Creative Writing M/W
May 14th, 2018
Narrative #1: All Grown Up
I remember the first time I got drunk like it was yesterday. I was 2 months shy of my eighteenth birthday. It was right after Halloween, the fall weather still cool and windy. Autumn used to be my favorite time of year because of the changing colors of the leaves, pumpkin spice lattes, and the weather being cool enough that it allowed me to wear my favorite cardigan every day.
All my coworkers and I celebrated “Friendsgiving” together that night at Kari’s house. I worked until 10:30 anxiously awaiting this “milestone” that was about to occur. My shift couldn’t end quick enough. I hurriedly put on some makeup, my floral dress I just bought from forever 21, tights, and a pair of boots I had received from my Mom for my birthday last year. My coworkers had planned that this would be the night I would drink for my first time. I was the youngest of all the people who worked at the restaurant with me (and the most innocent). They all collectively viewed me as their little sister, or so I thought. I had just graduated from high school, but I was homeschooled so I didn’t really get the full “high school experience”. I had not had my first kiss, I was still a virgin, I had never drank alcohol or smoked, or really done anything. I was so
inexperienced that I had only been on one date in my whole life. When I was sixteen I went to the Mavericks movie theatre with my soccer coach’s son Josh. We saw the
Avengers movie. I didn’t even like superhero movies, but I wanted him to like me. He tried to kiss me at the end of the night but I was too nervous and insecure to kiss him so I leaned in for a hug instead.
Out of all of my coworkers I was closest to Kari. Kari was three years older than me, so it seemed like she was exceptionally more intelligent about life than I was. Now being around the age she was at that time I realize that was undoubtedly not the case. Although her stature was small her personality was larger than life. She was loud and outspoken. We were complete opposites, but that is what made our friendship work. Kari enjoyed arguments and debates, I am quiet and avoid confrontation at all costs. She had crazy, curly, red hair and I had straight brown hair, she was short and plump, and I was tall and skinny.
I looked up to Taryn the most. She was our general manager at the restaurant, the oldest out of us all, was kind, and free spirited. It was the first time we all saw her from returning from her month-long trip to Bali. She went on a yoga retreat. She said it was the best decision she had ever made.
I was the last one to arrive at the party. The room was filled with the smell of gravy, mashed potatoes, turkey, and beer. Everyone was already pretty tipsy I soon realized because when I walked through the door they all screamed my name and ran to give me a hug. My friend Kari handed me a pumpkin flavored shock top beer to start off the night.
“It tastes okay, but still not as good as a coke.” I stated timidly. Caden laughed.
“Oh, don’t worry, we have coke too.” He said while smiling and handing me a red solo cup filled to the brim.
Although I was closest to Kari, Caden was by far my favorite coworker. We had the same birthday, the same favorite band (Death Cab for Cutie), and not to forget, he was beyond handsome. He wore this denim jacket with white fur around the collar to the party. I remember thinking he looked like a rock star. He played guitar and sang in a band he formed with his best friends called “whipsaw” with an exclamation mark in place of the i. Caden was the coolest person I had ever met.
“So, what do you think?” He said slyly. I took a sip, but I couldn’t help but cringe. The drink was revolting.
“What is in that? It’s definitely not coke!”
“It’s jack and coke. Now you have had your first beer and whiskey. Welcome to adulthood.” He tapped my cup with his and winked, “Cheers!”
“Cheers!” I replied and took another big chug. I still didn’t like the taste, but drinking is an acquired taste, right? Besides I didn’t want anyone to think I was a wuss. Everyone already viewed me as a child.
By the time I said hello to everyone I was undeniably buzzed. I had gotten a little more than halfway through the jack and coke Caden gave me. Almost everyone I greeted made me take a sip with them. The only person I didn’t say hi to was my coworker Becky. She was on the couch the entire party making out with her boyfriend Shawn. It was puzzling to see Becky like that. At work, she was always uptight and demanding.
Kari and Danny invited me to go in the backyard with them. Danny was Kari’s longest friend. He was funny and charming. He had a way of making you feel comfortable around him, even if you didn’t know each other that well. Danny worked at urban outfitters and was obsessed with Beyoncé. Usually he was wearing a sweatshirt from her newest tour that said “Flawless” on the front. One time I asked Kari if he was gay, but she got unnecessarily offensive saying that he was metrosexual, not homosexual. He ended up coming out two years later, to no one’s surprise.
Taryn, Caden, Blake (the drummer in Caden’s band), and Sage (Taryn’s best friend) were all playing rage cage outside. Danny and I started playing with them the next round. I was terrible at the game. I didn’t make one ping pong ball in my cup, I got a cup stacked on top of mine at least three times, and I was forced to chug the full cup of beer in the center. The game progressed quickly and my foggy brain couldn’t figure out how to play quick enough.
“How do you feel now?” Caden asked beaming from ear to ear.
“I feel good! I don’t know if I am drunk all the way though. More importantly how do you feel?” I shot back. Everyone laughed.
“I am pretty positive that you’re drunk all the way Dakota,” Taryn giggled as she put her arm around me, “Why don’t we sit down for a little bit. Here have a cigarette, it will make you feel better.” She grabbed a teal box from her tiny satchel. Everyone grabbed one and sat on the steps beneath the sliding glass door.
“I’ve never smoked before, but I feel fine I promise,” I stepped back stumbling on my feet slightly.
“Oh, sure”, said Danny as he lit up his cigarette. Taryn put a lit cigarette in my hand. I looked at it questionably. I brought it to my mouth with my pointer finger and my thumb and sucked. I tried to pretend like I knew what I was doing, but my immediate, intense coughing after did not make it very convincing. Everyone started laughing again. I usually didn’t like having any eyes on me, but for some reason I thoroughly enjoyed being the spotlight that night. I felt like the monkey at the zoo, and everyone was gawking at me waiting patiently for what funny act I was to do next. I was having the time of my life.
“Go Dakota! You are just bucket listing it tonight.” Kari said.
“We can bucket list it even more if you want?” Caden said looking straight into my eyes. I never realized how dark of a brown his eyes were until now. They almost looked black in the shadow under the awning. Blake pulled out a tiny bag out of his pocket that couldn’t have been bigger than 2 inches. It was a quarter of the way filled with a white powder.
“What the fuck you guys.” Kari said. I couldn’t tell if she was frustrated or excited. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
“Jesus, chill Kari. We got a good deal on it. Don’t act like you don’t want some. You’ve never declined before.” Blake replied. I started to feel a little nervous. Everything seemed fun, but I didn’t realize everyone I knew, and everyone I looked up to did drugs, or knew how to get them? Did I even know them at all?
“I get it. You don’t need to bring that shit around Dakota, she’s a kid.” Taryn said. For some reason, her statement hurt and annoyed me. I wanted to be viewed as their equal.
“Then why did you offer me the cigarette?” I said. I could feel my eyebrows furrow.
“She doesn’t look like a kid to me.” Caden added and half smiled at me. Caden grabbed his key ring from his pocket, put some of the white powder on his Volkswagen car key and brought it to his nostril. Blake went next, then Sage, Kari, Danny, and Taryn. “Do you want to take a bump?” Caden asked, raising his left eyebrow.
“Sure.” I said quietly. I wasn’t even sure why I said yes. Maybe it was because of the alcohol, or maybe because everyone else was doing it that I thought it was okay. Whatever the reason was I did do it. Caden brought his same Volkswagen key with cocaine on it to my nose. “What do I do?” I asked. I could hear the fear in my voice, but I felt that I couldn’t back out now. I wasn’t a kid, I didn’t want to be a kid.
“Just close one nostril with your finger and sniff as hard as you can. It will do the work for you.” Blake said.
I did what he said. My nostril burned. It felt as if someone had brought a lighter to my nose and burned off all my nose hairs. The taste left my mouth feeling numb and parched. I immediately regretted my decision. I truly felt like a monkey in a zoo now especially, because everyone was staring straight at me wondering what my reaction would be. I quickly got up and went to get some water inside. I began to feel extremely anxious. I could feel my heart rate rising. I sat down against the kitchen cabinets and put my head in my arms, trying to quiet my mind.
I felt a tap on my shoulder, it was Caden.
“You okay?” he asked.
“…I’m okay. I just feeling a little weird.”
“It just made me feel funny. I was just going to get some water and go to bed.”
Caden laughed. “Well you’re not going to bed anytime soon after snorting coke. You better drink a little more jack to make you sleepy.”
“I don’t know, I already feel pretty wasted. Are you sure?”
“I’ve done this a hundred times; don’t you trust me?” he said as he handed me another drink. I had another drink with Caden, but he was wrong. It didn’t make me feel any better, it made me feel worse. My head felt woozy and I began to feel nauseous.
“I think I’m just going to call my Mom and go home actually.” I said, “I just don’t feel all that well.”
“Don’t call your Mom Dakota, you just did coke and drank. I can take you home.” Caden said.
“No, no. It is okay. You’ve been drinking a lot too.”
“Like I said I do this all the time, don’t worry, really. I’m not even drunk, I’m barely even tipsy. “I was a little hesitant, but I figured he was probably right. I wasn’t even eighteen and my Mom was strict. She would have been upset if she had found out that I had drank underage, let alone been snorting cocaine.
I had made my way around the party to say my goodbyes. I remember feeling ashamed. I still was the little kid, I was just pretending to be a big kid, and everyone knew. I could feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment. Everyone tried to tell me that I handled it well, that they had
a shitty first time, that I would feel better tomorrow, but their words of pity made me feel even more mortified. I could not get out of their quick enough.
I got into the passenger seat of Caden’s car, closed the door, and buckled my seatbelt. He had a Drake CD playing. It smelled like cherries in his car. It reminded me of my Smuckers cherry chap stick I used to use when I was in grade school. With a night full of firsts and bucket lists, nothing had me feel happier that night than smelling the cherry scent from my childhood and having the comfort of knowing soon I would be home safe.
Narrative #2: My Father and Me
My Father has been in and out of jail my entire life. If I look back on my childhood memories I remember him being in jail more than he was out. Some kids grew up viewing their Dad as their baseball coach, their biggest inspiration, and their biggest supporter. I remember my dad getting drunk at barbecues, talking to him through letters, telephone conversations that got cut off after 10 minutes, and seeing him through glass windows where I couldn’t touch him or give him a hug. Instead of remembering my Dad’s presence growing up, I remember his lack of presence. But he is still my dad.
There are only a few good memories I have of my father. When I was nine, he got out of prison, after three years. He was incarcerated on aggravated assault, being under the influence, and having possession of methamphetamine. The first ten months he was back in the real world he was sober, for one of the first times in my life. It was the first time that he was a semi normal dad. He would go to my soccer games, he remembered my birthday and Christmas, he even took my sister and me snowboarding to big bear for Easter that year. It was the only vacation I went on with my Dad. During those ten months, I experienced some of the best memories I have with my dad. He even taught me how to pitch in
softball, just like a normal dad would, but it did not last and he relapsed, on Father’s Day of that year.
Whenever my dad drinks, the first hint is the smell of cinnamon jolly ranchers on his breath. It has a strong scent so it masks the alcohol pretty well. When I was really young I was always just excited that my dad always kept a stash of candy, but as I got older I realized it was never a good thing if he had jolly ranchers on his dresser. My sister and I went to his house for dinner that day. He was going to make tri-tip (his favorite) with potatoes. I made him a cheesy little scrapbook of pictures of him and me from when I was a baby up until I was three. It was the only pictures I had with him. Immediately when I saw him I knew that it was not really him. It was the other him. The drunk him, the loud, angry him, but not my dad. His eyes were blood shot red and were squinted more than usual. The night went okay until he took my sister out practice driving. My sister had just gotten her learners permit and my dad took her to a target parking lot to practice driving in. My dad kept getting frustrated with how fast or slow she was going, how quickly her turns were, Kalee could not do anything right that night. My dad kept yelling at her. My sister stopped the car to get back in the backseat with me, but she pulled the emergency break before the car was completely stopped. It flung our bodies forward with a heavy force and the car made a terrible screeching noise until it finally came to a full stop. My dad was enraged. He was screaming at the top of his lungs. I could see the veins popping out of his neck and his face was bright red. My sister kept arguing back and out of
nowhere he put her in a headlock and punched her, one punch straight in the jaw. Her lip started bleeding. I didn’t know what to do so I darted out of the car screaming for help. I tripped on one of concrete markers at the end of a parking spot and cut my knee on the asphalt parking lot. My dad’s ferocious anger immediately turned to rivers upon rivers of tears and I’m sorries. When he got me back in the car my sister had taken the brown carl’s jr napkins from my dad’s glove box and had it held tightly on her lip. She handed me one for my knee. She kept telling me not to tell my mom what happened, but I knew it wasn’t going to be that simple. We can’t just come back home with puffy crying eyes, and one of us with a swollen lip. The drive home consisted of my dad continually saying how sorry he was, how much he loved us, and my sister and I trying to console him. I remember rubbing his back from the backseat and watching the tears stream down from his face. My mom didn’t let us see my dad for a little bit, so that made her the bad one in our eyes. No matter how fucked up my dad was, he was still my dad and I loved him.
I always thought he would get better someday, but after that he only got worse and worse. My dad got more into meth. He started going in jail more frequently and he turned more and more into him and less like my dad. I started to contact my dad less and would ignore his calls. It hurts to hear your dad like that. It takes a part of you away. Addiction is a weird disease, because even if you are not the one addicted you still feel responsible in some way. I would always end up feeling guilty or bad for whatever I did or did not do for my dad. I could
never make my dad happy, and if I talked to him when he was not sober, then I could never truly be happy either.
The last time I talked to him was last May. My dad was in the hospital and had to have a major surgery. The surgery itself was life threatening, but the fact that my dad was recovering from surgery and withdrawing from alcohol and meth at the same time made the pain unbearable for him. I took the entire week off of work and lay by his side in the hospital bed. I brought him jello and we would watch American History X almost every day. He was asleep most of the time, but I loved being there with him and taking care of him. My hope of thinking that he would get sober again sparked. That little kid who just wanted her dad came back alive within me, and I believed he would. You always think you grow up and get over these things, but all of our traumas are still there somewhere inside of us. We just cover it up with I’m okays, and I’ve grown, I’ve learned until out of nowhere that scared little kid comes back. But it was stupid of me to get my hopes up again. It never did me any good. He even used while he was in the hospital. He had his girlfriend Mary bring him drugs while I went to get lunch one day. When I came back to the hospital his eyes were dilated and his heart rate monitor kept beeping because of the meth. I was so disappointed and hurt. I haven’t talked to my dad since. It is really difficult to watch one of the people you love most in the world perpetually try to kill themselves every day.
At first when I stopped talking to him he was mad and hurt. He would leave me angry voice mail messages, then he started to leave me sad messages, and
then the calls stopped all together. I called him back once, but I was met with a monotone operator informing that his phone had been disconnected.
It has been over a year since I have talked to him, it’s been I don’t know how long since I have talked to my dad. When I got home from work three months ago I opened the mailbox and saw a familiar looking letter. It was from my dad, he was in jail again. It made me sad that he was incarcerated again, but it also gave me a feeling of relief because I know that he cannot use drugs or drink, and that he has a place to eat and sleep. He is as okay as he can be. When my dad is out using on the street I am living in constant fear that I will receive a call from an unknown number telling me my dad is dead. The letter reads
Wasco State Prison
It’s addressed to me Megan Roberts. It has been so long since I’ve seen my Dad write my name.
I stared at it for a while before I opened it. I always get afraid to read his letters because I know they will make me sad. I will feel sad of what is, sad of what was, sad of what I could not do, and sad from guilt that I was not fully present for my dad in his life either. I finally open it and the first thing that pops out is a tiny rose made from old gum wrappers and chip bags. I forgot all the little things he would make and send me from prison. When I was a kid he used to draw
so many pictures and make origamis. He once even made me a picture frame made completely out of chip bags. I still have it in a box under my bed.
so many pictures and make origamis. He once even made me a picture frame made completely out of chip bags. I still have it in a box under my bed.
The letter reads:
Hey Meggy, :) August 4th,2018
How are you doing? You’re probably almost finished with school now. How is sissy and the kids? They’re getting big I’m sure. I’m trying to get this letter out to you by Sunday. First off I wanted to say I’m sorry I got myself locked up again. I know it’s hard for ya. I just wanted you to know I’m very proud of ya for putting yourself through school and working to pay for that. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to your wedding last year. I saw a picture on facebook before I got locked up. You are so beautiful. I wish I could help you out. I plan on it when I get back out. My mind kinda messed things up again. If you come up and visit here I can actually see you, not through a glass or anything, we get to sit at a table and talk. I sure hope that’s a possibility :). But I understand if not. You know you taught me happiness always comes from within and that is true. The glass is always half full not half empty right? Anyways how’s my little angel doing, you’ll always be my little angel. I’m very proud of the beautiful intelligent young lady you have turned into. There is a lot I wanted to tell you when you were growing up, but I was confused when your mom and me split, but it’s whatever. I hope your mom is doing okay. I know we never saw eye to eye, but thank her for me for her
sacrifices she made for you guys. I’ve been sober for 100 days now, not by choice, but it still counts right. I do plan on staying sober and maybe we can go on camping trips to Yosemite like we always wanted. Hey, I know it’s a lot to ask, but I was wondering if you could send me a package, just some shirts, shoes, they don’t give you anything here and I can’t work yet because of my surgery. They have me on a medical hold. Anyways, I know it’s hard for you to so if not don’t worry about it. Is your number still the same? I’d love to hear your voice. You’re in my thoughts every day.
The letter is in all capital letters with misspelled words, and punctuation marks in random places. It makes me happy to read it. I miss my dad, even if he is messed up, he is still my dad. I read the letter twice over.
I sent a letter back with a package for him. I sent him shirts, shoes, sweats, and his favorite book, The girl with the Dragon Tattoo. I never received a letter back from him. In the letter I told him how much I loved him, how everything will be okay, and that I hope we can go on those family vacations too someday.
I got a call about a week ago. It was the prison informing me that my Dad had passed away. He got pneumonia while incarcerated. Apparently, he had been sick for a while, but he didn’t want me to know in his letter. He did receive my letter and his package before he passed away.
I think of my dad every day. I think of how I wish he could enjoy the sunshine and life with a sober brain. Whenever I see a father and a small child I think of him, because he was present in my life at one time. Whenever I smell cigarettes, or old spice, or cinnamon jolly ranchers, I think of him. I think of him when I wake up and when I go to sleep. I think of him when I look at my own kids, his grandkids he never knew about, he never got to meet. My dad loved me the best that he could. I regret the times where I felt bitter and angry at him. What I have realized now that I am older is that no matter what, when you love people it hurts. You will hurt them, they will hurt you. It is inevitable. I wish I got to know my dad better with the time that I had with him, because as much as he didn’t truly know me, I didn’t truly know him. I wish I appreciated the time I had a dad, because I can’t rewind and go back now. Even though he had problems he was and always will be my dad. I think of my Dad when I drink a glass of water and always try to remember that the glass is always half full not half empty.
#1:Magic Realism: The Turtle and the Dentist Chair
It was 2:30 in the afternoon. The sun was shining through the blinds, projecting lines on the mustard yellow wallpaper. I sat in the gray dentist chair, anxiously waiting for the dentist to arrive. I kept questioning why hadn't I made the appointment to get my wisdom teeth pulled for a later date? Christmas was in 4 days and instead of eating turkey, and cookies, I will be eating mashed potatoes and smoothies. Why do we even have wisdom teeth? What purpose do they serve other than an annoyance.
I surveyed the room. There was a large picture of a family all smiling on a beach to the left of me and a big window in front of me. The lines from the window made it feel like I was in prison. It made it even feel more like a prison because I knew I couldn't leave. All of the dentist's tools were on a metal tray in front of me and a big light was shining directly on my chest. My heart started to pound. I already had the bib around my neck. Man why was the dentist taking so long. He had already given me the anesthesia, but I felt more alert than ever.
I heard someone whisper something to me.
I looked around, but the dentist was not back yet.
I heard it again, but I knew it wasn't him.
I looked down and realized it was one of the turtle cartoons on my bib.
"Hey, relax!" said the turtle.
I just sat in shock, I could feel my jaw open. Was I going crazy?
Turtle: "I said relax. I can feel your heart pounding through the bib. I've been through a million of these, you'll be fine I promise."
I was so puzzled I couldn't even think of what to say. Was I really going to have a conversation with a turtle?
Turtle: "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger!"
I blurted out, "How are you even talking?"
"How are you even talking?" the turtle replied.
I laid back feeling dizzy.
Suddenly the light above was no longer shining on my chest, but was directly in my eyes. I squinted out of discomfort and suddenly saw the dentists shadow come in to view.
"All done! You were one of my easiest patients." Dr. Doolittle told me.
"Great, it must have been a dream," I said relieved that I wasn't loosing my mind. Dr. Doolittle took my bib off and I swear I saw that little turtle wink at me.
#3:Create a Map for Your Story
I have always been very interested in prison movies and shows so in the beginning of the semester I thought it would be cool to write my own prison story. Fairly quickly, I found it to be extremely challenging to make it sound like it was a realistic encounter rather than from the imagination of a young girl in her twenties, such as myself. I wanted to base the story from the Father's perspective, who was incarcerated. I tried writing about his daily life before he got incarcerated (him looking back at his family) and his current daily life struggles. He ends up spending most of his free time in the third floor library, reading as many books as he can to escape his turmoil. I wanted to make him lose his mind, where he found solace in the books too much to where he began to think that he was actually the characters in the books he was reading. Here is where I started with it:
The sunlight shines through the blinds awaking me to the smell of eggs and bacon in the air. It is Sunday morning, my favorite day of the week. It is the day of the week I get to sleep in and I get to spend the day relaxing with my family. My wife Emily loves to cook breakfast and I love her cooking. I walk to the kitchen and squeeze her from behind while she's flipping the bacon on the skillet. Her infectious laugh rings through my ears. Kelsie and Olivia are watching cartoons in the living room, both of them cuddled under a blanket on the couch. I kiss both of the tops of their head. Olivia is young enough where I am still her hero and she gets excited that I am awake. Kelsie is getting older and is realizing that I'm not all that cool.
I awake to find myself looking at the metal grid of the bunk above me. My stomach aches knowing that was only just a dream, a dream of the past, a dream of what I could have right now. Sometimes my dreams are blessings. They are the only thing that gets me through this misery. On days like today though, they make my days in here immensely more difficult.
Right now I am in cell block W. I am inmate C-8765. I've been here for 10 months, and before that I was down at Wasco for 6 months. I do not even know what day it is. Everyday is the same in here, you kind of lose track. The only day that is exciting is Wednesday because you get mail and commissary.....
#5:Experiment #5 In Media Res
I sat in a little ball with my arms around my knees, holding them as tightly and as close to my chest as I possibly could. I could hear the fighting, the screaming, the gunshots in the distance, but I was supposed to wait here. So I waited. I kept tapping my foot incessantly. As I sat awaiting my doom, our doom.
My back was against a big oak tree. There were hardly any leaves on the tree, there were only a few that had not fallen yet. I looked up at the sky and saw clouds of smoke. Even in the dark they were visible. I had a large gash on my knee from my fall earlier today. It was starting to scab, so I started to pick at it. It helped relieve some of the anxiety I was having. A small amount of blood started to ooze out from the spot of the scab I had just picked. I watched the blood begin to slither down my leg. The gash didn't even hurt. Through all that I had endured these past two months it almost felt enjoyable, therapeutic even. This was the least amount of pain I had felt in a while.
My thought was quickly interrupted. Suddenly I felt the ice cold metal rim against my temple.
"Where are you from?" an angry, deep voice, yelled at me.
"I...I...I'm f...f..from" I tried to stutter out. The fear was crippling that I couldn't even move my neck to look at the unknown voice. It felt as if I was wearing a permanent neck brace that left me unable to bend or move my head.
"I SAID WHERE ARE YOU FROM MAGGOT."
"I...I...I'm from inklspire." I managed to mutter out. I don't know how, but I did. I still couldn't look up, so instead I looked down. I was met with 4 pairs of feet circled around me. My eyes traced the metal toed boots upward, up the green and black cargo pants, for my eyes to be met with 4 rifles pointed straight at me, not including the one against my head. Shit.
#7: Meet Cute: Falling in Love At A Coffee Shop
Falling in Love at a Coffee Shop
Setting: Cafe restaurant right after the lunch rush.
Sarah: (Walking behind the counter where the registers are with her hands full of plates humming and singing. The plates make a loud crash as they are dropped into the food bin.)
Ricardo: (Peering over the food window) That was crazy my friend!
Sarah: I know! I am glad it is over. We got awesome tips though!
Ricardo: That is great! I can take my wife to a nicer restaurant this year. Are you doing anything for Valentines Day my friend?
Sarah: Sigh, no plans. I will probably rewatch season 3 of Sex and The City and order some takeout.
Caleb: (coughs behind the register)
Sarah: Oh I am so sorry, I didn't realize you were standing there. How are you doing today? (Clumsily rushes toward the register)
Caleb: It is no problem, I didn't mean to interrupt. I am doing well thanks...Happy Valentines Day.
Sarah: Thank you, you too. (smiles and pauses) What can I get for you?
Caleb: I will get the arugula salad and a latte please.
Sarah: That will be $12.20.
Caleb: (hands her his debit card) I couldn't help but over hear that you're free tonight.
Sarah: I am.
Caleb: Would you like to go to a comedy show tonight.
Sarah: I would love that.
#14:The Last Scene
I have been intensely interested in the show Bates Motel, and the original movie Psycho by Alfred Hitchcock, which it is based on. The show ended in a different way than I had hoped, so I thought it may be fun to take on this experiment and end it in the way I wanted it to end.
Romero begins walking up the massive staircase. His hands start to shake as he approaches the front door. Memories of joy and sadness begin to overwhelmingly rush to him. He remembers carrying Norma up these steps the day they got married, walking up them with her with groceries, listening to her talk on and on about the motel patrons, and he remembers carrying her down these steps the day of her death. He knows that no one is home, but he still gets anxiety as he opens the door. Everything in the house looks exactly the same. The furniture is in the same place. Even the photos and knick knacks look just as they did when Norma was still alive. The only difference was that the once immaculate house was now dark and dingy with all of the curtains pulled and everything was covered in dust. Romero surveyed the house to double check that no one was there. He began to walk up the banister up to the second story so he could take a look at Norma's old bedroom, their old bedroom. He entered, slowly opening the door. It still smelled of her perfume. To his surprise her room was clean unlike the rest of the house. There was no dust, the curtains were wide open, and her robe was even hanging on the back of the door like it always did. It seemed as if she was still alive. A tear fell from his eye as he sat on the bed to contain himself. He walked to the window and saw Norman's car approaching. He begins to shake, a droplet of sweat runs down his forehead. He knows what he has to do. As Norman gets out of his car and heads toward the house and up the staircase, Romero darts down the stairs and goes to the kitchen. In the seconds it takes Norman to walk up to the front door he notices something is off, the front door is slightly open. Romero is watching Norman and is realizing that he knows someone is in the house. Knowing Norman's past he immediately tries to find a weapon. He looks all around him and cannot find anything to defend himself. Norman rushes into the house quickly, but quietly. He knows someone is inside. Romero has no intent on hiding from Norman he wants to confront him where he stands. Norman is greeted with Romero's sick smile and a knife in his hand. He has had enough; he is angry, he is hurt, he is fuming with the passion to kill Norman. Only with his eyes he begins to imagine himself killing Norman before he realizes he is on top of Norman repeatedly stabbing him right in his heart where he had done to him a thousand times.
1. time is a funny thing
time is a funny thing
sometimes it passes too slow
sometimes it flies by you
moments slipping through your fingers just as sand
years disappearing in the wind
moments of bliss fading all to quick
and now we fight and i cry rivers upon rivers
until my eyes are red like cherries
and as puffy as the pillow i lay my head upon while my legs and arms are wrapped around you
in those moments it seems as if time doesn't even exist
we are just two comets floating in space
traveling in different directions
maybe i shine too bright for you
maybe i move too quickly for you to catch up
or maybe you don't want to catch up
because you do not care to calm the hurricane
you are just angry that there is rain,
never - ending rain
but it is not really never ending
see i told you, time is a funny thing
You know when you step out of the shower dripping wet and a huge puddle begins to form under you from all of the water on you?
And then you dry yourself but you leave the puddle,
the puddle that can seep in through cracks and create mold under your floor.
The puddle that can cause someone to slip.
I am or have been continually leaving puddles,
puddles of mass destruction, just waiting for someone to slip.
I am already on the ground,
staring at the ceiling wondering what have I done?
what am I doing?
and what to do next...or should I just lie here?
3. Church clothes
what was it like to grow up without church clothes?
what does it do for anyone to listen to a pervert in a sheet, telling you when to sit, when to stand, and when to speak?
does it teach a child to be kind to think they might go to the burning flames of hell if they choose to be blind?
does it teach compassion to be religious, or do you pass the homeless person begging for change?
do you continue to walk by staring at your $60 shoes making sure a glance is not exchanged?
can you tell me the difference
from the child that sits in church clothes every Sunday
and the child that runs and plays
pick flowers and pick weeds
pick lemons and pick oranges
climb a fence and climb a tree
what do you see?
fuck someone you love
fuck someone you don't
fuck someone who loves you
tell me the difference
wear your button up and fancy shoes everyday and then tell me did wearing church clothes on Sunday help you?
4. Goodbye old friend, until we meet again
I am not ready.
I am not ready to say goodbye to the arms I would come home to every night.
The arms I would wake up in each morning.
The arms that were my home.
I am not ready to say goodbye to my best friend that I shared more of myself with than I have with anyone else before, even my own self.
My best friend who I laughed with, and cried with, who has seen the best of me and the worst of me.
I am not ready to say goodbye to the memories of far away new places, of nights in binge watching Netflix, of hours spent cuddling and talking, of listening and dancing to you playing piano, of lazy Sundays making omelettes together, of bike rides on the beach, of lunches twice a week, of time spent waiting for you to get home from work, of waking up next to you each morning, of scratching your beard, of kissing your head before I went to work, of running my fingers through your hair, of cooking you dinner, of listening to you ramble about computers, lights, cameras, and speakers, of texting you about the funny things that happened through out the day, of sharing my thoughts, my time, my love, and my life with you.
I am not ready to say goodbye to the future I wanted so badly, my plans of traveling the world with you, of learning and growing with you, of growing old with you, of you being my family, my person, of creating a life, and family of our own.
But that is it, they were my plans that I held dearest to me, but they were not ever yours.
I have always hoped that they would become yours too, but my hopes have not come true and instead they ate away at me, causing me pain each time I realized more and more that we do not want the same.
So as hard as it is, I have to say goodbye to everything I loved and cherished most, to everything I wanted most in my heart and in this world.
I have to say goodbye to the life I had, and thought I would have.
And more than anything I would like to hope that it's only a see you later, and I can say hello to this life again and welcome it back with open arms.
But even if I am not ready I know that I have to say goodbye.
Thank you for the time, for the laughs, for the love, and for the memories.
Thank you for helping me grow, for teaching me, for showing me the most amount of happiness I have ever felt.
I'm sorry for the pain, for the fights, for the hurt, for the mean words.
I will always love you until the end.
Goodbye old friend, until we meet again.
Continually underestimating my own worth
Why do most of us feel that we are below the dirt
Someday I will feel better
We walk around, head down, staring at our shoes
Pondering, who is better than who, who is better than you
We wait for everything to someday make sense
But for now it is okay to despise ourselves, to live in misery
Because someday it will be okay
But the saddest part is
Someday is now