An adventure is waiting....

Claira Bobskinders was bored. After all, there’s only so much one can do during the summer holiday, before everything begins to feel mundane. Claira asked her mother why this is, but Mother was busy reading her favorite volume of Shakespeare (which she suggested Claira try, but she said, “No thanks,” and left it at that) and told her daughter that it was because little girls are lazy during the summer and need more things to work on. But Claira didn’t want to work. She didn’t want to do nothing either though, and it is during moments when one does not want to do nothing, and doesn’t know what one wants to do, that one is apt to do something extraordinary.

Claira decided to go outside, for unless a person has a very old house filled with mysterious nooks and crannies and dusty attics on hand, outside is the best place to find adventure. Now, on the left side of the Bobskinders’ house was a garden near the garage, but gardens like this, filled with carrots and pansies, are no fun at all. So Claira went to the right, where there was a small thicket that led down the hill to where the fence was. On the other side of the fence lay the creek and beyond lay the hills and beyond that was the city, where Dad went to work every day in a big office building. But it was to the thicket that Claira went to sit. She crisscrossed her legs and kicked off her shoes, for she was not very fond of shoes, and thought that on such a nice day, it would be pleasant to wiggle her toes in the cool grass.

I'M A PUBLISHED AUTHOR. 

I'm a little excited about it :] 

Rain

rain falls in my heart
tell myself don't think those thoughts
won't do any good
it'll only bring you down

I look around and all I see
are spring leaves rotting on an aspen tree
waiting for the day
when fall will finally call

they say I've got time
and live their lives
livin' learning and don't ask why
and they don't know what I do
what I'm too afraid to tell

Another random poem

I said I wouldn't stay up late
But every time I close my eyes and try to sleep
Those thoughts come back, come knocking at my head

I said goodnight and you said hurry up and brush your teeth
I say I love you and you don't say anything
And silence makes me want to scream

I can feel it in my head
Dizzy, fuzzy spinning again and again
It's heavy and it's pulling me down

Rain or shine life isn't what it was
And the questions fill my head and start to pile up
I can't get it from my mind
Is this all there really is?

They talk about the fire and
They talk about desire and
They talk about what talking can't ever bring to light

I want to feel that flame again
Want to know it deep within
I love and trust and I truly do believe
So why am I still silly stupid discontented little me?

Poetry again

I take a quick glance in the mirror 

But you don't see

And I duck my eyes before you catch me 

Pretend like I'm not thinking bout anything at all 

You look up

Quick, stare at the wall

I can't stop the beating of my heart

Every moment thickens the hurt 

These stairs are getting steeper 

And this life is getting deeper 

I'm falling and I'm screaming inside 

Again

Everywhere the silent battles rage 

And people talk and talk about nothing 

Every day's an empty page

Start to finish 

I think of this 

Even as I tell myself that I'm not thinkin' bout you

Inside know it's true

I can't help it 

Can't help it 

Sigh....

Wow. I was way overconfident.

I totally thought that I'd have no problem staying in the habit of posting on my blog, but here it is like almost a week since I have even looked at it! I've been editing, editing, editing and it's taking way longer than I thought it would, and way more energy too. I'm so sick of this book. Just when I've convinced myself that it's the dumbest, most cliché thing ever, a pretty good section pops up and makes me think it could be decent after all. And then, as I'm starting to feel better, I'll hit another horribly dull, confusing, boring, random, or just plain what-was-I-thinking-when-I-wrote this? scene. Argh. I can't wait to be done.

Anyways, pointless ranting aside, I'll be back to posting every day on the 30th, if not before.

Poem

Once upon a time, in a land faraway,

           I had my own dream house 

All stocked with images and nations in every hideaway 

                                  It sat upon the water 

     And floated in the sky

    And all the dreams, mother's, son's and daughters' 


                       Were too young and strong to die

I waited there for ages 
In that pearly white place 

  I don't know where or how, but then came the changes 


And nothing's left now but a pale, cold face. 

NaNoWriMo Excerpt

Isis watched Rebecca as she kneaded the hard dough, her bony knuckles white with squeezing. For the few days that Isis had been in the Abadi’s house, Rebecca had not said a single word to her. The older woman treated her son’s guest with cold indifference, and had taken to treating him badly as well because of her. Isis, already feeling like an imposter in the Israeli clothing, said nothing around Rebecca, refusing to feed her hostess’ disapproval any more than she had already, by simply being Egyptian. Now, as she watched perspiration break out on Rebecca’s forehead, Isis spoke to Nathan’s mother for the first time.

“Will you teach me how?” She asked quietly.

Rebecca looked up in surprise. She considered for a moment, thinking of her mother and of her early days, learning to bake for her father and her brothers. She remembered how young and strong they had all been, but what bitter tongues and quarrelsome words they had had. Almost all of her brothers had died in Pharaoh’s trenches beneath the Egyptians’ whips and the blazing sun. And now this Egyptian girl stood before her, with quiet calm, asking to be taught to bake bread. Rebecca shuddered inwardly. She went back to kneading without a word. But the next day when she came home from her labor at the docks on the Nile, Isis was kneading the dough, and a finished loaf was already sitting on the table.

.....

Keep breathing 
Watch out for the rain
Keep breathing 
Stay out of the clouds 
Keep breathing 
Don't let yourself doubt
Keep breathing 

Just keep breathing

Aaaaaaand didn't see that one coming

Mkay. Finally writing this, four WHOLE minutes before midnight.

Well. Ain't life just chock full of surprises?

Ok, I'm done now.

Bet that surprises you, now doesn't it?

Meh.

Meh. I am just going to rant real fast. Well, not terribly fast. Ok. I'm not going to rant. Instead I'm going to write some obscure, POTO based poetry that makes no sense to anyone. And it is going to rain awesomeness. 

OH. MY. GOSH. HUGE SPIDER RIGHT THERE IN MY SISTER'S ROOM. EWWWWW. 

K now that is dealt with, after she chased me around the house with its remains -__- Love you too Merebear. (Hehe, she hates that nickname xD ) 

Anyways, on to my obscure, passive aggressive poetry! =D 

Behind the mask
I didn't see
No where to hide
No more for me 
To be to see be free 
Tis beauty defined 
The heart refined 
Love and truth all blent in stone
Written down I see it now
Don't you hide
Can't hide from me
No mask is thick enough anymore
I see and I dream and I'm still looking in
I know 
And I see
And I see the way it ought to be(: 


~*~


Run run away 
Don't be the way you thought you were
Get out get free
Don't be the one you thought you were 
Flee flee that's it girl
Can't wait to be free
Drive drive and don't ever look back
You're on your way
You're not alone but you're just you and the angel in the passenger seat 
Don't stop 
Don't stop running until you're a million miles away 

~*~

I plopped down into the prisoner-esque desk chair that sat in front of her desk, feeling remorse nipping at my insides. I’d never spoken to my mom like that before. I felt tired, more tired than I’d ever been in my whole life. I looked up to see tears in my mom’s eyes, making everything a thousand times worse.

“Mom, don’t cry,” I murmured hoarsely. She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and shook her head violently.

“I’m not crying!”

I sighed. “Ok, you’re not crying. Look, I’m sorry alright. This whole week has been crap. I’m just...tired of everything. Everything changes, every single day. Holy crap. I was in a fight today, and got busted by my mom, the principal!” I laughed out loud. She looked surprised, then relieved. We both suddenly couldn’t stop laughing. Tears poured out of her eyes, and I couldn’t tell if she was still crying or just giggling so hard it made her eyes water. Whatever it was, it seemed to fix that awful pain that had been riding in my chest a few moments earlier. I

When I finally got a grip I asked, “So am I busted or what?”

She smiled, “No, Mr. Hunter, I guess I’ll let you off with a warning this time.” And winked.

I smiled a half-smirk-half-grimace that said I’m sorry in a thousand different ways. Her eyes crinkled at the corners in a way that said, “I’m sorry too.”

I knew what she meant, but doubt was still seeping in through the holes in my heart. I got up to go, but she said, “Wait, one more thing Nathan.” And I turned.

~*~

Missed a day of posting yesterday, due to computer glitches, but I still managed to write :) aaaaand here's the next installment of my story. Hope y'all enjoy. 

~*~

“Please forgive me. I wanted to tell you but I just thought it would be better for you if you didn’t know, if people didn’t know. Nathan, my parents embarrassed me on a daily basis. Because of that....” Her voice cracked nervously. Clearing her throat, Mom started again. “Because of how I felt about them, I made some terrible choices,” She stopped, looking confused at the sudden blaze of anger written on my face.

 “You mean, running off with dad right? Getting pregnant with me, those kinds of choices?” I said flatly. Her face drained. I couldn’t believe how an ordinary week could suddenly turn so sour. I’d avoided this conversation for years, always knowing in the back of my heart that she regretted things, regretted me. I couldn’t control the burning words as they tore through my throat. I didn’t want to be the cause of that pain I saw etched into her features, but I was. It was my fault. She wouldn’t have married my dad if it hadn’t been for me, for my own stupid existence. And now she was going to twist her words again, try to tell me that the lies were for my own good.

 “Nathan,” My mom whispered brokenly. “Nathan..." It was all she could say.

Argh

So my computer no longer gets internet apparently, and my sister is leaving tomorrow, which means I will no longer be able to use this computer :( My blogging may take a pretty bad hit, therefore, so just a heads up. Hopefully things will be fixed soon! I'm going to go work on it now, so no other post for today. 

~*~

“What the heck, Mom!” My eyes were golf-balls bulging out of my skull. “You’re the principal?” The tone of my voice silently demanded an explanation. My mother sat there behind the big, mahogany principal’s desk in a grey business suit, rubbing her index finger up and down the bridge of her nose over and over. It suddenly occurred to me that the principal was the one who was nervous now, nervous to face her son.

 “Sit down, Nathan.” She pleaded, motioning anxiously toward one of the chairs in front of her desk. I didn’t want to sit. So for the first time in a long time, I disobeyed my mom and stayed standing.

 “What happened to the job at Kohls. Weren’t you the manager of Kohls, like just last week?” I accused dramatically, flinging my arms around. I saw Mr. Thorpe’s shadow as it slipped out of the office.

 “I can explain all that, just sit down, Nathan!” Her eyes held something they never had before, at least, not while looking at her baby boy. Was I really seeing what I thought I was?

Could that really be fear?

~*~

Mr.Thorpe stood at the door, beckoning to us. Rob slouched in first, then Denny. I started to follow, but Mr. T held up a hand, and shook his head. “Mmm, just a minute, Nathan. The principal  asked me to have you wait outside until the others are done.”

 “Why?” I cried with unveiled surprise. Denny glanced back at me before Nancy, the receptionist, closed the door between us. Whatever he faced, he would face it with only Rob, and I would face it later, alone. I licked my lips, feeling my nerves stretch like rubber bands under extreme duress. “Why would he want to see me seperately? Like, to provide unbiased perspective or something?” Mr. T laughed softly.

 “I don’t think that’s it. I’ll get you as soon as we finish.” He murmured mysteriously, and then vanished into that dark little room again, and I was left alone to return to my cold prison on the bench. I waited, feeling my stomach tighten with every tick of the clock. I glanced at it, a black, boring accessory that seemed to perch on the wall simply out of habit, rather than for a purpose. Nevertheless, it told me the time: half past. I grimaced, knowing that I’d already missed half of my Algebra 2 class, which meant I would have to grapple with the nonsensical instructions in the textbook if I hoped to understand whatever homework Mrs. Elliot prescribed. I crossed my legs. And uncrossed them. And crossed them the other way. I folded my hands, until they got so sweaty that I had to rub my palms across my knees a few times. Time crawled by. The minute hand seemed to be carrying the weight of a thousand boulders. A herd of snails could beat that minute hand any day. I couldn’t hear the low rumble of voices anymore. I wondered if maybe the door had grown thicker.

 At last the door opened and Denny and Rob shuffled sheepishly out. Denny didn’t look at me, which I took for a bad sign. I felt a twinge of righteous anger sparkle in my stomach. Was I about to get some horrible punishment simply for being loyal? It wasn’t fair. But then, life’s not fair, as every parent in the world has told their kid at some point.

 “Ok, Nathan. Come on in.” Mr. Thorpe motioned me towards the door. I stood nervously, wishing those sweat ducts on my hands would cool it and stop all that gushing. I sidled in, and found myself face to face with the principal of Wakanakee High.

 “Mom?”

I Pray

Reach out
Please
Take him
Choose him
Not for my sake, but for his
I pray
I pray
I pray until I feel my soul swelling with Your love
Please
Reach out
Take him
Choose him
I am begging until I'm full
To plead with You
Is to be filled from within
Within and without
Without needing anything again
I'm in love with Your love for me
And Your mercy
I pray
But not for me
Let me belong to You
Forever

~*~

Mr. Thorpe and Mr. Atkins were talking with the principal in low voices. They had left the door open just enough for us to hear the solemn tone of their words, but not what they were saying. My stomach knotted up in suspense. I’d had a blameless record at Wakanakee High until today, and now it was probably in shambles, but what choice did I have? Denny was my best friend. I couldn’t just let him get beat up could I?

I summoned the courage to nudge him.

 “You ok?”

He grimaced. “Yeah I guess.” Staring at his shoes, my friend added awkwardly, “Thanks.” Heart swelling with warmth, I nodded, understanding that all was forgiven.  

 “Any time, man.” I thought I saw tears in his eyes, so I figured I’d better turn down the love a little and bring things back to reality. “Hope they’re not calling my mom.”

“No kidding. My parents are going to flip.” He replied.

Rob looked over at us, glaring. He was a big guy, tall and thick, with a tan complexion and blonde hair. He usually wore a mean expression, with the exception of his eyes, which seemed somehow soulful, and deep, their blue purity radiating a sense of sorrow. Even now, behind that snarky scowl, he couldn’t hide it.

I saw the sadness, and it made me think of a poem I’d read on The Whimsical Musings of a Modern Day Poet.

I see blue like the sorrow

Ocean deep and growing

It’s dreaming in your eyes

I see countless days and moments

When you were all alone

And so that blue sorrow grows

In your eyes

I was trying to remember the rest, when I suddenly realized that I was still staring into Rob’s eyes. Denny was psssst-ing in my ear and Rob was looking really creeped out.

 “What the heck, Hunter? Who do you think you’re staring at?” His hissed words were accusing, but somehow they had lost their sting. It was as though, through the memory of those poetic lines, I’d discovered a truth about him, though the poet didn’t even know Rob Corlett existed.

 

~*~

At that moment, Mr. Atkins sauntered out of the principal’s office. He was big man. There’s no better way to say it. He was actually seven feet tall and he looked as if he ate a moose for lunch every day. His voice was so deep that it sometimes seemed to be in pain, as if it were so low that it was beneath all the world and sky and universe, and everything was pressing down on it. That voice longed to break free. I’d only heard it do so once, when some guys put salt in Mrs. Lanningham’s coffee while she wasn’t looking. Mr. Atkins had boomed like thunder until the culprits had repented every bad thing they ever did. His voice had filled the whole school. On this morning, he was wearing a black suit and a candy-striped tie, and wearing his most serious expression. Boy, that man could look grave, which is pretty impressive. Not many people can, wearing a candy-striped tie.

“Boys.” One word in that gravel-road diphthong tone and even Rob was licking his lips nervously. “The Principal will see you now.”

I suddenly realized that I’d never met the principal. As I stood up, I realized too that I couldn’t remember ever even seeing the principal, or hearing the principal’s name, or hearing anything about the principal. Why was that? Did kids who went through those double-paneled, wood-grained doors ever come out again? I slurped in a shaky breath, feeling nervously that my lungs could never again be full enough to satisfy me.

 

~*~

Alright. I finally wrote more. Good for me! :)

 

 

 

~*~

 

I tore out the doors behind Jesse.

“What’s going on?” The shouting was coming from the parking lot right outside.

 “I don’t know what happened! But there’s a fight.” The wind snatched his next words and carried them away from me.

 ‘What?!” We were there.

“Come on, Rob! Get the little twerp!”

“Fight back Denny, you got this!”

“Watch out!” A girl shrieked.

“Someone get help, he’s going---”

Jesse didn’t have to explain any more. We burst through the crowd into the middle of the parking lot where Rob Corlett already had Denny’s head pinned between the ground and the front left tire of a red pick-up.

 “What’s that twig-face?” The older guy grinned, a bloody joker grin through red slobbery teeth. Denny, red-faced and veins bulging, muttered something and tried to wriggle free, but Rob had him pinned. He raised his thick fist and delivered a bashing blow before I could squeeze all the way through the crowd that had gathered around them. Girls were screaming and guys were calling out and taking sides. Ms. Lanningham, the Home Ec teacher, stood looking on in horror, her tiny hands wringing. She was no help. I shoved past the spectators and bear-hugged Rob from behind, dragging him off my best friend. He recovered from the surprise quickly, turning on me. His elbow flew towards my nose, but I ducked in time.

  “Look Rob, whatever this is about, I’m sure its not worth a black eye at Prom, right?” His fist whizzed past my ear, so close that I could feel the wind. “No? Ok, then,” Intercepting his hook, I dived for his belly, pasting him against the pavement.

 “Get off me, punk!” Rob grunted, fighting my grip. A river of profanity poured out of his mouth, and from the corner of my eye I saw Mrs. Lanningham turn milky white. Rob writhed, but he couldn’t shake my hold on his arms. At that moment, Mr. Thorpe and Mr. Atkins came running up, wading through the gathering of kids. Mr. T peeled me off of Rob while Mr. Atkins bent over Denny. Amid all the swearing and stumbling and “Get him to the nurse’s office!” I lost track of what all happened after that until I found myself sitting in the principal’s little waiting nook between the two adversaries. They were both silent. Denny had bloody tissues stuffed up his nose and Rob had ice on his eye. Miraculously, I’d escaped without a scratch, a fact which made me feel a little guilty, yet also a bit smug. The bench we sat on was cold, as if it foretold of our coming doom. No matter how long we sat there, it wouldn’t warm up.

Summer Days

Summer days.
I can feel them coming.

My toes are pulling down, down, down, setting the accelerator to humming. I love the rush of wind against my face.
Yeah. I know they're coming.
Those sweet summer days.

The flecks of water on my skin fizzle up in the sun.
I lean my head back and feel the hot pedal against my bare foot, and pure joy bubbles up inside me.
That's how they go.
Those summer days.

Secrets

Can't really write tonight. I have too much to say. That makes no sense. I have a lot on my mind, but this head's full of secrets and these keys can't pull them out. So I'll say goodnight and leave y'all in peace for now.

Life :)

Well its been just another day of this crazy, insane, silly, stupid life. :) This world is starting to sweep me off my feet, but I think I'm ok with flying. Every day is something new, and world I can't get enough of you. I'm so ready for sweet tea and front porch magic sunrise days and singing lovesongs with the sun in the sky, for summer mornings and stars at midnight, poetry and bike rides and the smell of bar-b-q, and tan lines and water fights.
I'm almost there.
I'm almost there.
I'm almost there. Flying, rushing, so much feeling I can't catch my breath. Just another day in this crazy, insane, silly stupid, beautiful life.

She of noble character who can find?

Still too tired and crazy and insane to work on my story. Here's some poetic stuff instead. Enjoy.


For Annii

I watch as you squint your eyes
Cold and blue, water in a wishing well
They catch the light and crinkle as you smile
In every way you're beautiful
And I'm thanking God for you

~*~

For Malia

Diamond heart
Your voice is stretched with the sorrows of this world
Little years and great tribulation
Your word is a token given out to any pair of ears
But your heart is a diamond
Given only to him who truly hears

~*~

For Mariah

Freckles and dimples and that sweet sunny smile
You're all innocence and resonance
And every word reflects that heart of gold
The silver shimmer in your eyes its gleaming
Starry and bright
You're a daughter of the Light

~*~

For Rachel

Humility and graceful light
You're the essence of love, of joy pure and kind
Your heart hides deep, out of sight
But your words echo always
The haven in the sky
Where your treasure lies

~*~

For Her Who Waits Above

I remember your joyful laugh
And the way you said my name
In that February Nightmare
I saw the truth of fleeting life
The time is short
So I'll play my violin and fall with a fearless heart
I will see you again
This is not where it ends
I'll remember your words and your spirit and all the times you must have laughed on that day
That February Nightmare

Bittersweet Mama's Song

Taking a break from my story tonight. I feel like writing something a little different. So here goes.





Mara leaned her chin on her hand, staring out the window. She murmured to herself, the words of a sweet, sad summer song. Pulling her fingers across the soft waves of Valentine's head, Mara breathed deeply the fresh June air drifting through the window. Valentine rumpled up a purr, her back arching with every stroke. Mara smiled sadly. Valentine's whiskers tickled her arm. And the sun grew bright in the morning sky.

  "Mama?" It was Sophia, murmuring from the doorway. Mara glanced at her, then back to the reflection of glass. Sophia came and knelt beside the rocker. "Mama?" She said again. There were tears in her voice, and now in her eyes too. "Mama!" She said again, louder this time. "Say something!" Her voice rose shrilly, and Valentine's back arched. The sun grew brighter in the sky.

~*~

"Merry Christmas Mama!"

"Merry Christmas!" Mara pulled her daughter into her arms, feeling the silky blonde curls like angel hair against her cheek. Sophia was breathless when she pulled away, her face flushed and her eyes starry. Mara smiled. But she didn't smile long.

"It will be different for me! You'll see!" Sophia had shouted later that night, her blue eyes dilated and gleaming with indignation, her hands protectively covering her abdomen. Mara had blinked back tears, fighting herself, fighting her daughter. "He loves me!" Sophia almost screamed.

  "And what do you know about love?" Mara bit her tongue, tasting blood. The smell of the turkey was nauseating. Anna watched in silent calm, her dark eyes warm and gentle.

  "More than you obviously!" Sophia flung her coat on, and opened the door. "You'll see. We're going to be a real family. Not like this one."

Mara screamed, her head thick with a fireless fury, cold and dark. She stumbled blindly up the stairs. And as she sat in the dark of a Christmas Even night, she heard a pair of dark eyes as they sang O Holy Night.

~* ~

Sophia was crying. "Stop trying to make me perfect!" She screamed, slamming the door to her room. Mara sank down onto the couch in despair. Weary with fighting, work and paying the bills, she covered her eyes with her hands, watching as dull dark hair fell about her face. She remembered its shimmery shine, and lamented a lost beauty as all women do at some time in their lives. Anna came in from school, her dusky brown eyes warm and gentle. She saw Mara's face and frowned slightly. Wordlessly, the girl knelt and took Mara's hands as she wept.

~*~

Mara laughed. She loved her garden. Bettina's kittens frolicked in the grass and Anna and Sophia giggled as they played in the water hose. Mara lifted her face to the sky, soaking up the warmth of the sun.  Again, laughter bubbled up inside her, like a baby's soft and giddy. She stood, feeling a rush of delight at everything around her. Running to her children, Mara lifted first one, than the other and kissed them like a butterfly.

~*~

Mara felt her abdomen rumble as the forms within it roiled and rolled. She pushed into the room nervously. The party hall was barely lit with candles and soft lamps and the card players laughed and joked as they cast bets and furtive glances. Elegantly dressed women smoked long black cigarettes and wet their lips with champagne provocatively. Mara gulped air, stiffening her nerve. She stepped into the dim light and watched as the room fell silent. He stood up, in shock and horror. Mara didn't care. He deserved humiliation.

"How long will you do this?" She accused softly.

He laughed, denying her. "Who is this woman?" A tuxedoed man demanded.

  "I have no more idea than you, sir. No, wait, I think I saw her in a hospital last week, she must have wandered off. I'll take care of it." He pushed her out the door and back out into the snow.

"When will you take responsibility?"

 "The child isn't mine."

 "Children. Twins, my love, does that not please you?" He grimaced, genuinely pained. But not for her. Not for his children. For himself.

"They are not mine." And he shut the door, knowing his words were a lie.

~*~

Mara stared out the window, numb to Sophia's tears.

Her child stared out the window with her, and Mara saw that look drift into her eyes, the look she had worn for years. "Mama, forgive me..."

Valentine jumped to the floor, and Mara cringed feeling her loneliness overtake her. "Why must it be like this?" Sophia was saying. "We're all we have Mama, please. You were right, and I wrong. Forgive me. I'll try to be brave and cry no more, like she always was. She never cried did she Mama?"

Mara felt her cold heart quiver like the feathers of a mourning dove shaking off the dew.

"No, she never cried. She was stronger than you and I."

"And beloved."

"And beloved."

And Mara took her child's hand as they stared out the window to the place where Heaven's road began.

~*~

“Good morning Mr. Hunter.” Mr. Thorpe called cheerfully as I slunk my way into class on Monday morning. I’d hoped to ease in unseen, but there was no getting away with that in English. Mr. T was too loud. But as I glanced around I saw that Denny wasn’t there yet anyway. I fell into my seat, nervously awaiting the awkwardness that was undoubtedly coming.

My best friend had spent the whole remainder of the weekend avoiding me. He’d refused to text me back or answer my calls. For the first time in months he’d stayed away from Hester’s for an entire two days, and I had no doubts that that had just about killed him to miss out on two days worth of Mr. Bell’s Cheesy Hawaiian. Things were bad for him to do that. I’d hope nbhrweI cracked my knuckles and played with the strings on my hoodie, feeling the time creep by on little snail feet.

 “Good morning Mr. Risor.” As always, a few heads turned to the back of the room as Mr. Thorpe called out, but I stared at the floor. I heard Denny shuffle across the room.

Denny replied a good morning to Mr. Thorpe and then plopped down in his usual chair next to me.

Well that’s something at least. I thought. The other students trickled in one by one and then class began. Denny didn’t look at me. I didn’t look at him. Frustrated and preoccupied, I stared at the brown wood of the desk, digging deeper into thought until I was lost to this world, too buried beneath worry and doubt.

  “Aaaand, how ‘bout you Nathan? How’d the homework go for you?” The sound of my name jarred me awake again. I sat up, trying to recount the minutes that I’d been spacing out. What had he asked me? The homework. I opened my mouth, filled with the sudden spark of a good thing remembered, only to catch myself. I was a jock after all, and jocks have a reputation. We’re not poets or poetry enthusiasts. What could I say?

  

   “It was fine I guess.” I fumbled lamely, unsure how to tell the truth without sounding ridiculous. At my apathetic words I thought I saw a flicker of disappointment in Mr. Thorpe’s eyes. I sighed inwardly, feeling the weight of that disappointment pressing down on my shoulders as vividly as if it were a real pillar of stone. I hadn’t meant to disappoint him.

 “Ok. Sam, how about you?” Mr. T went on to the next kid and I writhed in my seat, resolving to explain more as soon as class was over. At the end of the period he asked for our summaries and I waited to go up until last.

 “Thank you very much, thank you Trevor, thank you Austin, thank you Amanda,” Mr. Thorpe enunciated each of their names clearly as my classmates handed in the assignment. They turned and filed out into the crowded halls.

 “Thank you Nathan.” Mr. Thorpe said as I handed him the limp piece of notebook paper with my eyes on the floor.

 “Mr. Thorpe---” I started, when Jesse suddenly appeared at the doorway.

 “Uh, Mr. T, could I steal the Capt’n for a sec?” He leaned in to the classroom with that halfway shrug that told me his mind was down the hall at least four rooms. I heard shouting outside and my heartbeat quickened. Turning hastily back to Mr. T, I explained thickly, “I really did do the assignment, I mean, like you said to,” before running out the door.

~*~

“Hey boo, wake up. It’s almost one.” My mom’s smile was brighter than the sun that greased my eyes with fire. She twisted the window wand sending a flood of light into my room. I groaned thickly, blinking.

 “What year is it?”

 She rolled her eyes. “Now, come on. Up and at ‘em.” I sat up in my bed and studied her. How’d she always manage to do that? Her face looked cheerful, pleasant, and rosey. No dark circles or bags under her eyes. Only a slight puffiness. I thought back to the last time I’d cried, when I was fourteen and broke my arm. I’d held it together only long enough to get out of sight of my friends. Then I bawled like a baby and the next morning my eyes were sealed shut and my whole face was swollen. So how did my mom always manage to hide her tears so well? She was laying a stack of my underwear on the chair when she caught me studying her.

 “What?” Her eyebrow crept higher on her forehead in that mother’s-looking-at-your-thoughts kind of way that’s terrified kids of all shapes, sizes and nationalities for thousands of years. I quickly looked away and shrugged. “You were looking at me funny.” That eyebrow was still floating. I shook my head, innocently.

 “I’m just trying to wake up. Wait, did you say it was almost one?” My clock was buried beneath a pile of old Algebra 2 assignments. Mom nodded. “Crap, I’m s’posed to be at Hester’s in five!” I tumbled out of bed and yanked a “cleanish” t-shirt out of my drawer, tearing out the door and down the hall.

~*~

I sat by my open door for a while that night, listening to my mom’s tears and my sisters’ steady breathing from across the hall. It was nights like these when I felt dark thoughts knocking at my head, trying to get in, to tear me apart. I pushed them away and got up, closing my door and walking back across the room to my desk where Bob Chamsky was still trying to tell me about Cars, Trucks and Automobiles. The search bar seemed to call me. But to what?

….find a blog that interests you....

I wasn’t really interested in cars or trucks. I wasn’t interested in baseball, or in school or college or Ally Anderson. All I was interested in was stopping the sound of those soft, choking sobs that still echoed through my ears long after my mom had gone to bed.

What could I find that would do that?

I tried to think of things that my mom liked. Coffee. No, I needed deeper than that. Shakespeare maybe? Or just poetry in general?

I switched over to Google. It was easier to navigate than Blogger, and I was in a hurry.

Poetry blogs. I typed, my fingers flying like spider legs across the keyboard.

The first few looked either mundane, cliche or too creepy. Figures. I thought. Most Americans only write stuff that’s boring, dark or dangerous. My mom didn’t need anything like that. She needed to be happy.

I scrolled to number four on the list: The Whimsical Musings of a Modern Day Poet.

I clicked. It was a pretty standard blog, but a quote at the top was what caught my eye. It read,

“Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.”

~William Shakespeare

I’d found the one I was interested in.

~*~

I read for hours, the burning desire to please my mom spurring me on until I found myself genuinely wrapped up in the words. Some of the blog was composed of original poems; other posts were made up of Shakespeare, some Dickinson, and a few others I’d never heard of. The original pieces were beautiful. It was a kind of poetry I’d never read before: earthy, realistic, but simple and beautiful all at once. It made me want to write my own. I sat down to write my summary, surprised at how easily words came into my mind. Reading for so long had sort of warmed me up for writing. The words seemed to write themselves, spilling onto the page with a chaotic speed but a decided rhythm. By the time I finished it was past five o’clock and the sun was just peeking over the horizon.