Blessed Burden

Being the only child of a single parent for a majority of my life, I know what it’s like to feel obligated to look after that parent. For me, it’s my mom. She’s my best friend and I love her more than anything, but there was a time when I loathed her with every inch of my existence. I used to be afraid of going out with friends, or even going to school and leaving her alone. I was so afraid to leave her by herself because of what she might do with that free time. I tried spending time with her, but I soon found that sadness was contagious. And her sadness was so immense, I found myself bowing under the weight of it more often than I’d like to admit. When she was coherent enough to process that what I was displaying was anger, my mother did not understand that anger. She didn’t know that she was fucking me up beyond repair, and she didn’t care. Her parents were always around when she was growing up and they would never have left her alone to make her own food at age 10, never would have forced her to grow up so fast that she could feel her childhood being ripped away from her. So how could she fathom that what she was doing to me was making me hate her? I understand that depression, when you have it, is like a black hole sucking you in, or a blanket of fog suffocating your thoughts. And I understood, at age 10, that I was all my mom had. I was it. It was my responsibility to take care of her; I was the only one who could even try to ease her pain, pull her back down to Earth, and clear the fog.

Worn Out Minds

If I could have the hands of someone else, I would want to acquire the hands of an artist. I’ve never lacked in terms of creativity, but I’ve also never had the patience, or humiliation, to create a painting or drawing that I’m happy with and confident enough about to share with others. If I had the hands of a painter, I would be able to experience, with certainty and confidence in my work, creating something that would be able to convey exactly what I want it to convey. I remember reading a quote somewhere that said, “An intellectual says a simple thing in a hard way. An artist says a hard thing in a simple way.” At the time, I recall being blown away by how true of a statement that was. I’m not calling myself an intellectual by any means, but I know if I were to choose a side, I would fall more so on the side involving expression by means of letters and words, sentences and conversations.

Pancakes, anyone?

Breakfast has always been my favorite meal of the day. Since I was really young, I was used to waking up to the mouth-watering smell of bacon and pancakes greeting me. “If I could only get out of bed,” I thought to myself at 8 o’clock in the morning. When I finally conjured up enough motive and energy to climb out of my warm, inviting bed, I found myself going straight to the dining room table and finding not only bacon and pancakes but also eggs, hashbrowns, a bowl of strawberries and another one of blueberries. My dad never wasted his precious time making toast, rather , he said if I wanted toast I could make it myself. I often thought to myself how funny it was that my dad seemed to be the cook in the household. I chalked it up to my mother’s deep refusal to waking up before 9 o’clock unless totally and completely necessary.
I distinctly remember waking up before my dad on my sixth birthday, waiting patiently for him to start making breakfast so I could beg him to let me flip a pancake. At the time, he still thought I was too little to flip one, but this time he let me. (How could he refuse? It was my birthday, after all.) He set me on the counter, right next to the griddle and put the spatula in my hand. Referring to tips he told me in the past, I waited until I saw enough bubbles- that’s how you knew it was ready to be flipped. And when I flipped it, I made a perfect pancake. Dad was so proud of me at that moment and all I did was flip a pancake well- something I watch him do all the time. I don’t remember much from when I was younger but this memory sticks out to me more than any of them. I think its because I only knew my dad until I was 8 and I’m starting to realize that those memories are few and far between. Pancakes remain my favorite breakfast food to this day.

Before

This is a girl and her father before heading to the radio station to spend the day there together most girls wouldn't like going to work with their dads, but she didn't mind at all this is trust that existed with no second guessing two people who crave each other's company but are only granted it when the weather gets warmer summer brings promises of being together, only after being apart for far too long this is before all her hopes got crushed He told her he would get better and be there for her, with her through everything he would be the one to walk her down the aisle but when everything got taken away from him she was robbed of that future those summers were ripped away from them, this picture was all she had left to remember someone who could've tried harder but instead, broke his daughter's heart left her with an unforgiving mother this isn't what it appears to be- a happy daughter and father this is a man who is struggling with his own addiction a little girl who is all too aware

The image

Skye has no idea about this. Skye can NOT find out. If she knew what I was about to do, how I was planning on leaving to spare her life, she would want to go with. No, telling her isn’t an option. So instead, I’ll go with Plan B. Plan B may or may not go like this: 1. I’ll tell her to meet at our usual spot. (Her grandparent’s hundred year old log cabin smack dab in the middle of the woods. They have a home in Florida so they’re only here in the summer.) 2. I’ll give her the present I was saving to give her on her birthday this upcoming week. You see, I have to give it to her now; I might not get another chance. I must leave tonight. I was ordered and I am designed to follow orders. If I lost my purpose, forgot about the point of coming here, I would jeopardize the entire mission. I can’t let myself get distracted by some girl who caught my eye and made her impossible to forget. I would gladly die a thousand painful deaths before I let that beautiful creature lose her life at my hand. I would tie bricks to my feet and jump in the deep end. I would run into a burning building and find release in the flames, if that would ensure her safety. Getting sidetracked. Get it together, man. 3. When I see her, I’ll tell her how much I love her and make sure she knows she will never lack anything- whatever she finds herself needing in the future, she will always have it. I will make sure of that. 4. She’ll ask me why I’m talking this way because she knows I will do anything for her and then she says that I’m scaring her. And now, I’ve lost all my resolve and I tell her everything- every sordid detail and every fucked-up fib I’ve told to cover things up. As I tell her, I also watch her and those eyes will make me want to run away, screaming. Because I would rather leave than watch her become more and more aware of my betrayal.

Hopeless

It was inevitable; the natural decline of love and warmth in his heart has been apparent since he was young. I noticed his resolve falter and continue to fade when I took him under my wing after his parents’ death. It wasn’t murder or anything, nothing like that. They didn’t have their lives taken away from them. I wish I could say their deaths were due to old age or some lethal disease, no- their deaths weren’t the result natural causes. Imagine you were sitting on the floor in your living room that overlooked the kitchen, playing with your various toys just as you would any other day. But something is different. There’s no music playing over the speakers and there are no delicious smells floating throughout the house, causing your stomach to growl. And when you walk downstairs, your parents are crying and holding hands, which is weird because daddy rarely ever comes out of his office anymore. Watching the only family you know point pistols at each other and end everything would fuck anyone up, not to mention an eight year old kid. I was the one he ran to when he knew of nowhere else to go and now, ten years later, I’m nothing more than an object to him- one that he feels belongs to him, one he has no problem hurting.

            I knew his parents were going to do it, I just didn’t think they would do it in front of their only child. Did they even think about the repercussions? Did it even cross their minds that by committing a double suicide with their eight year old son present, they were planting in his mind the idea that he could end his life just as easily as they ended their own? Far too impressionable for his own good, I knew Dallas was always struggling with his parents’ death. I always had a feeling, ever since the beginning that he would one day do something he couldn’t take back. He was going to do something he regretted. I bet his parents didn’t think that by ending each other, they were also murdering their son. I wasn’t able to properly protect him from all the things I knew were tearing him apart and I was always at war with myself; I never knew whether I should give him space and let him forge his own path or give him some direction, something to believe in. I didn’t know, still don’t, how to give him something to believe in when I have no idea what I have left to believe in myself.

I’ve always known Dallas was different, always had a feeling he was special and in all honesty, he scares the hell out of me. He has these gray-violet eyes that seem to see right through you and you can tell by one glance in his direction that he is constantly thinking; always seeking out what he thinks is missing. I know he has some sort of notebook but he keeps it well hidden, like he keeps most things. It’s as if he believes if he reveals anything about himself he will lose grip on that which holds him together. 

If I could go back in time and right all the wrongs in his life, I would in an instant. I would sacrifice myself in the most literal sense of the word if that meant he would be happy and lead a normal life. I remember so vividly the night I asked him what he thought of himself. I can conjure up the whole conversation in my mind; I can picture his lips move as he told me that he thought, no, he knew he was nothing more than the product of savages who ended each other and left him behind. Such insightful and broken words coming from a ten year old. Too young to have gone through what he went through and too fragile to deal with it properly.

When he was younger, I used to go into his room and find these horrible drawings; on those pages I found guns and puddles of blood and blue, limp bodies laying in those puddles. I never confronted him about it; that’s how it was with us- we never shared anything with one another other than a casual conversation here and there. More than anything I wish I never let the space between us grow so big that it threatened to eat us up.  Sometimes the emptiness in his eyes is too much for me to take.

But tonight, that emptiness threatens to tear him apart. I can see it in the way he walks and in his facial expressions. I can hear it in every breath he takes and I can feel it with every fiber of my being. I know it’s a bad idea to ask him if anything is bothering him, but I’ve never been one to suppress my curiosity. I know he’s done something horrible, irreversible. And all I can do is convince him that everything will be okay. How could I instill such hope but be left with none of my own?

Quotes to Live By

The following quotes are actually lyrics from my favorite artist, City and Colour.
"And finally i'll say it with love, I hope you're at rest in the stars above"

"You need not to find a cure for everything that makes you weak."

Better Late than Never

"Crystal, how long have we been sitting here? I can't feel my face."
I looked down at my watch. We have been sitting here for three hours. Three fucking hours. What the hell is taking Damien so long?
"Just be patient, he'll be here. He wouldn't bail on us last minute," I hoped.
"This wouldn't suck so much if it weren't negative 50 degrees out."
"Oh don't be dramatic, Joey! The worst part is the wind. We shouldn't have to wait much longer."
I was worried. Damien isn't one to be late for things like this. He knows what is at stake and I can't believe he's putting everything in jeopardy. He is risking losing all of the progress we've made. I knew I made a mistake trusting him.
As that thought crossed my mind, I instantly regretted it. He's done more than enough to earn my trust. He saved my life, for Christ's sake. He would be here if he could be, something must have come up. I need to convince myself that something came up and that we wouldn't die here.

The Lilypad

La Grenouillere

I stand there I admire the beauty of this scene

What else am I supposed to do? I can't tear my eyes away
from the ripples in the pond and the intricate designs carved into the wood of the boats
I could go for a swim and have a laugh with my neighbors
I would much rather gaze from afar
The sun is shining bright and beating down on my exposed skin
Its days like these that make me miss how it used to be
When I didn't have to stand here alone because I had you by my side
But this will go on
Time won't cease just because you're gone

By the Seashore

How it got to be this late I have no clue

Somehow my drawing turned into a sketch of Poseidon

Perhaps I was daydreaming of the underworld, the forgotten city of Atlantis

All I envision as his trident stares me in the face are mermaids and seaweed

All I see are tedious lines connected by the promise of a whole outcome

If I were a fish I would never fear those who could end me at any moment

Why live in fear when I can breathe underwater?

Its easier for me to pretend that there is more to this world than us

than to act like what we see and know and hear is all there is

What about what we feel and hope?

 

The Meeting Spot

We had plans to meet here. We made it a tradition within the first few weeks we knew each other, when we were still learning all there was to know about another person. I wish we could go back to those weeks, those days where I started noticing how his laugh had turned into mine and how I had adopted all his little phrases and manuerisms. This type of thing is bound to happen when you spend every minute possible with another human being over a long period of time. I also started noticing how different we were from one another. Whereas I was too shy to tell the waiter when my order was wrong, he was the first one to let you know you’d made a mistake. I loved him for it but I also despised his bravery. I didn’t think it was fair that he had all this courage and I paled in comparison- a timid, insignificant half of our whole. I decided I was done waiting. Its been an hour, I thought to myself. He isn’t coming. As I walked home, my pace much slower than normal in hopes of running into him, I couldn’t help but dwell on why I even expected him to be there in the first place. The last time we talked wasn’t exactly what you would call a pleasant conversation. I kept telling myself to let it go all the way up until my doorstep, where I found flower petals leading to a note on my welcome mat.

Future

-I think it was really cool to learn that the art institutes hold career fairs where students can showcase their work while attending the art institutes and some of them even get job offers on the spot. It was also interesting how when you figure out your major, using graphic design as an example, your gen eds all revolve around your area of study.

 

-I would like to know how a lot of the software works.

 

-10 years from now, I hope to be traveling. Although I know that probably won’t happen, so I’ve been considering getting into social work.

 

Pillow Talk

 Sleeping never came easily for Jeremy. He knew that in order to work up to his full potential, he had to be well rested but that didn't make him like it any more. Jeremy always talked about how much of a waste sleeping is- he believed that humans would be much more productive if they didn’t spend half of their lives sleeping. “Imagine how much we could all get done in that amount of time!” he would always say. And I think that’s why he was always up so late- one of the reasons at least. His mind was always running. The first time I went into his room, the first thing I noticed was the ungodly amount of notebooks he had on his desk and floor. I asked him when he had time to write so much. “While most of you are sleeping, I’m concocting plans and ideas for the future. Not only mine, but yours as well, Lydia. If I could fall asleep easily, trust me I would.” The last thing I noticed when I left his room that day was how his pillow lay there, rumpled and bunched up, and obviously used very often.

Side Roads and Hoodie Weather

“There’s a car coming! Get out of the road, girls.” Reluctantly, Taylor and I made our way to the side of the road. As soon as no cars were in sight, we were back to skipping in the middle of the street, kicking up leaves and laughing hysterically over things only our 7 year old minds could find intriguing. It was Friday, which meant walking to the ice cream parlor with Papa. Our grandpa never missed walking us up to get an ice cream cone on his days off and he always got off work early on Fridays. Sometimes I miss when things were like this- before everyone moved away, drifted apart. Before everything changed for the worse. Those brisk, autumn days where kicking up leaves and going for walks with my family would never again be mine. I guess it’s inevitable, the automatic evolution of people and things and ideas and the unavoidable affect our influences have on our ways of thinking.

I used to dread these things;

The whole concept of family gatherings made me want to die from boredom just thinking about it. I knew it was horrible to think that way and that I should always want to be around my family, but I had a hard time feeling guilty for not wanting to be around people who have only made me feel like shit my whole life.

            “Wake up!” My mom never usually bothered with waking me up, ever. I always got up on my own, made it to school without a hitch, never asking for more than she could offer. I wouldn’t want to be burden on the woman who gave up her future so that I could have one, no matter how mediocre it’ll probably turn out to be.

            “I’m up. I’ve been up for over an hour. What do you need?” I asked. She told me she wanted to make sure I didn’t have plans tomorrow night because the whole family is getting together at Aunt Claire’s house to swim and barbeque. As it turns out, I did have plans. But I wouldn’t dare mention that to her, it would just be a waste of time. She would make me cancel my plans anyway. I requested off work specifically for tomorrow so I could make it to a show that one of my friend’s band was playing in, but it looks like I’m gonna have to miss it. Again.

            “Can I just go for an hour and leave? Not like Aunt Claire or Uncle Jared will care anyway. Last time we had one of these gatherings, they kept calling me Jasmine, remember? “Jasmine is my older sister. She got out as fast as she could and we haven’t talked in over two years.

            “Ayra, honey, family is important. You don’t know how much longer we have with nana. She isn’t going to be around forever. Plus, Trey is coming into town and he’ll be there. He says he has something for you.” Okay, now my curiosity is sparked. Trey hasn’t been around for 9 months. Last time I saw him, he promised to keep in touch and that he would come back for me. But, parallel to his personality, he stopped writing after two weeks and seemingly forgot I existed. My cousin is the epitome of all the things I hate but he is also the most amazing person I’ve ever met. It doesn’t make sense, even to me.

             I have so many questions though. Why is he choosing to come back now? Why has he contacted my mom and the rest of our family but not me?  I suddenly wish tomorrow would come much faster.

            The next day came and work was hell. All I could think about was Trey and what he could possibly have for me. He knows what I want most is to leave everything behind, not have more junk to get rid of when I finally get out. As the time dragged on, I decided to give up with the ridiculous scenarios in my head. He owes me much more than an explanation.

            When I got home from work I quickly put on my swim suit and slipped on a dress over it. I packed some clothes to bring with me; I planned on leaving early in hopes of being able to catch the end of Jason’s set. My mom texted me telling her to meet her at Aunt Claire’s when I got off work. On the way over, I had the urge to turn around and drive in the opposite direction. I don’t know how to face Trey. I’ve been so angry with him for not returning my letters, never telling me if he was alright or where he is or what he’s out there doing without me. He is experiencing the world and I’m stuck in Pittson, Pennsylvania, doomed.

            The first thing I see when I walk through the door is Trey, sitting alone on the couch reading Walden. He seems really into it and doesn’t notice me walk up to him and I’m sure he never expected to be slapped across the face by me.

            “Okay, I deserved that.”

            “Yeah, you more than deserved that.”

             “Say goodbye to your mom. Tell her you’ll see her back at the house later. Nana has already fallen asleep and you won’t miss much. We have a lot to talk about and I’d rather not talk here, surrounded by our highly intoxicated relatives.” Trey was telling me to say bye to my family, was it just farewell for now or goodbye until further notice?

            I said bye to my mom, Claire and Jared but they only allowed me to leave after a little coaxing done by Trey. He said he had something for me and it wasn’t here.

            We got in the car and started towards the direction of my house. I was spilling my heart out to Trey the whole way, telling him how angry I’ve been with him. How much he let me down. How much I’ve missed him. All he did was sit there, silent, never once glancing in my direction. When we got to my driveway, we sat there in silence until I finally asked what he had to give to me.

            He handed me an old map, probably from the 80’s, and I looked at him quizzically until he spoke. “Grab only the necessities. I told you I’d come back for you. Better late than never.”