Sunday, February 23, 2014
Trying to be Different
Really, I think it's impossible for us to really be truly different, but I did my best. Maybe this will help you be different too. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to draw The Doctor as a power ranger.
That Awkward Moment: Part 2
I pushed away from the table and stood up, my chair making an obvious squeal against the expensive wood floor. My parents paused mid-sentence, their mouths agape, and stared at me. Aunt Eudora didn't seem to notice--she was ripping apart her steak like a T-rex, sauce staining her fingers, being completely oblivious to my rigid composure.
"Is everything alright?" Mom said, sounding as if she was talking to a frightened animal. Her eyes flickered to the phone in my hand, then back at my face.
I took a couple of breaths as I thought through an escape plan. "I...I'm just gonna go to the bathroom. I'll be right back." I said. Mark rested his elbows on the table and clasped his hands, watching my face intently with his somber blue eyes.
Not waiting for a reply, I turned away from my mother's puckered face and did my best speed-walk towards the bathroom.
Yeah, I'm just gonna leave. Just gonna get as faaaaaar away as possible. I don't know what's going on, but I don't like it one bit. Either this Mark guy is a psychopath, or...
I shook my head. I wasn't even going to consider the other possibility--that he was telling the truth.
After weaving around a few waiters that gave me nasty looks, I found the ladies restroom and pushed the door out of the way with an angry sweep. The door rebounded, clipping my shoulder on the way back. My cry of pain echoed through the bathrooms. I froze in place and waited for any snickers of laughter, but the stalls greeted me with a pointed silence.
Sighing with relief, I went to the mirrors and rested my hands on either side of one of the sinks. The granite felt sturdy and cool beneath my sweaty fingers; it was a stable reassurance as I listened to my breath flowing in and out.
Every time I shifted my weight, my heels would drag on the wood floor and make an ugly scratching sound. I held as still as possible, killing all sound except the muted voices from outside. I ignored my disheveled appearance in the mirror. I knew I looked on edge; I didn't need that confirmed.
Without warning, the restroom door flew open and slammed against the wall with the volume of a cannon shot. I jumped a foot in the air, nearly losing my balance in my stupid heels, and put my hands up in defense. With my eyes squeezed shut, I heard a thud and a muffled curse as the door swung back and hit whoever was invading my privacy. Daring to peek, I bit my lip a little too hard when I saw who it was.
The man in the tweed jacket was now rubbing his arm with a sour expression, seeming to not realize just how much he startled me.
Thousands of questions circulated, most of them profound, but I couldn't begin to form the words. Unfortunately, only one question got through:
"What are you doing in the girl's bathroom?" I squeaked. The question sounded like something a second grader would ask. I mentally smacked myself.
Mark looked up, his expression vulnerable. As much as I wanted to dislike him, I couldn't get past his sincere eyes. They were an open book, subject to judgement--negative or otherwise.
"I need to talk to you." He said.
"Well what if I don't want to talk? What if I think you're a psychopath and should leave me alone?"
"I apologize for scaring you. I know this must seem ludicrous, but really I'm telling the truth. Just please, hear me out."
Desperation filled his voice. I wasn't able to meet his eyes, so I stared at the ground, silent. I didn't trust him--not one bit--but I supposed there wasn't any harm in at least letting him explain.
"Fine. Justify away." I said, my voice tight.
"Your name is Valerie Evans. You're eighteen years old, and you have two parents and an older brother. You have dreams of being a professional photographer, but you doubt that it will ever happen." He stated, his voice growing quieter. My cheeks warmed. How did he know about my aspirations? I kept the fact that I wanted to be a photographer a closely guarded secret.
"What does this have to do with--"
"--you have an intense fear of cockroaches," he continued, "and you love being in the sun just after a rainstorm. You think that wearing glasses without lenses is tacky, and one of your favorite memories is of a time when you were stuck inside the house during a blizzard with your family, and you all spent the entire day swapping stories, eating homemade bread, and watching The Sound of Music."
I eyed Mark carefully, feeling utterly exposed. My head was spinning.
"How do you know all this?"
Mark gave a heavy sigh, the kind that older people do when the entire world is weighing on their shoulders. In that instant, he looked wiser and more worn than a person his age should.
"Because I know you. You used to know me too, but you've been forced to forget. It's like a part of history has been deleted--edited out, if you will. Except I'm still here for some reason, even though I don't have any significance to Their plans."
"You're not making any sense." I edged away, wary. I tried not to glance at the door, so he wouldn't think I was getting any ideas. The second I got a clear shot, I was going to make a break for it.
"Don't you find it odd that your Aunt Eudora wants to speak with your family, even though you haven't talked in years? You barely know her, and yet there's the possibility that she might consider you in her will. That would be life changing. An inciting incident." Now deep in thought, Mark stepped away from the door, staring at the ground intently.
"What are you saying?" I said as I side-stepped towards the door.
"I have a theory, and you'll probably think I'm mad for thinking it, but the people around us, our surroundings, everything we know is a part of an elaborate story."
This guy isn't just a little crazy--he's bat poop crazy. I don't care what he knows about my personal life; I'm getting out of here.
Now only a few feet from the door, I put grabbed the handle.
I hesitated. Although it didn't make any sense, I felt bad about running away from Mark. He'd been nothing but straight with me, and even if he was crazy, it didn't seem like he had any bad intentions. Besides, how did he know that much about me? It wasn't like I was terribly open about myself--in fact, very few people knew much about me at all.
But what was Mark saying? That my entire life was a story? A fictionalized account created for someone's entertainment? But for who? None of it made any sense. The world felt real enough to me; I felt real enough.
"I'm sorry, but I don't believe you. Just leave me alone."
With that, I opened the door and ran, not looking back.
/---/---/
Things have taken a turn for the satirical. I wasn't planning on going that far with this, but gosh is it entertaining.
"Is everything alright?" Mom said, sounding as if she was talking to a frightened animal. Her eyes flickered to the phone in my hand, then back at my face.
I took a couple of breaths as I thought through an escape plan. "I...I'm just gonna go to the bathroom. I'll be right back." I said. Mark rested his elbows on the table and clasped his hands, watching my face intently with his somber blue eyes.
Not waiting for a reply, I turned away from my mother's puckered face and did my best speed-walk towards the bathroom.
Yeah, I'm just gonna leave. Just gonna get as faaaaaar away as possible. I don't know what's going on, but I don't like it one bit. Either this Mark guy is a psychopath, or...
I shook my head. I wasn't even going to consider the other possibility--that he was telling the truth.
After weaving around a few waiters that gave me nasty looks, I found the ladies restroom and pushed the door out of the way with an angry sweep. The door rebounded, clipping my shoulder on the way back. My cry of pain echoed through the bathrooms. I froze in place and waited for any snickers of laughter, but the stalls greeted me with a pointed silence.
Sighing with relief, I went to the mirrors and rested my hands on either side of one of the sinks. The granite felt sturdy and cool beneath my sweaty fingers; it was a stable reassurance as I listened to my breath flowing in and out.
Every time I shifted my weight, my heels would drag on the wood floor and make an ugly scratching sound. I held as still as possible, killing all sound except the muted voices from outside. I ignored my disheveled appearance in the mirror. I knew I looked on edge; I didn't need that confirmed.
Without warning, the restroom door flew open and slammed against the wall with the volume of a cannon shot. I jumped a foot in the air, nearly losing my balance in my stupid heels, and put my hands up in defense. With my eyes squeezed shut, I heard a thud and a muffled curse as the door swung back and hit whoever was invading my privacy. Daring to peek, I bit my lip a little too hard when I saw who it was.
The man in the tweed jacket was now rubbing his arm with a sour expression, seeming to not realize just how much he startled me.
Thousands of questions circulated, most of them profound, but I couldn't begin to form the words. Unfortunately, only one question got through:
"What are you doing in the girl's bathroom?" I squeaked. The question sounded like something a second grader would ask. I mentally smacked myself.
Mark looked up, his expression vulnerable. As much as I wanted to dislike him, I couldn't get past his sincere eyes. They were an open book, subject to judgement--negative or otherwise.
"I need to talk to you." He said.
"Well what if I don't want to talk? What if I think you're a psychopath and should leave me alone?"
"I apologize for scaring you. I know this must seem ludicrous, but really I'm telling the truth. Just please, hear me out."
Desperation filled his voice. I wasn't able to meet his eyes, so I stared at the ground, silent. I didn't trust him--not one bit--but I supposed there wasn't any harm in at least letting him explain.
"Fine. Justify away." I said, my voice tight.
"Your name is Valerie Evans. You're eighteen years old, and you have two parents and an older brother. You have dreams of being a professional photographer, but you doubt that it will ever happen." He stated, his voice growing quieter. My cheeks warmed. How did he know about my aspirations? I kept the fact that I wanted to be a photographer a closely guarded secret.
"What does this have to do with--"
"--you have an intense fear of cockroaches," he continued, "and you love being in the sun just after a rainstorm. You think that wearing glasses without lenses is tacky, and one of your favorite memories is of a time when you were stuck inside the house during a blizzard with your family, and you all spent the entire day swapping stories, eating homemade bread, and watching The Sound of Music."
I eyed Mark carefully, feeling utterly exposed. My head was spinning.
"How do you know all this?"
Mark gave a heavy sigh, the kind that older people do when the entire world is weighing on their shoulders. In that instant, he looked wiser and more worn than a person his age should.
"Because I know you. You used to know me too, but you've been forced to forget. It's like a part of history has been deleted--edited out, if you will. Except I'm still here for some reason, even though I don't have any significance to Their plans."
"You're not making any sense." I edged away, wary. I tried not to glance at the door, so he wouldn't think I was getting any ideas. The second I got a clear shot, I was going to make a break for it.
"Don't you find it odd that your Aunt Eudora wants to speak with your family, even though you haven't talked in years? You barely know her, and yet there's the possibility that she might consider you in her will. That would be life changing. An inciting incident." Now deep in thought, Mark stepped away from the door, staring at the ground intently.
"What are you saying?" I said as I side-stepped towards the door.
"I have a theory, and you'll probably think I'm mad for thinking it, but the people around us, our surroundings, everything we know is a part of an elaborate story."
This guy isn't just a little crazy--he's bat poop crazy. I don't care what he knows about my personal life; I'm getting out of here.
Now only a few feet from the door, I put grabbed the handle.
I hesitated. Although it didn't make any sense, I felt bad about running away from Mark. He'd been nothing but straight with me, and even if he was crazy, it didn't seem like he had any bad intentions. Besides, how did he know that much about me? It wasn't like I was terribly open about myself--in fact, very few people knew much about me at all.
But what was Mark saying? That my entire life was a story? A fictionalized account created for someone's entertainment? But for who? None of it made any sense. The world felt real enough to me; I felt real enough.
"I'm sorry, but I don't believe you. Just leave me alone."
With that, I opened the door and ran, not looking back.
/---/---/
Things have taken a turn for the satirical. I wasn't planning on going that far with this, but gosh is it entertaining.
Monday, February 10, 2014
That Awkward Moment
Just a random writing prompt that inspired me:
You receive a mysterious email and the subject line reads “Everything you know is a lie.” You open the email and read further: “Act calm as to not alert anyone, but everyone around you is not who they say they are. You need to quietly get out of there and meet me at the spot where you had your first kiss. You know the place. My name is Mark.”
I looked up from my phone, then back at the message. Did I read that right? They must have the wrong person. I've never had a first kiss...or have I? I glanced at the email, which read: Mark@genericwebsite.com. What the heck? I wanted an email that said generic website in it.
I'm sorry whoever-you-are, you have the wrong person. I've never had a first kiss. I hope the person that was supposed to get this is in good hands, because you kinda sound like a creeper.
I pressed send, and a only few seconds later there was a shiny new reply. Apparently this guy had nothing better to do than to send emails. With hesitation, I tapped the message.
I apologize for creeping you out, but I know I have the right person. I guess They got to you before I did. I'm sorry you don't remember. I'll meet you instead.
What? No! I glanced around frantically as panic filled me like a water balloon. People dressed in fine clothing occupied the restaurant, all talking in hushed voices and clinking their silverware. My searching eyes connected with my mom's. Her mouth creased with concern at my bewildered expression.
"Are you all right?"
"Um--what? Oh, yeah. I'm fine." I turned away from her and typed furiously with my thumbs.
Okay, I don't know who you are, but you're really freaking me out. This is not a good time; I'm kinda in the middle of something, so if you could kindly just leave me alone, that would be great.
"Your Aunt is late. She said six, and it's seven-thirty."
"I'm sure she just got caught up in traffic." My dad said.
"And will you stop looking at that thing?" I looked up at my mom's harsh tone. She wrinkled her nose and stared the phone in my hand. "This is a nice restaurant. Please save the emails for another time. If you're Aunt sees you wasting away your life on that thing, there's no way you'll make a good impression."
Grudgingly, I slipped my phone away and resisted the temptation to roll my eyes. What my mom really meant was, there's no way she'll consider you for the will. I knew my Great-Aunt Eudora was old, and I also knew she was richer than Jay Gatsby, but that's all I knew. I'd never talked to Great-Aunt Eudora beyond the few words exchanged at my grandpa's funeral:
So you're Leah's daughter? You look so much like her.
I mumbled some unintelligible response, and thus was the end of our conversation.
"I don't even know what to say to her." I said.
"Just tell her about your life. I'm sure that will get the conversation rolling." My dad said. I was about to reply and say that of all people, I wasn't one to get conversations rolling, but I was interrupted by my mom's excited voice.
"Hello Eudora! I'm glad you could make it. And who's this?"
At the mention of another person, I looked up. A man with dark hair and a tweed jacket, who was probably in his twenties, was shaking hands with my parents. He was so tall that when standing next to my short Aunt Eudora, he looked like a telephone pole. At least a head taller than my parents, he grinned with a wide, bright smile. I wondered for a minute how he didn't clock his head on the doorway while coming in.
"I'm Mark." I sucked in a breath and choked. Sputtering, I gripped the tablecloth. My parents pretended not to notice. "I'm a good friend of Eudora's, and I just happened to be in the neighborhood when I saw she was having a bit of car trouble. What are the odds?" My parents laughed, and Mark glanced at me. His sincere eyes examined me; I put on my best poker face.
Who is this guy? There's no way it's the same guy I was emailing. But what if it is? Crap, what should I do?
The adults took a seat and began exchanging small talk.
"So, what was wrong with your car?" My mom began. I tuned out to their conversation and snuck glances at Mark. He seemed to be paying full attention to what they were saying--in fact, they were all pretty involved, and not looking towards me at all. Perfect.
My fingers inched towards the phone in my pocket, and ever so delicately, I lifted the rectangle from its hiding place and hovered it as close to the tablecloth as possible. I glanced down only for brief seconds at a time, so as to not arouse suspicion.
Is that you?
I hit send.
Mark's coat pocket shook with an audible vibrate. Without looking at me, he reached into the front pocket, typed something, then put it back.
Yes.
I looked up from my phone, eyes wide. With a serious expression, Mark returned my stare and nodded.
Oh, that's great. Just great.
"Are you all right?"
"Um--what? Oh, yeah. I'm fine." I turned away from her and typed furiously with my thumbs.
Okay, I don't know who you are, but you're really freaking me out. This is not a good time; I'm kinda in the middle of something, so if you could kindly just leave me alone, that would be great.
"Your Aunt is late. She said six, and it's seven-thirty."
"I'm sure she just got caught up in traffic." My dad said.
"And will you stop looking at that thing?" I looked up at my mom's harsh tone. She wrinkled her nose and stared the phone in my hand. "This is a nice restaurant. Please save the emails for another time. If you're Aunt sees you wasting away your life on that thing, there's no way you'll make a good impression."
Grudgingly, I slipped my phone away and resisted the temptation to roll my eyes. What my mom really meant was, there's no way she'll consider you for the will. I knew my Great-Aunt Eudora was old, and I also knew she was richer than Jay Gatsby, but that's all I knew. I'd never talked to Great-Aunt Eudora beyond the few words exchanged at my grandpa's funeral:
So you're Leah's daughter? You look so much like her.
I mumbled some unintelligible response, and thus was the end of our conversation.
"I don't even know what to say to her." I said.
"Just tell her about your life. I'm sure that will get the conversation rolling." My dad said. I was about to reply and say that of all people, I wasn't one to get conversations rolling, but I was interrupted by my mom's excited voice.
"Hello Eudora! I'm glad you could make it. And who's this?"
At the mention of another person, I looked up. A man with dark hair and a tweed jacket, who was probably in his twenties, was shaking hands with my parents. He was so tall that when standing next to my short Aunt Eudora, he looked like a telephone pole. At least a head taller than my parents, he grinned with a wide, bright smile. I wondered for a minute how he didn't clock his head on the doorway while coming in.
"I'm Mark." I sucked in a breath and choked. Sputtering, I gripped the tablecloth. My parents pretended not to notice. "I'm a good friend of Eudora's, and I just happened to be in the neighborhood when I saw she was having a bit of car trouble. What are the odds?" My parents laughed, and Mark glanced at me. His sincere eyes examined me; I put on my best poker face.
Who is this guy? There's no way it's the same guy I was emailing. But what if it is? Crap, what should I do?
The adults took a seat and began exchanging small talk.
"So, what was wrong with your car?" My mom began. I tuned out to their conversation and snuck glances at Mark. He seemed to be paying full attention to what they were saying--in fact, they were all pretty involved, and not looking towards me at all. Perfect.
My fingers inched towards the phone in my pocket, and ever so delicately, I lifted the rectangle from its hiding place and hovered it as close to the tablecloth as possible. I glanced down only for brief seconds at a time, so as to not arouse suspicion.
Is that you?
I hit send.
Mark's coat pocket shook with an audible vibrate. Without looking at me, he reached into the front pocket, typed something, then put it back.
Yes.
I looked up from my phone, eyes wide. With a serious expression, Mark returned my stare and nodded.
Oh, that's great. Just great.
The Sun After Rain
The reaction is like water on forging steel
The two intensities forge a bond that is
Something to be proud of
What a beautiful thing
To have two perspectives at the same time
That wonderful feeling
Of when the sun comes out after rain
And it's here to stay
The two stories broaden your view
You are finally aware of what's around you
And you can create what you want
Because no matter what you do, it's perfect
What mattered was the idea
What mattered was the song
And now I know what they mean
When they say that love is found in everything
We are now in tune
Let our harmonies change you
Stories are how I think
And I think our story is just beginning
The feeling is not hard to find
Once you learn to not care and still try
Everything is art, and of the best kind
Find the beauty.
Things I Stole
I did it I cracked the "code". What makes us human is that we love with a love so deep, so scary, so un sure, so completely intoxicating a robot can't even compute it. (June Carter) I am living more than most people around me because I'm different. (Abner)I need someone who is okay with my silence. (Suzy Bishop)People get on my nerves. (Ruby McCall)its a beautiful tragedy. (Charlotte Ford)I HAVE MEMORIES OF THINGS I DON'T REMEMBER. Jackie O. The old saying goes that "only fools rush in." and I'm no fool. (Sarah Smokes) If you are dreaming right now I wish I could be you.(Sincerely,)I guess you could say we are all Benjamin Buttons, trying to become who we use to be. (Destiny Preach)Old things are cool. They have stories hidden in their flaws. I want my journal to have many flaws. I want to have it with me everywhere so it will get the scent of all the places I will go (Feathers on Fish)I have close to nothing posted here on my blog. It's because I have a serious problem. (Alan Moore)Too often imagination is wounded by those who fail to see it.(Rosie Grace) Perfectionists wouldn't be perfectionists if they were perfect.(Solstice Everston)I woke up this morning at 3:02 with a headache and a side-ache and a heartache and I thought I was dead, but I'm not.(If You're Still Breathing)
Just some quotes I found. I would've gone to every blog, but I lost my patience.
Just some quotes I found. I would've gone to every blog, but I lost my patience.
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