mess. But slowly, ever so slowly, Jill turned to

look at me.

“Brooke,” she whispered. “Brooke, am I going to die?” I could see then the

tears glistening on her cheeks out of pain and the realization of what

happened. Minutes ago, Jill had been alive and well, though drunk. She had

been happy, despite her harsh words toward me. No longer the prettiest,

most popular girl in school, Jill was but a scared child, staring death in

the eyes. I reached for her hand, taking it, though covered in blood.

“I don’t know,” I told her truthfully. Then the medics came. They pulled

me away from the car and Jill, and laid me down on the street. “I’m okay,”

I protested, “only my arm hurts.”

Bright lights and loud sirens added to the chaotic scene overwhelmed me.

“Let me through!” a powerful, male voice demanded, “that’s my daughter!” I

looked up, and saw my father coming through the crowd. “Brooke, Brooke,” he

cried, tears shining in his eyes. “Are you okay? Oh God this is awful, I

love you so much.” My father, who I barely knew, who had never told me he

loved me, or that I was special, was the one who sat beside me and helped me

through this.

“I want to see Jill, Dad, how is she?” I asked, sitting up. A medic rushed

over and told me to try and lie down, but I refused. Stumbling over to the

car, I sat in the ripped up passenger seat, and looked at Jill. Her face

was turned towards my direction, but her eyes were closed. The medics were

trying to get the car off of the telephone pole; it was the only safe way to

remove Jill from the car.

“Brooke,” I heard a whisper. Jill’s eyes opened slightly, her face almost

too bruised to speak. “I am so sorry.”

Those were Jill’s last words. Moments later they pronounced her dead. I

remember her voice, the way her face was twisted in pain, and even exactly

how the car was molded around the telephone pole. The memories hurt even

more than the realization that Jill would not come back.

It was a year ago, exactly today. I sit at home, sipping my hot chocolate

under the covers, my face streaming with tears. For the past year, I would

wake up every morning, waiting for Mara to shout up to me, “Brooke, Jillian’

s here.” But she never does.

As usual, the dorms were unbearably stuffy under the late September sun.

On her bed we sat, captivated in each other’s presence. It was late

afternoon and the sun was barely squeaking through the blinds and

warming the room. Heat from sunlight is always calming and relaxing. It

found its way through the window and around our dangling legs and rubbed

them into a warm paralysis. The room was comfortingly quiet except for

her passive voice, which kept up a constant soothing murmur that could

have easily put me to sleep. Her blonde hairs curled as much as their

short lengths allowed them to. She wasn’t wearing any clips or barrettes

in her hair; that would have been too “normal” for her to handle. As

usual, being her exhibitionist self, she had on brazen eye make up. The

brown liner spilled across the top of her lid into a thin, melodious

line and coiled up in the corners. A baby pink hue tainted the rest of

her eyelids and drew attention to her erudite hazel eyes. She reminded

me of an Egyptian princess, dressed for dinner with royalty. Because she

virtually had no hair, the sun beautifully accentuated every bone and

structure in her heart-shaped face. I could see every crease, wrinkle,

and dimple. When she smiled, she revealed two curved mounds of

cheekbones, adorned with identical dimples, and the quiet creasing of

skin that extended from her eyes when she smiled The bowing of her head

and the closed-lip manner in which she smiled disclosed her shyness. She

was wearing her orange fuzzy sweater, which clung to her curved body in

it’s extremely feminine way. I often refer to it as “the orangeness.” It

is a captivating piece of work that is her entire personality crammed

into the wool threads of a sweater.

We talked about what any kids our age talks about: our siblings,

our friends, where we’re from, what we think about certain issues, what

and who we consider attractive. Even though we were entirely

comfortable, there was this under layer of uneasiness. The knowledge

existed in the back of our minds, the possibilities we could commit.

Nothing was ever out right said or referred to in any way. It was

entirely ignored. But it was there. We recognized it in each other and

ourselves. It scared us to think about it. While we happily discussed

our younger brothers, we subconsciously identified each other as

possibilities; as members of a select and minority group that we were

both proud to be a part of, yet when confronted by another member of

this group, one would find it awkward. Thoughts flooded our minds of

what we could do, of what we could so easily get away with that almost

all other members in our community couldn’t. But these feelings were

kept hidden by a power by the name of shyness. Intelligent disobedience

kept those thoughts locked away in the back of our heads where we could

view them, but not reach and transport them. Besides, another being was

in the room; someone not of our mutual understanding. We couldn’t have

said anything without making the other person feel confused and

uncomfortable.

Filled with contentness, I knew that she was thinking and

experiencing the same as I. It was our common bond. We shared

experiences and dilemmas that only about one one-hundredths of the

members of our school would ever have to face. That immediately enclosed

us into a tight wrap of accord and understanding, even though we had

never talked before. The only times these feelings emerged was when we

made eye contact: the instant we made eye contact, all uncomfortable and

awkward thoughts flooded our minds and were apparent through each

other’s eyes. So instead of looking at each other, we busied ourselves

by playing with stuffed animals and eating Pringles.

Her curiosity to my insight and experience led her to ask about

Samantha. What about Sam, I demanded to know. I didn’t mean to make the

question so bluntly abrupt and make her restless. The comment slapped

her in the face and her head jerked back in discomfiture, as she didn’t

mean to create and unwanted atmosphere. I didn’t know where to begin. My

tone softened with sympathy. Yes: I was in love with Sam. Yes: Sam and I

were going to the formal together. Yes: Sam and I were “together.” But

no: Sam and I are not talking to each other anymore. Hence the use of

“were”, past tense for the word “is.” Her eyes got wide in interest. But

then hesitation, and a flicker of that cursed discomfort flashed through

her eyes as I looked into hers and she came to the realization that I

didn’t “belong” to anyone anymore. In embarrassment for seeming too

obvious, she looked away. But it wasn’t too obvious; the other person in

the room didn’t even perceive the complicated web of mood and reaction

that was being diffused through our stare. She pretended like she didn’t

care in her nonchalant and lackadaisical way, but I knew what I had said

meant something to her. Her eyes gave it away.

It was hard for me to be telling her this. Normally, I have no

problem telling people about Sam and me. I usually love getting the

reaction I normally get from introducing Sam as “my girlfriend.” But

admitting it to someone like her, someone of this same pool that Sam and

I belong to, was somewhat nerve-wracking. It was admitting out loud that

we were potentials for each other. It was somehow confessing everything

that was trying to be hidden in our heads but unsuccessfully displayed

in our eyes. She detected the high level of displeasure because I tend

to slur my words when I’m nervous. The subject was changed and once

again, we were on our way.

`We again got on the topic of dating. We were talking about

skateboarders with the other person in the room when she made the

comment that she had once dated a skateboarder. I shifted in uneasiness

again. She was part of the minority group that I belonged to, but it was

like she only had half membership because she was part of the other

world too: she dated guys. She soon recognized the feelings that this

stirred up. She shifted, and smiled a little sheepishly. She didn’t mean

to start this again, but it was inevitable that this was to be faced

once more. her dimples flickered and I glanced at her structured face.

The presence of discomfort was familiar in the back of her eyes as our

gazes met. This time, it was more embarrassment than discomfort.

Something which is shunned so much in a society like ours is what is our

common bond, but in this instant of looking at each other, we realized

we both commit these “immoral” actions and we were ashamed of it, for

one small moment. In that fraction of existence, all of this minority

group nonsense was just wanted to disappear and for everyone to be the

same, for everyone to be equal. But things aren’t that way. We were

different. There will always be “them” and “us.” As much as we don’t

endorse segregation, it will exist forever more and we will have to deal

with it. This girl and I were definitely different, along with Sam. We

weren’t considered equal to everyone else. Always, we will be distanced

by some intangible force that also labels us singular and that’s why I’m

so fond of this girl, why I fell in love with Sam. We will always be

part of the alternative group, whether we want to or not. It makes the

relationship between this girl, Sam, and me permanent and eternally

lasting. Comforting it is to know that no matter what, there will always

be the people who are in this group with me who will always have the

same relationship no matter what happens to any of us. Maybe not this

girl or Sam specifically, but other kids. We all have this common bond.

No more than an hour was spent on her bed talking. We haven’t

talked much since. I’ll pass her every now and then and receive a sly

teasing hello and every once in a while on Thursday nights, we’ll be a

part of a discussion group and I get to listen to her talk. But we never

really talk one on one. It strike me odd that it only took one hour of

acquaintance, one hour of recognition, to now suddenly feel so closely

bonded to somebody. That one afternoon a few months ago, we probably

wouldn’t have had to say a single word, and we still would have

communicated the same feelings just as much. We still would have felt

and read every one of each other’s thoughts in the same way. I’m pretty

sure that she knows more considering that she’s such an intellectual.

Ever since that day, that hour, I’ve had this feeling of peace and

ok-ness. I feel like I don’t need to worry anymore. She, Same, and the

rest of the marginal group will always be there. I can breathe now.