Not Everything is Supposed to Come True

Sometimes I wonder if there will ever be a day when I look at you and my heart doesn't melt. You were my first crush, the first boy I ever cried myself to sleep over, the first boy I ever tried to change myself for (ok, not the first, but the most important). I've known you since we were three years old and I don't think I have ever believed in someone the way I believe in you. I always knew you didn't care for me the same way I did about you. I struggled with that for years and, in some ways, I still do. In middle school, you always felt as if you had to be the class clown and the others did laugh. But they weren't always laughing with you and this broke my heart. Your humorous antics made teachers presume you were nothing but a straight A student who was wasting his potential. But I knew better. I knew that you were just covering up from some hurt you didn't know how to express. As we grew older you began to show everyone your true colors. You graduated top of your class from Med School and now attend the most prestigious medical universities in the country. You have traveled the world. You have grown in so many ways. You have spread the word of God and put smiles on children's faces. You are something special, not just to those who know you; to the world. You are going to make a difference. I just know it. I have always known it. I'm not really sure why I felt so inspired to write this, especially since you will never see it. Except, I came across a picture of you today and there it was: that familiar pang in my chest as my heart melted all over again. I know we will never be together. It just wasn't in the cards, but you will always have a little piece of my heart. And one day, when I'm old and our lives have taken us different directions, I will sit and rock my grandchildren. I will tell them about the boy with the blue eyes whose smile could make my breath catch in my throat. I will tell them how he went on adventures and changed the world. And how I always knew he would.

Life in the Fat Lane-My Story

That's the name of a book. I read it for the first time during my Sophomore year of high school. It was the first book I had ever read that discussed how it really feels to be fat. People try to call it a lot of different words, both good and bad: big boned, plus-sized, fluffy, full-figured, lard ass, fatso, the list goes on...and I've heard them all. The book dealt with that, it didn't skirt around the issues...or the hurt...or the frustration. I've spent the majority of my life in the Fat Lane. I was an average child until around the age of four when I was molested by my next door neighbor. That marked the beginning of a path of self destruction that, had you asked me then, I wasn't sure I would ever be able to escape. I had always been told I was "such a pretty little girl." I figured maybe if I wasn't so pretty, no one would hurt me like that again. Wrong. While I was never hurt in that same way, I learned the hard way that the damage I was doing to my body came with a whole new level of hurt.



See, when you're fat- people aren't afraid to tell you so. They aren't afraid to voice their displeasure with the size of your body. They do this in a number of ways. When you're eight, they pick you last at every sport. You stand there, eager to play, waiting for someone to call your name. No one ever does until it's apparent that you're the only one left and, even then, they don't actually claim you as one of their own. When you're thirteen, they make noises behind you as you walk from one class to the next: BOOM BOOM BOOM!! And stamping their feet. When you're seventeen, they slap you on the butt in the hallway and say their friend did it, at which time said friend declares, "I ain't no damn chubby chaser!" When you're twenty-one, someone tells you to your face that they would rather die than be you. Die. They would rather be dead than to be you. Because you are Fat. How dare you breathe the same air as them?


Being Fat, you get quite used to the backhanded compliment. You hear comments like, "You have such a pretty face. You just need to lose a few pounds." or "You're so beautiful on the inside, but you're just not my type." or my personal favorite "You're such a smart girl. How did you let yourself go?"


The thing is- I thought they had the right to say those things to me. I'm Fat afterall. What a shame.


Sometimes even the people closest to you can hurt you beyond imagine. I've mentioned my rocky relationship with my grandmother. She was infamous for telling people exactly how she felt. I was no exception. I was feeding her breakfast a couple of years ago when she stopped chewing and asked, "Do you honestly like living the way you do? Do you enjoy being this big?" I just looked back at her. "Why, yes!" I wanted to say, "Yes! I love the fact that I can't go into a regular store and buy cothes. I adore going to a resturant and not being sure if I could sit in a boothe. It makes me exstatic to get in a car with others and not know if the seat belt will fit. It makes me so happy that I missed being in my best friend's wedding because I thought I would ruin her bridal party. I love seeing a guy looking at me and wondering if he's looking because he likes me or because he thinks I'm disgusting. Yeah that's just the kind of life I want to live."


Now I can already hear the neigh-sayers: If you are so miserable-CHANGE it. Well that's a really nice thought isn't it? Just fix it. Well, that was simple. Wrong again. But that's another perk of being Fat. People assume you sit around stuffing your face with fast food and candy bars. How else could you get so big? Let me just say: I do not do this. I never did. I've had friends who were a lot thinner and ate twice as much as I did, but to the outsider looking in, I was the pig. I have tried everything, most courtesy of-you guessed it: my grandmother. I've done Dexitrim, Metabolite, Alli (before it was OTC), the Mayo Clinic diet, some kind of spray stuff that you sprayed in the mouth of the Fatty and it ate their fat cells. I have vivid memories of walking laps at recess in fourth grade instead of playing because the boy I had a crush on said he didn't like Fat girls. The whole time I was walking I thought, "I'm Fat. He doesn't like me cuz I'm Fat. I'm gonna walk so I won't be Fat anymore. He'll like me then." I was teaching myself to change for someone else. Did I mention I was ten?

I never seemed to get it right. Despite many attempts and many failures, diets continued to come and go. I heard it all, "Diets don't work. It's a lifestyle change." Suffice to say many a "lifestyle change" followed, each bringing with it a lower level of sefl-esteem. Somewhere along the line, I lost who I was. I just stopped caring. I carried that emotional baggage around with me and I saw the light at the end of the tunnel getting smaller and smaller. I felt like a prisoner, trapped in a body that had raged against me. I just knew that my future was over. No man would ever love me. No employer was going to hire me. I would never have children. I would die alone.


Right after 2009 began, I began ripping the exercise portions out of Seventeen Magazine. I was motivated. I was going to change this. I taped it to the back of the bathroom door along with images of women I considered to be healthy AND beautiful and inspirational quotes. My mom and I got a bicycles. When we picked them up, my uncle put them together. Mom's was finished first. Everyone (except for myself) took turns riding it around my grandmother's property. When he was done with mine, I couldn't push away the uneasiness in the pit of my stomache. I sent everyone else away except my younger cousin. Riding a bike was not quite the same at my current size as it had been when I was a child. I fell, but it wasnt just my body that hit the ground. Every bit of sadness that I had tried to talk myself out of, every negative thought, every mean comment; all hit the ground as well with my already tattered self-worth breaking the fall. My cousin stood there and held me as I cried. That was it. At that moment I cried, mostly because my saving grace, my hope was gone. The little sliver of light that I had been clinging to was gone. I shuddered at the thought of the coming coldness.


My life changed on June 29, 2010. I like to refer to this as my re-birthday. I went to a doctor specializing in weight loss and found out that I have a condition called Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PcOS). In a nutshell, this syndrome is fueled by high levels of insulin spiked by carbohydrates and sugar, meaning the smallest amount causes my body to gain weight faster than the average person. I began a diet (not in the traditional sense) stripped of sugar and limited to 30-45 grams of carbs a day obtained from other sources (no main carbs). My hope was given back to me that day. Suddenly light was streaming in from every possible direction. I was not a lost cause! I knew it wasn't going to be easy, but I knew that they were telling me I had a chance. I can't put into words how much this means to me. I had come to identify myself by my weight. Who was I? I was a Fat person. I was used to making compromises. I was okay with remaining in the shadows. The people at my doctors office helped me realize that it's not okay to compromise who I am. They gave me the strength to step out from the shadows and allow myself to shine, but not because I was losing weight; but just because I was me.


I'm not where I want to be...yet. But I'm getting there. I will never be one of those people who destroys all of the pictures of them when they were Fat. This is who I was. This is where I came from. This is my journey and I am not ashamed. Please don't misunderstand: I am not condoning obesity. However, every obese person is so for their own laundry list of reasons, most of which aren't the ones people assume. It does not help to make them feel like criminals for contributing to the "Obesity Epidemic". They do not deserve to be treated the way they are. I didn't deserve to be treated the way I was. We are HUMAN. Every one of us. I won't be made to feel like anything less than that.I don't allow myself to carry around the negative thoughts of others. I refuse to let other people shape how I feel about myself. I found so much strength within myself that I never knew I had. I will not starve myself. I will not stand in front of a mirror and tell myself how ugly I am. I will never think that the world would be a better place if I wasn't in it. I will never allow my parents to blame themselves for something that, ultimately, was not their fault. I won't remove myself from special occasions with friends because I think I embarrass them. I will not throw my arms in the air and surrender. No, I will not do any of that. I will eat healthy foods. I will exercise. I will lower my arms, raise my head, and move on. Because that's all I can do. That's all I know how to do. That's the only way life moves: Forward.

Day Dreamer

She looked so peaceful lying amongst the leaves,
Yellow and golden,
Perfectly matching the sparkle in her eyes.
The breeze blew through, setting her auburn hair off in a million directions,
But it never rustled her dreams.
And at that moment the whole world dreamt with her.
With every breath bringing something new.
Beginnings.
Endings.
Love.
Friendship.
Pain.
Compassion.
Soundly she slept.
Soaking it all in,
For, soon...
She knew she would have to wake

Searching

Little girl lost-
Why have your dreams stopped flying?
They used to soar beyond all the others-
So high, even God Himself had to squint to see them.
Little girl lost-
Why did you stop pretending?
Lands of make believe now inhabited,
Not by pixies and fairies,
But by cynics and doubters.
You stopped dancing and singing
Infront of their eyes;
Conceding to pirouette or hum a tune only
when you're all alone-
With no one to judge Except you...
You know you can be the harshest one of all.
Little girl lost-
So trapped in the past
It eats you alive.
Tiny and vulnerable
In a body you have made to protect yourself.
Microscopic and fragile
In the mind of this
Body that only allows one thought:
I hate myself.
Shrinking smaller
Dreams are falling
Hate!Hate!Hate!
Even smaller still
While fairylands Collapse in on themselves
Like chocolate silk soufflés.
And limbs go weak
As voices mute
In this mind that
SCREAMS
"Give up!"
Little girl lost-
Lie down on your shredded blanket of
Hope and faith.
Rest now.
Leave that sparkle in your eyes.
Though it's dim,
I will see it in the darkness.
Stay there-
I'm on my way.

Dirty Little Pretty Thing

Dirty Little Pretty Thing,
With scuff marks on your shoes,
You stand aside at recess
To let the other children play.
You sit outside at lunch
To let them enjoy the circulated air.
Always busy doing
2x5 is 10 or
Spelling a-n-i-m-a-l.
They never notice you don't eat,
Never ask about it either.
They think that you can't hear them call you
"Dirty Little Pretty Thing".
As if being dirty
Also makes you deaf.
Teachers smile politely-
Children tolerate-
Strangers' prying eyes-
Mama's falling tears-
Dirty Little Pretty Thing
Digging through the dumpsters in the back.
You'd be surprised what others throw away:
Fruit and bread, half eaten-
Ant ridden pieces of fried chicken-
Shake 'em off, pack it all away.
Start to walk the distance between the school-yard and home.
You see him waiting in his place.
You'd go another way,
But he would find you still,
Take advantage of your name and situation;
Make it real.
He gets his jollies,
You get your groceries-
In your seven year old mind...
It's a fair trade.
Get to the path
Beneath the bridge,
Kneel down and unload your supply.
Mama is pleased- lying on her hard, cardboard bed,
Covered by a blanket
Found behind the "Good Will."
Today is a good day.
Mama says, "You might not be that smart, but thank God for your beauty!"
Dirty Little Pretty Thing-
If she only knew...

Joined

You'll be the moon and I'll be the stars.

Together we will heal our emotional scars.
We'll go out into the world, and take it as our own,
But we never will forget the place that we call home.
I'll extend my hand,
Until it's in your grasp.
We'll walk towards the Sun,
And forget about the past.
I'll be the X and you can be the Y.
You will always make me laugh,
And hold me when I cry.
Your smile will light my dreams
Like a beacon in the night.
We will live and love forever
In this place that we call Life.

A Step Towards the Sun

They always seemed to end up on the hill. Every Saturday, in the early morning just as the sun was spreading its golden tendrils across the slowly lightening sky, they would sit perched side by side on the plush grass overlooking the meadow. To look at them: their skin aglow as if glistening with the morning dew, a slight smile upturning the corners of their mouths; you would never know the pain that lingered behind their eyes.


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She knew her life was very different than those of the kids at school. She never had a lot of friends and was never especially popular, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. She was used to being a loner and spent most of her time that way. Her life was like a record that had been put on loop, monotonously playing out the same actions until, one day, a walk home from school pinpointed her life in a totally different direction.

She was aware that new people had moved into the house parallel to her own. The moving trucks had come early one Saturday morning as she sat alone on top of the hill. The men spent the day unloading their stuff, box by box. She recalled that a new 1972 Chevrolet Impala sat in the driveway alongside an older model Cutlass. She had waited to catch a glimpse of the owners, but if they were there, they didn’t come out to lend a hand. She gave up and went about her business. Weeks passed and she never really gave it a second thought.

It was during that time of year when the air had a crispness about it and the setting sun gleamed behind freshly turned leaves of auburn and topaz, making it seem as if the trees were a blaze of Autumn. She saw him sitting Indian-style beneath the gigantic Oak tree in the front yard of the house next door to hers. There was something about the way he was just sitting there completely unoccupied, as if in his own world. That might have deterred some people, but not her. She knew that look, knew it personally. It was her look. She hadn’t yet come into his line of view, so she took advantage of the opportunity to fully glance him over. His curly locks of hair, dark as a raven, were blowing faintly in the late afternoon breeze. He stared straight ahead with eyes the color of Summer honey, which perfectly complimented his olive skin. His clothes we worn and tattered, in complete contrast to the two-story house behind him, but she got the feeling that he liked the statement he was making. She liked it too…and she liked him. She knew instinctively that somehow, he understood her- that he, too, had seen things in his life that no one should ever have to see.

As she walked past, he never even blinked an eye. She felt a pang in her heart at his lack of attention towards her. Deep down, she wasn’t surprised though. She knew she was no picture of beauty. Her plain brown hair hung limp and stringy down her back. She hated her eyes. They were the most boring, dull shade of green and she often thought they bore a striking resemblance to split pea soup. Her skin was neither fair, nor golden; just average. She was acutely aware that she lacked the womanly curves of other girls her age, but rarely let it bother her. Ordinarily, she didn’t mind that she failed to stick out in any obvious ways. She never strived to be noticed, but it was different with him. He didn’t strike her as the shallow, superficial type to care about stuff like that. She pressed on and turned to walk up her driveway, when she noticed out of the corner of her eye that he was looking in her direction. So he had noticed. She turned towards him and offered a quick smile and was surprised to see him return the gesture. She faced back in the direction of which she had just come and walked into her house.

She was, what you would call, a latch-key kid. Her mother had died when she was fourteen and her father was always too busy attending charity events or going on business trips to bother actually being there for her. She suspected why that’s why she was so good at being alone. She was used to it. She came home to an empty house, went to sleep in an empty house, and awoke to a house still as empty as the night before. Even when her father was there, he might as well have not been. Their conversations consisted of three questions: “Are you keeping up your grades?” “Do you have plenty of food?” “Do you need any money?” That was it. It usually lasted about five minutes and that was if he was long winded. He would often go off, leaving nothing but a note behind explaining where he was.

She actually preferred when he was away, so she was pleased to come home to find the familiar yellow slip of paper on the kitchen counter. She glanced out the window to see that the boy had disappeared from beneath the tree. She dug some leftover Chinese food out of the fridge and ate it in front of the television, before going upstairs to her room. She crossed the room and raised the window to let in some of the cool night air. As she did, she couldn’t help but notice that she had a clear view into the boy’s window. This made her feel better somehow; less alone.

As the months passed, they slowly got to know each other; with her making the first move to introduce herself on one of the many days she saw him beneath the tree. She learned that he was originally from Texas and had a soft spot for Tex-Mex food. He told her of his love for the guitar, how he longed to write songs like Simon and Garfunkel, and that he favored the latter work of The Beatles rather than their early stuff. She told him about liking to write poetry and that she dreamed of having a novel published before she died. He listened as she talked about her admiration of Emily Dickenson. He asked what her favorite food was to which she responded, “Chinese.”

Little by little, they ventured into deeper territory. She took him to her favorite spot and they would spend countless hours lounging on the hillside, talking. He shared that he had an older brother who had died in a terrible car accident. She had wondered if he was an only child, but it seemed like the kind of personal question they had both been reserving for another time. She told him about her father and how she spent a lot of time alone. She told him about not ever really fitting in at school, but never bothering to care. He seemed both saddened and happy about her statement. Saddened because no one ever took the time to get to know her and happy because she was smart enough not to place her self-worth in the hands of other people. She had wondered why she hadn’t seen him at school and found out that he was a year older than she. He graduated the summer before and was trying to figure out what he wanted to do with his life. There was a connection between them that was undeniable and they both felt it. They spent most of their free time together either riding around in his old Cutlass or going for walks, but most often they would make the trek through the woods and up the hill, especially on Saturday mornings. That was their favorite.

As the weather warmed, they would often go up in the late afternoon to watch as the sun dipped down beneath the trees. She had an affinity for the sunrise and sunset, and he loved to watch her experience it. One afternoon in the early summer, as they sat letting the sun warm their faces, he asked her a question that was more personal than any other he had dared to ask. What was the worst thing she had ever been through? She removed her cherry lollypop from her mouth and stared straight ahead, just as he had been doing the first day they met. She knew what the right answer was, but she wasn’t sure if she could actually say it out loud. He never pressed her, he just let her gather her thoughts until she was ready to speak.

She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her hands on top. Maintaining her straightforward stare, she told him everything. She explained that her father was not only cold, but also mean. She told him of the numerous times she would hear her parents fighting in their bedroom. Mostly her father would yell and her mother would whimper responses when he deemed it necessary. If she gave the wrong response, the evidence was always visible the next day in a swollen cheek, busted lip, or bruised eye. There were times when she would hear her father forcing himself on his wife, the whole while her mother would be crying and pleading with him to stop. He never did. He was that kind of man. His needs came before anyone else’s…all of them. She was too young, at the time, to realize what was happening. As she got older, nothing changed and, though he never laid a hand on her, she was disgusted by his treatment of her mother. She told him as much one morning after her mother came downstairs still shaken from the night before. His response was that it was none of her business and that being married is about serving your husband in all aspects of life. That afternoon when she got home from school, she found her mother’s lifeless body in a pool of blood on her side of the bed. He had killed her in every way that a person could be killed, she had just finished the deed. It was recommended that she speak with a counselor, but her father would have none of that. He told her that it was all her fault, that her mother would still be here if she wasn’t such a selfish bratt.

Warm tears began to freely flow down her cheeks. She had never told anyone those things. He held her close as she rocked back and forth. He began to tell her of his own secrets. He told her that he felt that his parents still blamed him for his brother’s accident. He had been on the way to pick up his little brother after baseball practice when he was struck by a drunk driver. She could see that his parents didn’t need to blame him. He blamed himself enough. Ironically, he said his mother became an alcoholic who spent most days drinking herself numb. He spent a lot of his time alone, too, before he met her. He leaned in and brushed the tears away from her sage green eyes. Their faces were so close. He cupped his hand beneath her chin and brought their lips together, hers still tasting of cherry and salty tears. They knew they loved each other and at that very moment they wanted to express it in every way. They laid together in the golden shroud of the sunset and explored the new sensations of the experience they were about to share. He couldn’t help noticing how her whole body seemed to glow with a beauty that radiated from the inside out. He knew he had never loved anyone more.

******************************************************************

It had been months since they had been together. He hated leaving her the way he did and he knew she was wondering if he still cared. Eventually, it seemed she had moved on. He was invisible to her. He would have given anything to be able to stay with her on top of that hill forever, growing in love and laughter. He still followed her up to there, but she would never even look at him. He might as well not have been there, but still he stayed. He would sit next to her, not saying a word, just letting her exist. Sometimes she would cry and he could tell she was trying to hide her pain from him. She didn’t want him to see her this way. He would try to talk to her when he saw her out and about, but she just couldn’t talk to him. Not now.

One afternoon, as the wind began to have that chilly bite to it again, he saw her walking through the woods up the path to the hill. He followed her, as he always did, hoping this would be the day she would finally break her silence and they could be together again. She sat with her knees pulled to her chest, just as she had that day so many months ago. He sat next to her, but she acted as if she didn’t notice. He moved closer. He told her that he was sorry for leaving without letting her know or saying goodbye and he promised he would never do it again. He told her that he loved her more than he had ever loved another person in his entire life. She still wouldn’t look at him and it all became too much for him to bear. He placed his hand on her cheek and a look of overwhelming emotion crossed her face. He kissed her forehead as she turned her head and looked in his direction.

She had never been the same after he died. She couldn’t even comprehend life without him. She had known everything about him, except that he had heart problems and was waiting on a donor. He was so beautiful. He looked so healthy. And now he was gone. There just wasn’t enough time. She loved him more than she had ever loved another person in her entire life. She loved him for seeing the beauty in her when she couldn’t see it herself, but mostly for loving her in return, and he felt it. He could move on, now, knowing she would be okay. He would protect her always. He put his arm around her shoulder and she curled into the warmth she felt there, as they sat together watching the golden orb dip lower and lower behind the horizon.

Coming Home

     Her bathroom was pink. She had decided to paint it the summer before she started Junior High and why no one had talked her out of it was still a mystery to her. But there she stood in the center of it, all four walls surrounding her in her very own Pepto-Bismol nightmare. Nothing ever changed around here and it literally made her nauseated to think about it. At least she was in the right nightmare for the situation. She laughed a little at her inside joke as she took in her reflection. She wasn’t sure exactly what she thought of the person staring back at her. She used to dream. She used to argue her thoughts to anyone who would listen or dare tell her she was wrong. She used to believe she could change the world. Now as she looked back at the eyes in the mirror, there no longer appeared to be anything behind them. No fire. No spark. Not even a trace of embers. They just sat there. All of the things that had once made them radiant; gone. They could have been anyone’s eyes. They certainly didn’t belong to her anymore.


She ran her fingers through her thick, blonde hair and gathered it into a ponytail. She knew her mother would put up a fuss about it, especially with it being the first day of school, but there was simply nothing else that could be done with it. She walked back into her room and turned on her small radio. It didn’t play very loudly, but the needle on her record player had been skipping a lot and her dad hadn’t gotten around to fixing it yet. She hated trying to pick out what she was going to wear. Nothing looked right on her. She grabbed a pair of jeans from the floor of her closet when a familiar sound began to fill her ears. The notes bounced around on her eardrums as the pants slipped from her fingertips.



It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you.



She swung around to turn off the radio, knocking it off her dresser. She could feel her heart pounding beneath the material of her bra. She sat on the floor beside her bed trying desperately to catch her breath, but nothing she did seemed to work. She sat very still and imagined herself floating in crystal clear water, hearing nothing except the muted waves and taking in the blue azure sky. After a few minutes, her pulse began to slow and she could feel a sense of normalcy returning to her body. For once, normalcy wasn’t a bad thing. She finished dressing, leaving the radio in its spot on the floor, and headed downstairs.

Her mother did question her choice of hairstyle, noting that it was the first day of school after all; first impressions and everything. She didn’t stop at just the hair this morning though. Apparently she was less than pleased with the choice of outfit her daughter had chosen as well.

Do you want people to assume you’re one of those hippies? Why don’t you run put on that nice dress I bought you last week?

She quickly mumbled something about having to get to school early and rushed out the door. Her mother meant well, really she did. She just grew up during a different time and couldn’t identify with this newer generation who was so clearly frustrated with the idea of conformity and labels. She, however, could very much identify with them. She was one of them after all.

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God, she hated school. Sure, she did well, made good grades; but what was so great about that? Going to college to live out the next four years of her life in the same cloak of monotony? Wow. She could hardly contain her excitement. All of her old friends still tried to talk to her when they saw her in the hall, which only lead to a moment of awkward stares as they tried to figure out what to say once they had her attention. Why couldn’t they understand? She just wanted to be left alone. She wasn’t trying to be mean. In fact, if anything, she was just trying to save them from wasting their time with her. She had nothing to offer them. She wished they would just accept it and move on. She knew she had changed since last year, but so had they. Why did everyone seem to care what she did with her time? She had given up her life as the Homecoming Queen, Class President, Cheerleader, and debate team member. She didn’t have a problem with it and couldn’t figure out why everyone else did. As far as her parents were concerned, nothing at school had changed and that’s the way she wanted to keep it. The last thing she needed was them, hounding her about her choices. This was her life, not theirs.

As she walked down the hall, everyone was buzzing with the talk and laughter of the beginning of a new school year. Girls huddled in small groups, comparing their various shades of pink lipstick and who the boy of the moment was. Guys lined the walls in their varsity jackets, grunting and mumbling about how much tail they had managed to score over the summer. Didn’t they realize they were all so completely full of crap? And that was just the Untouchables. There were droves of other people crowded in the corridor, each group trying to distinguish their own rank within the order. The Music Misfits, the Hazy Hippies, the Lame Brains, the Rebels, the Wannabe’s, the Motorheads, and the Question Marks. The last group represented people who, either by choice or force, faded into the background. No one knew or cared to know who they were. She used to know exactly where she fit in and was proud to be among the upper crust of the elitist. She knew what it was like to be part of the Untouchables, but she also knew that it came at a price and she wasn’t willing to pay it anymore.

It was just too much for her senses to handle in the short ten minutes she had been there. She ducked into the bathroom to quickly realize that her senses would get no relief there either. Smoke immediately stung her eyes and filled her nose as the door swung close behind her. A gaggle of girls stood in front of the mirror, cigarettes fixed between their painted red lips (a sure sign of a Wannabe), each one rolling up their skirts at the waist, taking precise measure as to not make it bunch.

Who the hell does he think he is anyway? My mother? Just ‘cuz he looks like Tricky Dicky doesn’t mean he’s got the right to tell me how to wear my clothes.

They stopped and watched her as she passed them to get to the sinks. She waited for them to say something to her, simply because they rarely missed out on an opportunity to make someone else feel inferior. She was surprised when none of them so much as uttered a word in her direction. As she bent to splash some water on her face, she couldn’t help thinking that maybe she had achieved ultimate Question Mark status, then she remembered that they had watched her cross the floor. Oh well- she would just have to work harder.

***************************

She managed to make it to her homeroom class without any more awkward run-ins. She chose a seat in the back of the class, once again, a major deviation from her old self. She didn’t want any teachers making a fuss over her or, worse, asking if they should call her parents so they could all talk. She didn’t need to talk. She didn’t want to talk. Even if she did, they would be the last people she’d want to talk to. Her efforts did not pay off.

Would you please stay after class today, Karen? I’ll write you a pass. I have something to discuss with you.

Great. That’s just how she wanted to start off the first day of Senior year. Mrs. Ebbesberry, her English teacher, was one of those teachers who cared deeply about all of the students. Not the fake, paid for care that most teachers tried to pawn off on their classes, but genuine concern. While she thought it was a commendable trait, she didn’t want to be mixed up with the apprehensive teacher right now. Though, as far as she could see, she didn’t really have much choice in the matter.

The bell rang and she waited behind as the other students filed out of the classroom. Finally, she gathered her things and approached the desk at the front of the room. Mrs. Ebbesberry explained that she needed volunteers to help mentor the EMH students. She must have seen the confusion on her face because she went on to explain that EMH stood for: Emotionally Mentally Handicapped. She said that the school was starting a new program where regular students spent one hour, three afternoons a week with an assigned EMH student. She would be responsible for helping them learn new skills, exposing them to new experiences, and just trying to be a friend.

Was she serious? Did she realize who she was talking to? She couldn’t get her own pitiful life in order, much less help some zombie of a person who didn’t even know how to tie their shoes. She could tell that her teacher was still talking to her, but she wasn’t hearing the words. She had already made up her mind that there was no way she was taking part in any of it.

Karen, I know it doesn’t sound appealing to you, but I’m afraid you need to make up some English credits after your situation last year. If you don’t do the volunteer work, you won’t graduate in the Spring.



Her heart skipped a beat. Situation? What did she mean by situation? What did she know?



Karen? Karen, are you listening to me? Do you remember the situation you had last year when you passed out in class? You were out of school for a week after that, during which you missed your final exam. We spoke with your parents about having you do some volunteer work to make up for it, considering your impeccable grades in the course.



She breathed a sigh of relief. While passing out in class wasn’t exactly her finest moment, at least that was the only situation Mrs. Ebbesberry knew of. She agreed to do the work and was given a folder with the name of her EMH student, as well as the time and place to meet them. She folded it up and stuck it in her pocket. Why depress herself by looking at it now? She had rest of the day to do that.

******************************************************

Maria DeSalva was the name of the girl that she was supposed to be meeting later that afternoon. Maria was in the same grade as she and was born with Down Syndrome. The paper told a lot of other stuff about her as well, but she didn’t want to spoil the surprise of finding out for herself did she? She knew she was being mean. It’s not that she thought less of people like Maria, it just made her mad that she was supposed to be helping someone else with their life, when hers was the way it was. More than that, she didn’t know what in the world she had to offer Maria that could benefit her in any way. She was so messed up; broken in a sense. What if Maria saw that in her? What would happen then? She couldn’t- wouldn’t think about it.

As she walked up the driveway of the house specified on the sheet she had been given, her stomach began to lurch with nervous energy. She had to resist the urge to turn and run. Also just as strong? The urge to retch in the bushes she was passing. Both options, she knew, would not present her in a good light at all.

She stood in front of the door and raised a sweaty palm to ring the bell. But before the tip of her finger touched the button, the door swung open and she was face to face with the most beautiful pair of ice blue eyes she had ever seen.

Hi! My name is Maria! Are you my buddy?

Her voice was so exuberant, so full of joy. Any nerves that had been there before were now long gone. Maria introduced her to her mother, father, and grandmother before taking her to her bedroom. The first thing that struck her as she entered the room was that it was exact same pink color as her own bathroom. She was sure that if they put the walls side by side, no one would be able to tell the difference. Unlike herself, Maria seemed to still love the color as much as the day it was painted. Her bed occupied about thirty stuffed animals of all shapes and sizes. On her walls hung posters of The Beatles, Elvis, a psychedelic peace sign, a Teen Dream print of Greg Brady, a cast photo of the entire Brady Bunch, and a framed picture of Billie Holiday. There were bookshelves that housed, what had to be, hundreds of records. She certainly had a collection. As she continued to look around, she noticed that there were also a multitude of water-globes. All kinds of them, not just ones with the white flecks of fake snow settled on the bottom. Some had fish that swam when you shook it up, some had landscapes that changed from one season to the next upon turning them upside down, others had ships, cartoon characters, ballerinas, animals, fairies, and the list went on. One that seemed to jump out at her was antique looking with a beautifully sculpted base. Inside the globe stood a huge castle and at the top window of the structure there was a gorgeous princess. She peered out the window with a forlorn expression on her face as if, even with all the beauty and wealth that surrounded her, she still couldn’t be happy. She was trapped, smothered in a life she no longer knew. The feeling was all too familiar.

She wasn’t sure what exactly she was supposed to do here. Mrs. Ebbesberry had been very vague about the whole thing. Maria, sensing her new friend’s uneasiness and having had experience with the My Buddy program, offered a solution.



You’re supposed to help me with my homework. But it’s okay ‘cuz I don’t have any today.


Oh, okay. Well, what do you usually do after school?


I listen to music. I love music! Do you want to see my records?

Maria took her hand and led her over to the gigantic bookcases. There were three of them lined up, end to end, along the far wall of the room and each one was chock full of every kind of record you could imagine: Jazz, Gospel, Rock-n-Roll, Salsa, Country Western, Classical, Big Band, and that was just at a glance! She had always thought you could tell a lot about a person by looking at their music collection and it seemed she was right. Maria reached up and took an old Billie Holiday record from the shelf. She gingerly removed it from the clearly worn cover and placed it on the turntable using great care. She turned towards Karen.

Did you know that Billie Holiday was also known as Lady Day?


No, I can’t say-


Her most famous song was ‘Lady Sings the Blues’. It’s on this record. We can listen to it if you want. It’s not my favorite song.

It was kind of hard for her to understand everything Maria was saying, but she was very impressed with her vocabulary. This wasn’t exactly what she was expecting, but she was pleased things were going so smoothly. Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard. She pressed on.

What’s your favorite song?

My favorite song is I’ll Be Seeing You. It comes on first. Shhh…close your eyes and listen.

Maria picked up the needle of the record player and set it on the vinyl disk as it began to spin, the words in the center becoming a blur of yellow and black. There was a moment of familiar popping and cracking as the needle settled in place. She lay back on the soft beige carpet and closed her eyes. Taking note of her actions, Karen did the same. They lied next to each other as the soft sounds of an era gone by wafted out of the speakers above and, all at once, a voice as smooth as Egyptian cotton surrounded them. The music seemed to envelop her body, transplanting her thoughts a thousand miles away. At that moment, the events of the past year faded away and she realized that she never wanted to open her eyes again. She just wanted to remain here and exist in this world of muted horns and woven lyrics.

The record ended and she forced herself to part ways with her new found place of tranquility. When she opened her eyes, she turned her head to see Maria’s gaze settled on her own. This would have usually made her feel very uncomfortable, but for reasons she couldn’t quite decipher, she found warmth in Maria’s stare.

You’re crying.

She hadn’t realized it until then, but it appeared Maria was right. She had never been one of those people who cried in front of others. Even as a child, when she scraped her knee or someone hurt her feelings, she would wait until she was all alone. Only then would she let her tears flow freely. She was slightly embarrassed that Maria saw her this way, but again, it didn’t bother her as much as it normally did. She apologized and explained that she didn’t mean to scare her.

Don’t worry, Buddy. You didn’t scare me. It’s okay to cry. It shows you have a big heart.

Her words floated in the air between them and for the first time that day, when she looked at Maria, she didn’t see some EMH kid with Down Syndrome. Instead, she saw a girl who had been dealt an uneven hand, yet embraced the world around her with open arms and an open heart. That was more than she could say for herself. Even as she thought the words, she realized that their lives were completely different beasts.

**************************************************************

She had never met anyone like Maria. Over the past few weeks, she did things that she hadn’t done in years. They went to the zoo where they rode the little train and Maria told her what sound each animal made. The next day, she drug Karen down to the river and showed her where she caught salamanders. While they were there Karen taught her how to skip rocks across the large, glassy surface. She placed a rock in Maria’s hand then, took it in her own.

Just hold the rock like this. Feel how smooth it is? That’s really important to help it bounce off the water. Now, reach across your stomach and then move your arm really fast to throw it towards the water. I’ll show you when to let it go okay?

She held her hand over Maria’s, reached around, and swung the stone in the direction of the water, releasing it just as their hands cleared Maria’s body. The small rock skipped merrily about over the surface of the water for quite some distance before kirplunking to the darkness beneath. She looked at Maria, who was beaming from ear to ear.

Who taught you to do that?

She explained that when she was little, her dad would take her fishing with him every Saturday morning. They would take a lunch and everything. Then, when it was time to eat, they would pull the boat up to their favorite spot; underneath an old Weeping Willow, and have lunch. One day, after they had finished their sandwiches and were sitting enjoying the feeling of the warm sun on their skin, he asked her if she knew how to skip rocks. When he found out that she didn’t, he rose from his seat and walked with her to the edge of the water. He had taught her in the same way that she had just taught Maria. A sadness pained her heart. She hadn’t thought of those things in so long. It almost seemed like someone else’s life, as if she was just peering in on some stranger’s memories. She had come to share a great deal with Maria, but she kept this to herself. Her smile was too bright, too beautiful to be ruined with the solemn thoughts of another.



She loved spending time with Maria. She didn’t feel like a mentor or that she was superior to her in any way. She just felt like a friend. She hadn’t had a true friend in so long that she had forgotten how it felt. Maria didn’t care what kind of clothes she wore or if she was dating the most popular guy in school. She didn’t care about drinking or smoking pot. She didn’t smile to people’s faces then, lie behind their backs. Those were the only things her old friends knew how to do. She had experienced the consequences that having friends like that could bring and she didn’t want to go back there.

Maria’s class was on the opposite side of the school from her own and every day during her lunch period, she would go to see her when she finished eating. The school was fairly large, so it always took her a few minutes to reach the classroom. It would be quicker if she cut through the Senior Hall, but she didn’t want to risk running into anyone she knew. Instead, she crossed the court yard behind the cafeteria, cut through the library, down the Music Hall, and past the gym. She was almost there, when she heard something that made her stomach begin to lurch. As she started to round the corner leading to the Special Education classrooms, her eyes settled on Maria and the blue and yellow numbers of the varsity jacket on the figure at the end of the hall.

It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you.

She could feel the world turning blurry around her. She steadied herself, turning to run back the way she had come. Her body seemed to be weightless as she sprinted through the court yard and she could hear her heart pounding in her ears. Nothing else existed, just her and the path in front of her. She had no idea where she was going, but she wanted to get there. Fast.

She ran past the front of the school and down the street. Her lungs were burning, but she kept running. She ran until she reached the park and collapsed onto the ground, causing the flock of sparrows that had gathered a few feet away to scatter. She attracted a few curious glances from other park goers, but she didn’t care. Let them think she was just some drunk kid who had snuck off to get a nip during her lunch period.

As she lay there looking up at the cloudless blue sky, she tried to stop her mind from going back. She closed her eyes against the memories that would not be shut out. The heat, the smell of pot, the Deep Purple song blaring from the record player, the wood paneling, the purple and orange lava lamp that glowed in the corner surrounded by empty beer cans. There were so many voices, all muffled and far away sounding. Some laughed, but mostly there was a lot of grunting and cheering. She didn’t know where the voices were coming from and she couldn’t seem to find her friends anywhere. Everything was so hazy. Her boyfriend Greg stood over her, his varsity jacket tied around his waist. She tried to talk to him; ask him where had everyone gone? Where were all of her friends? She couldn’t make sense of anything.

It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you.

She tried to summon the peaceful euphoria of the day she lay on Maria’s floor listening to Lady Day’s velvet voice, but to no avail. The memories kept pushing forward. She tried to see who else was in the room, but all she could make out was varsity jackets. They were everywhere. She moved her hands and felt that she was lying on a rug of some kind and when she looked down at herself, she realized that she was completely naked. Panic rose in her chest as she tried frantically to get up, but it felt like she must have weighed a thousand pounds.

Whoa there wild thing! Where you trying to go? Greg, you better come get your girl. She’s flakin’ out.


You’re not goin’ anywhere pretty lady. Just stay right there. It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you.

She tried to scream. She used every ounce of strength she had to try and scream, but she could only manage to mumble. A blur of faces and bodies passed over her as she lay there motionless, tears sliding down her cheeks. She focused on the soft light of the lava lamp as the minutes dragged by. She wondered if it would ever be over. She must have blacked out because the next thing she remembered was Greg dropping her off in her driveway in the wee hours of the morning. Her parents had long ago been in bed.

Thanks for the entertainment, baby. It was great. Make no mistake, if you ever tell anyone about our little fun, you will regret it. Besides, who are people going to believe? A dirty little whore or the captain of the football team?



He had used her. She’d thought he was the most gorgeous, enigmatic person she had ever met. She let him pick what they did on dates, where they went to eat, what outfits she wore; even when he would give her the option to choose. He saw her admiration for him and he took advantage of it. She hated to see him prancing around the school, acting as if he was God’s gift to humanity. The teachers all loved him, parents loved him, all the guys wanted to be him and all the girls wanted to be with him. He had them all fooled. In an instant, the image from earlier in the hall flashed in her head. She had to get back to the school. She scrambled to her feet and, gathering every ounce of courage she had, she ran in the direction of the school, directly towards the darkest fear she had ever known.



When she got back to the school, the halls were bursting with people shuffling from one class to the next. She willed them to move out of her way and if they didn’t, they had better prepare themselves to be thrust out of her path. She was aware that she was attracting major attention to herself, but at that moment she didn’t care what any of them thought of her. She saw Principal Frederick standing outside his office and knew that he would be none too pleased with the speed at which she was traveling. Yet again, she didn’t care. She darted past him, sure that she heard him calling her name, but he was already a distant memory. She dashed through the Music Hall, hoping upon hope that she wasn’t too late. She stopped just short of the corner where she had stood only half an hour ago. What was wrong with her? She’d just nearly killed herself to get back here, yet she couldn’t make herself go any further. Her feet, seemingly cemented to the floor beneath her. She closed her eyes and thought of Maria’s eyes, blue as Caribbean water. She heard her laugh, saw her smile, and she let the warmth surround her. That was all she needed.

This side of the school was much quieter than the main side. The Special Education students had the same teacher for every subject, so there was no hustle and bustle of class changes. As she rounded the corner, she saw that the hall was empty. She tried not to let herself lose it. She couldn’t be sure of anything- not yet. She continued down the corridor until she was standing outside Maria’s classroom. Her hand trembled violently as she raised it to knock on the brightly colored door. Ms. Halse, Maria’s main teacher, appeared in front of her, a radiant smile spread across her striking features. She was familiar with Karen and knew that she was Maria’s mentor. She asked to speak with Maria for a moment and let out a sigh of relief when she heard the familiar voice heading in her direction.

Karen! Buddy! What are you doing here?

She stepped forward and embraced Maria’s soft figure, holding her tightly against her own shaking one. She knew she was probably crying and she figured Maria would wonder what was wrong. She would have to talk to her, but how would she talk to her without telling her everything. Not only did she question her ability to say it all out loud, she questioned Maria’s ability to fully understand what she was saying. She pulled back and took Maria’s hand in her own.

Hey, Buddy- what’s wrong?


We’re gonna go for a little walk alright? It’s okay, Ms. Halse said it was okay.


Why are you crying Buddy?


I was just missing you and it made me a little sad.

She sat down on the grass right outside the Special Education classrooms and motioned for Maria to join her. She wasn’t sure how Maria felt about what she had just said. She twisted her body so that they were facing each other.

I’m sorry I made you sad, Buddy.


Oh, Maria- you didn’t make me sad. I just missed you and wanted to come have a talk.


I didn’t make you cry?


No way! You only make me smile. You are my best friend.

It was Maria who did the hugging then. Karen hugged her back and knew that she meant the words she’d just said. She wouldn’t have thought it when she started this deal, but somehow Maria had managed to dig through all the layers of her hardened exterior and saw her for the person she was. What was more…she liked the person she saw. She drew in a breath, knowing that the things she was about to say could never be unsaid and she wanted to make sure she got it right.



Maria, do you know who Greg Chambers is?


Yes, he plays football. He has to wear a helmet.


Yes, he does. Do you remember talking to him in the hallway earlier today?


Yes, why?


Do you remember what he said?


He said I was pretty. He touched my hair and said it was soft and smelled good.



She saw a slight blush form on the apples of Maria’s cheeks, giving them a rosie aura. Her heart began to pound faster. She knew she had to keep going.

What else did he say?






He held my hand. He asked me if I ever had a boyfriend. I told him no. That’s all he said. Do you know Greg too?

Her breath caught in her throat. He had definitely worked his charm on her, that much was obvious. She felt nauseated at the thoughts that were, no doubt, running rampant in his mind. She knew she had to answer Maria’s question and finish what she had started, but she hoped she could explain it so that would be easy for her to understand.

Yes, I know Greg. He used to be my special friend.


You mean, like I’m your special friend?


Sort of, but Greg was my boyfriend.


Oh…

I know he seems like a nice person, but he isn’t. He did something very mean to me and it hurt me a lot. I don’t want him to hurt you like that. Do you understand what I’m telling you?

He hurt your feelings. He’s a bad boy. I don’t like him anymore.

She saw the distress creep across Maria’s usually vibrant face and even her eyes appeared to be saddened. It broke her heart to be the one responsible for it, but she knew it would be better in the long run.

I want you to promise me that you will never talk to him again. If he tries to talk to you, just ignore him and go back to the classroom quickly. Okay? Will you promise me that?


I promise, Buddy.

They got up and walked back to the classroom. She told Maria that she would see if she could get permission to come have lunch with her every day. She was a library aid during the time that Maria had lunch, but she was certain Ms. Fink, the Librarian, could spare her for twenty minutes. That was the most likely time for Greg to show up because he was in the gym during that time. Also, all of the Special Education students got a bathroom break right after lunch. With her eating lunch with Maria, she could make sure she got to the bathroom and back without any problems. When they reached the door of the classroom, Maria stopped and looked at Karen.

Karen, can I tell you a secret?


You can always tell me anything, Buddy.


I love you.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she squeezed Maria’s hand and told her that she loved her too. She watched as she walked back into the room, the door pushing shut behind her. She looked down the hall at the clock hanging there, jolting her back to reality. She realized that she’s missed most of the second half of her classes, but she was in no shape to focus on the algorithms now. She went to her locker to get her things, making the executive decision to finish cutting the rest of last period. She was sure she could convince her mother that she was sick enough to write her a note.

**********************************************************

Life definitely appeared to have made a turnaround for her over the last few months. Spending time with Maria made her realize so many things that she had somehow managed to forget. Simple things, like how much fun it was to play on a merry-go-round. Sitting as it spins faster and faster, the world becoming a distorted mixture of colors, lines and shapes. The whole while feeling as if you were somewhere, caught between a dream and reality. She remembered how nice it was to just be with someone who didn’t expect you to be someone you weren’t. They spent many afternoons laying beneath the old turntable, listening to the soft croons of Bing, the soulful sounds of Nina, and wishing we were Dean’s Amore. There was never a lot of talking on those days, just an understanding that they were sharing something special and that was enough.

She had cleared it with Ms. Fink to have lunch with Maria, but she couldn’t allow her to do it every day. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, the Library was open for teachers to book class time and Ms. Fink said she would need her to be there to help keep the peace. Like she could control them? She didn’t press her luck and was thankful that she was able to go at all. She would go at her old time on those days. Even if she couldn’t have lunch with her, she could at least check in. Maria hadn’t mentioned seeing Greg anymore, so maybe he had moved on to something else. Or maybe someone else. She shuddered at the thought.

*********************

She enjoyed having lunch with Maria. It was so much more peaceful than eating in the cafeteria with the loudness of everyone’s voices bouncing off the low ceiling, then pounding back down. She much preferred the laughter and company she received here. She felt bad for making presumptions about these kids. They were, for the most part, just like everyone else. She wished more people realized that. They listened to music, they liked to dance, they watched movies, they told jokes, they got their feelings hurt, they opened themselves up to love. Who were others to judge them? Who had she been to attempt to?



She had been having lunch with Maria for about a month. One day as they were eating, she pulled the last bite of a candy bar from her purse and popped it into her mouth. Patrick, one of the other kids and a usual at their table, talked about how it was his favorite kind of candy bar. She told him, with a wink, that if he was extra nice, she would bring him one the next day when she came to see Maria before she went to the library. He seemed pleased by this and was more than extra nice for the rest of lunch.

She put the candy bar in her purse before she left for school that morning. It was obvious that the holidays were upon them, as she walked down the street. Evergreen wreathes with festive bows hung on front doors, storefronts had gone all out in their attempt to brainwash their customers into purchasing the latest what-nots, each displayed in all its glory in the shiny windows. Garland draped across the center of main street, adorned every so often with a shiny red bell. This had always been her favorite time of year and she was sure that this year would be more special than ever.

The school was keeping up with the festivities and she enjoyed seeing all of the decorations as she took her usual route to the other side of the school. She chuckled as she passed the Music Hall’s Christmas tree which was decked out with reeds, mouth pieces, and garland made from old sheet music. It was cute, but reeds? Really? She had to give them points for being creative.

She didn’t bother knocking on the door to the classroom anymore. Ms. Halse had told her to just come on in whenever she got there, so that’s what she did. She found Patrick and gave him his candy bar. He seemed surprised that she had remembered, but he gave her a hug and thanked her all the same. She loved that something so simple had made him so happy. She looked around for Maria, but she didn’t appear to be in the room. She asked Ms. Halse where she was and she replied that she had gone to use the restroom. She had come a little earlier today, so she didn’t have to rush off. She was admiring some student artwork on the wall when she noticed Ms. Halse glance at her watch then at Maria’s empty seat. Something about the look on her face, made Karen’s pulse quicken.

She walked out of the room and crossed the hall to enter the bathroom. She checked each stall, but they were all empty. Her brain began to race as she tried to think of any other places Maria could be. She went out to the patch of grass behind the classrooms; no one. She went in the guy’s bathroom incase she had gotten confused. Aside from a few surprised guys, there was no one there either. Her heart was now beating in rapid succession. She began to panic as she walked briskly down all the hallways on that side of the building. She checked every nook, every cubby hole, and tried each door handle. She ran back towards the classroom. She didn’t want to say anything to Ms. Halse because then she would have to explain everything. She just wanted to find her.

As she ran past the gym, she heard a faint sound that stopped her in her tracks. Turning around, she walked back the way she had come as the sound got closer. She stopped in front of the equipment room just outside the gym. Though it was called the equipment room, it was really just a huge room occupied by dusty old crap that nobody wanted anymore. She tried to open the door, but it was stuck or something. She threw her whole body against the door and wedged it open. There, against the far wall of the structure, Maria sat hugging her knees to her chest. She could hear her whimpering softly as she got closer. Her espresso brown hair was mussed and strewn in a thousand different directions. Her pants were undone and she sat with her head buried in her shirt, which rested on top of her knees. As she bent down to let her know she was there, Maria jerked back, looking up at her with swollen eyes.

No! Please don’t hurt me! I’ll be good, I promise.


It’s okay, Maria. It’s Karen, I’m right here sweetie. Everything’s going to be alright.

She knelt down and wrapped her arms around her trembling friend. She sat with her, rocking her back and forth, letting her cry. They stayed like that for a while, then she helped her hook her bra and put her shirt back on. She fixed her hair as best she could and they sat back down on the floor. She told Maria that they would make him pay for what he did. She cried as she told her about the night that the same, terrible thing happened to her. She hated him for what he did to her, but she hated him more for what he did to Maria. Her innocence and pureness of heart would never be the same. He had robbed them, both, of those things. They sat and cried over the tragic bond they now shared.

******************************************************************************

May came around, as did all of the things that came with it: Prom, Invitations, Class rings, and finally Graduation. She stood in the same pink bathroom pondering herself in the mirror, just as she had nine months prior. She looked at the person staring back at her and remembered the sense of losing herself that she had felt that day. So much had changed since then. She and Maria filed charges against Greg and each member of the football team. Every one of them confessed to raping both girls. Every one except for Greg. The coach was not pleased that he would have to find a completely new team before summer training camp began. He said she coerced them into confessing and she was sure he wasn’t the only one who felt that way, but she didn’t care. She knew the type of sick, twisted people they were and she knew what they had done to her and Maria. That was all that mattered.

She met Maria in front of the school before the ceremony began. They introduced their respective families, shared stories of some of their favorite memories, and took lots of pictures. She helped her attach her collar and bobby pin her cap to her head. As she sat with the rest of her class on that warm evening in early summer, listening to enthralling speeches about this being the first day of the rest of their lives; she couldn’t help but thinking how true it was. Corny, but true. Every day, in a sense, is the first day to the rest of their life. She felt like she had finally come full circle, like she was finally able to, not just hear the words, but believe them. She knew it had come as no result of anything she had done. No- it was all Maria. Maria DeSalva was the best thing that could have happened to her this year. She had a strength and exuberance about her that Karen had yet to see matched by anyone else. Even after everything that she had been through in her life, it was she who gave Karen the strength to testify against Greg and the others. It was she who publicly admitted forgiveness for their wrongdoing. Though she still had a lot of healing to do, Maria was everything Karen needed at just the time she needed it and Karen knew it.

She watched as Maria walked across the stage accepting her diploma. The average eye might not see it, but she was certain that if people looked with their heart instead of their eyes, they would see the wings that Maria tried so hard to hide. She made her own trip across the stage, accepting a piece of paper she’d spent 12 years working towards. The ceremony came to an end and everyone went to stand with their friends as Mr. Frederick announced the graduating class. Everyone tossed their caps high into the air as the air filled with laughter and applause. As she stood there in that moment, taking it all in, she felt a strange feeling in her heart. It had been so long since she’d felt anything like it; warm and comforting. Then it hit her: she was happy. It was like coming home again. Even if it had been a long time, you still knew the way.

A Step Towards the Sun

     They always seemed to end up on the hill. Every Saturday, in the early morning just as the sun was spreading its golden tendrils across the slowly lightening sky, they would sit perched side by side on the plush grass overlooking the meadow. To look at them: their skin aglow as if glistening with the morning dew, a slight smile upturning the corners of their mouths; you would never know the pain that lingered behind their eyes.


***************************************************************

     She knew her life was very different than those of the kids at school. She never had a lot of friends and was never especially popular, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. She was used to being a loner and spent most of her time that way. Her life was like a record that had been put on loop, monotonously playing out the same actions until, one day, a walk home from school pinpointed her life in a totally different direction.

     She was aware that new people had moved into the house parallel to her own. The moving trucks had come early one Saturday morning as she sat alone on top of the hill. The men spent the day unloading their stuff, box by box. She recalled that a new 1972 Chevrolet Impala sat in the driveway alongside an older model Cutlass. She had waited to catch a glimpse of the owners, but if they were there, they didn’t come out to lend a hand. She gave up and went about her business. Weeks passed and she never really gave it a second thought.

     It was during that time of year when the air had a crispness about it and the setting sun gleamed behind freshly turned leaves of auburn and topaz, making it seem as if the trees were a blaze of Autumn. She saw him sitting Indian-style beneath the gigantic Oak tree in the front yard of the house next door to hers. There was something about the way he was just sitting there completely unoccupied, as if in his own world. That might have deterred some people, but not her. She knew that look, knew it personally. It was her look. She hadn’t yet come into his line of view, so she took advantage of the opportunity to fully glance him over. His curly locks of hair, dark as a raven, were blowing faintly in the late afternoon breeze. He stared straight ahead with eyes the color of Summer honey, which perfectly complimented his olive skin. His clothes were worn and tattered, in complete contrast to the two-story house behind him, but she got the feeling that he liked the statement he was making. She liked it too…and she liked him. She knew instinctively that somehow, he understood her- that he, too, had seen things in his life that no one should ever have to see.

     As she walked past, he never even blinked an eye. She felt a pang in her heart at his lack of attention towards her. Deep down, she wasn’t surprised though. She knew she was no picture of beauty. Her plain brown hair hung limp and stringy down her back. She hated her eyes. They were the most boring, dull shade of green and she often thought they bore a striking resemblance to split pea soup. Her skin was neither fair, nor golden; just average. She was acutely aware that she lacked the womanly curves of other girls her age, but rarely let it bother her. Ordinarily, she didn’t mind that she failed to stick out in any obvious ways. She never strived to be noticed, but it was different with him. He didn’t strike her as the shallow, superficial type to care about stuff like that. She pressed on and turned to walk up her driveway, when she noticed out of the corner of her eye that he was looking in her direction. So he had noticed. She turned towards him and offered a quick smile and was surprised to see him return the gesture. She faced back in the direction of which she had just come and walked into her house.

     She was, what you would call, a latch-key kid. Her mother had died when she was fourteen and her father was always too busy attending charity events or going on business trips to bother actually being there for her. She suspected why that’s why she was so good at being alone. She was used to it. She came home to an empty house, went to sleep in an empty house, and awoke to a house still as empty as the night before. Even when her father was there, he might as well have not been. Their conversations consisted of three questions: “Are you keeping up your grades?” “Do you have plenty of food?” “Do you need any money?” That was it. It usually lasted about five minutes and that was if he was long winded. He would often go off, leaving nothing but a note behind explaining where he was.

     She actually preferred when he was away, so she was pleased to come home to find the familiar yellow slip of paper on the kitchen counter. She glanced out the window to see that the boy had disappeared from beneath the tree. She dug some leftover Chinese food out of the fridge and ate it in front of the television, before going upstairs to her room. She crossed the floor and raised the window to let in some of the cool night air. As she did, she couldn’t help but notice that she had a clear view into the boy’s window. This made her feel better somehow; less alone.

     As the months passed, they slowly got to know each other; with her making the first move to introduce herself on one of the many days she saw him beneath the tree. She learned that he was originally from Texas and had a soft spot for Tex-Mex food. He told her of his love for the guitar, how he longed to write songs like Simon and Garfunkel, and that he favored the latter work of The Beatles rather than their early stuff. She told him about liking to write poetry and that she dreamed of having a novel published before she died. He listened as she talked about her admiration of Emily Dickenson. He asked her favorite food, she asked his favorite color: Chinese and blue respectively.

     Little by little, they ventured into deeper territory. She took him to her favorite spot and they would spend countless hours lounging on the hillside, talking. He shared that he had an older brother who had died in a terrible car accident. She had wondered if he was an only child, but it seemed like the kind of personal question they had both been reserving for another time. She told him about her father and how she spent a lot of time alone. She told him about not ever really fitting in at school, but never bothering to care. He seemed both saddened and happy about her statement. Saddened because no one ever took the time to get to know her and happy because she was smart enough not to place her self-worth in the hands of other people. She had wondered why she hadn’t seen him at school and found out that he was a year older than she. He graduated the summer before and was trying to figure out what he wanted to do with his life. There was a connection between them that was undeniable and they both felt it. They spent most of their free time together either riding around in his old Cutlass or going for walks, but most often they would make the trek through the woods and up the hill, especially on Saturday mornings. That was their favorite.

     As the weather warmed, they would often go up in the late afternoon to watch as the sun dipped down beneath the trees. She had an affinity for the sunrise and sunset, and he loved to watch her experience it. One afternoon in the early summer, as they sat letting the sun warm their faces, he asked her a question that was more personal than any other he had dared to ask. What was the worst thing she had ever been through? She removed her cherry lollypop from her mouth and stared straight ahead, just as he had been doing the first day they met. She knew what the right answer was, but she wasn’t sure if she could actually say it out loud. He never pressed her, he just let her gather her thoughts until she was ready to speak.

     She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her hands on top. Maintaining her straightforward stare, she told him everything. She explained that her father was not only cold, but also mean. She told him of the numerous times she would hear her parents fighting in their bedroom. Mostly her father would yell and her mother would whimper responses when he deemed it necessary. If she gave the wrong response, the evidence was always visible the next day in a swollen cheek, busted lip, or bruised eye. There were times when she would hear her father forcing himself on his wife, the whole while her mother would be crying and pleading with him to stop. He never did. He was that kind of man. His needs came before anyone else’s…all of them. She was too young, at the time, to realize what was happening. As she got older, nothing changed and, though he never laid a hand on her, she was disgusted by his treatment of her mother. She told him as much one morning after her mother came downstairs still shaken from the night before. His response was that it was none of her business and that being married is about serving your husband in all aspects of life. That afternoon when she got home from school, she found her mother’s lifeless body in a pool of blood on her side of the bed. He had killed her in every way that a person could be killed, she had just finished the deed. It was recommended that she speak with a counselor, but her father would have none of that. He told her that it was all her fault, that her mother would still be here if she wasn’t such a selfish bratt.

     Warm tears began to freely flow down her cheeks. She had never told anyone those things. He held her close as she rocked back and forth. He began to tell her of his own secrets. He told her that he felt that his parents still blamed him for his brother’s accident. He had been on the way to pick up his little brother after baseball practice when he was struck by a drunk driver. She could see that his parents didn’t need to blame him. He blamed himself enough. Ironically, he said his mother became an alcoholic who spent most days drinking herself numb. He spent a lot of his time alone, too, before he met her. He leaned in and brushed the tears away from her sage green eyes. Their faces were so close. He cupped his hand beneath her chin and brought their lips together, hers still tasting of cherry and salty tears. They knew they loved each other and at that very moment they wanted to express it in every way. They laid together in the golden shroud of the sunset and explored the new sensations of the experience they were about to share. He couldn’t help noticing how her whole body seemed to glow with a beauty that radiated from the inside out. He knew he had never loved anyone more.

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     It had been months since they had been together. He hated leaving her the way he did and he knew she was wondering if he still cared. Eventually, it seemed she had moved on. He was invisible to her. He would have given anything to be able to stay with her on top of that hill forever, growing in love and laughter. He still followed her up to there, but she would never even look at him. He might as well not have been there, but still he stayed. He would sit next to her, not saying a word, just letting her exist. Sometimes she would cry and he could tell she was trying to hide her pain from him. She didn’t want him to see her this way. He would try to talk to her when he saw her out and about, but she just couldn’t talk to him. Not now.

     One afternoon, as the wind began to have that chilly bite to it again, he saw her walking through the woods up the path to the hill. He followed her, as he always did, hoping this would be the day she would finally break her silence and they could be together again. She sat with her knees pulled to her chest, just as she had that day so many months ago. He sat next to her, but she acted as if she didn’t notice. He moved closer. He told her that he was sorry for leaving without letting her know or saying goodbye and he promised he would never do it again. He told her that he loved her more than he had ever loved another person in his entire life. She still wouldn’t look at him and it all became too much for him to bear. He placed his hand on her cheek and a look of overwhelming emotion crossed her face. He kissed her forehead as she turned her head and looked in his direction.

     She had never been the same after he died. She couldn’t even comprehend life without him. She had known everything about him, except that he had heart problems and was waiting on a donor. He was so beautiful. He looked so healthy. And now he was gone. There just wasn’t enough time. She loved him more than she had ever loved another person in her entire life. She loved him for seeing the beauty in her when she couldn’t see it herself, but mostly for loving her in return, and he felt it. He could move on, now, knowing she would be okay. He would protect her always. He put his arm around her shoulder and she curled into the warmth she felt there, as they sat together watching the golden orb dip lower and lower behind the horizon.

At Long Last...

So I haven't blogged for a while and I have really missed it. I felt bad for falling behind, but then I realized that my blogging wasn't an assignment. I blog for fun and for creative release. There has just been... a lot of stuff going on in my life and while I would normally turn immediately to my blog or journal, I just kind of----shut DOWN. There have been some very good things that have happened in the last month and then, there have been the not so good and the not so good ones have just seemed to weigh me down.

My dad is having a slight health scare and it has really shaken up our household. His doctor thinks he has an infection, but to rule out cancer he is sending him to a specialist to make sure. Cancer- the dreaded C word that no one wants to hear. I really don't believe he has cancer just from things his doctor has said, but it doesn't make it any less scary. The other bad things involve other people in my family and I'm not divulging any information about that simply because I don't feel it is my place. I will say that it involves two people I care about very much. The whole situation effected me more than I ever thought it would.

So not everything is totally crappy in my world. On June 29, 2010 my life changed in a drastic way, for the better. I went to a weight loss specialist and found out that I have something called Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PcOS). It means that my body produces twice as much insulin as it needs. Insulin is the only chemical that tells the brain to store fat. It is fueled by carbs and sugar. When I eat one piece of bread, my body makes twice as much insulin and reacts as if I had eaten half a loaf of bread. So I have made a complete lifestyle change. They set up a program for me in which I will have to cut out all carbs and drink nothing but water and Crystal Lite type drinks. Now, it should be known: I was NOT a water drinker. I loathed water. I have made myself drink it and now find myself craving it. I look at it as by knowing what those things do to my body, eating them isn't worth it. So I do my swimming exercises and drink my H20. I'm working on it. It will be the fight of my life, but SO worth it. I plan to blog more about it and my adventure.

So (<----yes I realize I've started every paragraph with "So..." lol) this blog post isn't my best and it's kind of full of random stuff, but I just wanted to check in and get back into the swing of things.

Best wishes for a great weekend :)

In A Hue of Avocado

It was the summer of the polaroid camera. Okay, actually it was the summer of the gently used polaroid camera. Her father had brought it home from the consignment shop and surprised her with it the night before her fourteenth birthday. She couldn't believe it. Her family had never been especially wealthy. Her mother was a shop owner and her father was a farmer, so naturally there were pennies that needed to be pinched.

She spent the long summer days taking pictures of anything and everything. Every dime she earned from doing chores went towards more film. She could often be found sitting Indian-style in the middle of her room, her masterpieces scattered around her on the floor: the back pasture behind the hog pin, Macy the milk cow-minus her head, crooked shots of her friends smiling and laughing as they rode their horses through the winding roads. It was clear to see that her new hobby was a work in progress, but she loved them all; every imperfect one. She loved to take pictures of people when they least suspected it. The idea of catching them off guard seemed so intriguing to her, like she was actually capturing a pocket of time- a memory that was embedded in a picture.

While she loved her mother greatly, it was a very special relationship she had with her father. Growing up, she had always preferred overalls to dresses and fishing over playing with dolls. That wasn't to say she was a complete tomboy; she loved pink and she adored nail polish. What she loved most of all was the fact that at those moments, she had her father all to herself. Being the middle child of five, it was hard for her to stand out in any particular way. They would walk down to the Tuskahoma, an especially famous pond in their small town and sit on a log at the water's edge for hours at a time; her father regaling her with stories of a giant fish creature that resided at the bottom of the pond and of Indians who used to roam the very woods they sat not five feet away from- a sort of cross between Beowulf and Huckleberry Finn. The stories never changed and they always amused her, even as she grew to know them as mere folklore passed down to her father from generations passed. He could always tell when something was bothering her and as she got older, she valued his intuitive nature. He would always know just what to do to cure a broken heart or to mend a tattered wound.

She would often sneak down and watch him work the fields, hiding behind bushes, trying with might to capture the perfect image of him. She had to be very careful so that he wouldn't see her. He had never liked to have his picture taken, though she couldn't be sure why. He didn't come out and say that it upset him, but he always seemed to find a way to get out of it. She respected his wishes, but longed to capture him on film. He had this look about him-he had seen things. His eyes, the most perfect shade of avocado green, bore deep, etched lines on either side of his temples. Some might say from worry, but she liked to believe from experience. She knew her father had not had the best of childhoods himself and sometimes, when those green orbs settled on her own, it seemed as if she were looking into the eyes of a child. She longed to take his hand and escape back into time, to make the memories he never had the chance to make for himself. She dreamed of capturing those moments on film and putting them in his childhood pocket, so that he might never forget.

One afternoon, she overheard her father saying he was going into town. She had nothing better to do, so she asked if she could go along. At least she would get to get out of the house and feel a breeze on her face, but he didn't appear to want her to tag along today. For a brief moment a nagging soreness pained her heart. He always loved when she would tag along after him. Her mother must have sensed her uneasiness and at that very moment offered a reassuring smile. She grabbed her camera and trekked out to the truck. She carried it with her everywhere, so she wasn't surprised when he didn't give her a second glance as she opened the door and slid in.

It was a tremendously hot day, as most June days were in the South. It hadn't quite reached the dog day temperatures yet, but she could feel them getting closer. Somehow, she couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right. They usually talked and laughed about everything under the sun. Today, however, it was noticeably silent. She looked at him from the corners of her eyes; rather pleased with herself for being able to pull it off without him noticing. His avocado eyes didn't appear to be wrinkled with experience today and for once, she thought maybe everyone had been right about them being worry lines after all. The soreness that had tiptoed across her heart earlier was back again, leaving a slightly heavier footprint this time. She tried to push the unpleasant thoughts to the back of her mind as they drove on in silence. She thought about saying something, anything to break the loudness of the abounding quiet. Her father reached over and turned on the radio, as a song about yesterday's problems that once seemed so far away, streamed out from the speakers. She couldn't help but to connect with the soft sung lyrics. Now that she thought of it, her father never did say what he was going to town to do.

The lush green pastures slowly gave way to the concrete and buildings of their rural community's town district. There were a lot of people out and about today. Several women were talking in front of Elmer's Grocery, trying hard to appear as if they were discussing produce or this week's bridge game, when everyone knew full well that they were really trading horrendous stories of whose husband was making eyes at his secretary and who was sporting fake pearls, yet dared to claim they were authentic. There were the usual suspects sitting in front of the Barber Shop; several old men who could be seen there every day, even if it was 100 degrees outside. God only knows what their topics of conversation were. Children raced up and down the street, some on skates, some on bicycles, some eating colorful frozen treats; the sugary substances dripping down their impish chins. She saw that they were turning into the bank, yet had no idea why. Neither of her parents kept a savings account and her father only kept a bank account for the farm. All of their money was kept in a canister on top of the refrigerator. Both of her parents had lived through the Depression and had been taught not to trust the banks with the bulk of their money. She got out of the car and walked around to stand beside her father. He took her hand and asked her to wait for him at the drug store across the street. He gave her a quarter and told her to get some iced-cream and that he would be back as soon as he could. She took the money, hesitantly, as he kissed her forehead and walked into the bank. She watched him walk away before turning to cross the street to the drug store.

She bought a chocolate malt and sat out in front of the store. She took several shots of the sticky mouthed children, then one of an old man and old lady walking down the sidewalk holding hands. It was a nice shot, she thought, until it developed and she realized she had decapitated them just as she had ole Macy. Purely coincidental. By the time she realized her mistake, the couple had passed and so had the afternoon. She peered through the window and glanced at the clock above the soda fountain. It was nearly five o'clock. They had arrived in town at a quarter to three. The uneasiness crept up inside her again. She began to feel self conscious, having sat alone in the same spot all afternoon. While in the middle of intently studying the chipped nail polish on her big toe, she caught a glimpse of her father out of the corner of her eye as he exited the bank. He walked slowly, cautiously. He didn't seem to see her sitting at the small wooden table. In fact, he didn't seem to notice much of anything outside of his own feet in front of him. He stopped and sat down on the steps in front of the building. With it being so late, the bank was closing and people began to exit behind him, all going home to their families and casserole dinners. One man passed and gave her father a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. He just sat there. She wasn't sure what to do, but for a reason she couldn't quite put her finger on, she pulled her camera from its case and snapped his picture. She didn't wait for it to turn out. Instead she stuck it in the pocket of her old jean shorts and got up from the table.

She approached her father in the same way he had walked from the bank: slowly, cautiously. When she arrived at his side, he never looked up. It wasn't until she sat down beside him that she realized he was crying. She had never witnessed him crying before, not even when his own mother, whom he was very close to, passed away. But there he was, the warm, salty tears gliding down his unshaven face. A lump began to rise in her own throat. Before she could say anything, he told her that they would lose the farm. If this years crop didn't bring in enough money, they would lose the house, the farm, and all of their livestock. His words just seemed to hang there in the thick, sticky air, making it all to evident to her that they weren't going to disappear anytime soon and she could no longer force the unpleasant thoughts to the back of her mind. The task at hand seemed insurmountable and she knew that her small world would never be the same.

When they got back home, her mother and father talked quietly in the den while she and her siblings set the table and poured the milk. She said nothing to anyone of what she had seen or knew, but she had a feeling it was all about to become abundantly clear. Dinner was eaten and dishes cleared away; everything went on as if the afternoon had been nothing more than a terrible dream. Her older sisters, Margaret and Sarah, each had a date to go to the movies after dinner and left once the kitchen was cleaned. Her younger brother, Ethan, and sister, Bethie, sat down to watch television with their parents. It was Saturday, so that meant an evening with Lawrence Welk. She settled in the chair across from where her parents sat on the couch. She watched as her family laughed in all the right places. Every now and then her mother would reach over and gently touch her father's hand, at which point he would give a small, faint smile; she realized that it had been real. The afternoon had happened and there were only three people who knew about it. The show ended and the children were sent to bed. She decided to go to bed herself as well. She knew her sisters would be home soon and she didn't think she could talk to them without spilling the beans. As she changed into her nightgown, the picture of her father fell out of her pocket fluttering to the floor. She bent to pick it up and placed it in her camera case with the others, then crawled into bed.

Her sisters returned, went to bed, and fell asleep quickly. She was thankful for that, but she wished she could get to sleep herself. She just lie there, wide awake, watching as the soft moonlight threw pale beams across the corner of the ceiling. She thought she heard her parents voices down the hall in their room; quiet and muffled, but there none the less. She got out of bed slowly, as not to wake her sisters and crept to their door. She kneeled and listened as her father shared that he didn't think they would make it out of this one. Times were tough for the farmers in the community and most of them had planted twice as many fields as he had. His voice didn't even sound like his own. It had a shakiness about it that she had never heard before. Tears welled up in her eyes for the second time that day and she quickly brushed them away. She leaned in closer to hear her mother tenderly reassure him that planting more fields did not necessarily yield a good crop. She said to have faith that God had a plan for them and it was not for anyone to question or worry about. There was a silence that followed when the stillness itself seemed much too personal to overhear than any of the words they had spoken. She stood and walked back to her room; climbing into bed, willing herself to fall asleep.

 The morning after she heard her parents talking, they sat down as a family and came clean about what was going on. There was a sudden weight that came over the room. It was a slightly expected, but still naturally uneasy feeling, like when you first get out of a swimming pool, and you become all too aware of the gravity of your body. It was agreed that everyone would work hard and do more than their share to bring in as much profit as possible. Months passed and Autumn lurked around the corner, coming closer and closer to their impending fate. Her father's worry lines sank deeper into his temples and her mother had begun to develop her own, despite God's plans.

Thanksgiving arrived and the weather had begun to really cool down. Shorts and flip flops were traded in for jeans and sweaters. Her mother was busy baking pies and basting ole Tom Turkey every half hour. Her sisters were polishing the silverware, and the younger kids were planted in front of the television watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. Her father had slipped out earlier that morning stating he had an important meeting. "On Thanksgiving?" her mother protested. But he went all the same and with her blessing.

She took out her camera and began to take some shots of the beautifully decorated table that she'd spent the morning arranging. Then she snapped pictures of the food, and of course of her family as their mouths continued to water over the delicious smells wafting from the kitchen. She had become quite a good photographer if she didn't say so herself. Like her mother always said, if she wouldn't toot her own horn, who else would do it for her? She no longer decapitated unsuspecting models, and she had learned which light worked best for optimal photo quality. Her father arrived home and they all sat down to eat. It was tradition to go around the table and have each person say what they were thankful for. Her mother was thankful for her family, Margaret was thankful for her new job, Sarah was thankful for the lovely food, she herself was thankful for each one of them around her, and while Ethan and Bethie were equally thankful for the desserts waiting on the nearby buffet. When it came time for her father to share what he was most thankful for, everyone fell quiet. It had been an especially rough year for them all, but he had bared the brunt of it. They waited anxiously to hear what he had to say.

"On this day of thanks, many people in our own small town are hungry. Many people don't have a place to sleep. Some don't know where their next meal will come from. These people are not so different from ourselves. They once had a home, a car, a job, and a piece of land to call their own. For reasons unknown to us, they lost those things. I was very scared that we might be in their same situation soon. I went to meet Mr. Jonesborogh from the bank this morning. He made special arrangements to meet me in town before he and his family left for the holiday. He told me that we had made more than enough profit to keep the farm and pay off the first mortgage for next year."

A wave of laughter and celebratory shouting erupted from the petite dining room. The weight was lifted; they had jumped back into the pool where they could float, delirious to any such word as gravity.

"Hold on, calm down now. I don't want us ever to forget how it felt to be so close to walking in those people's shoes. We are not better than them. God does not love us more. We are all equal and must do our part to help those around us who are in need. Remember that. We all play a part in this life."

They ate and laughed, then ate some more, until they were all gorged with the feast that had only hours ago graced their dining room table. Each one of their faces seemed to glow with a ease and sense of security that none had felt in a long while. That night they all slept peacefully. She thought of the day moths before when she sat with her crying father outside of the bank. For some reason, she thought of the song that had played on the radio in the truck and she realized that all of the problems of yesterday were, in fact, far away. She knew this had been a Thanksgiving she would never forget.

Years passed by, all flowing and seeming to merge together. She graduated high school and moved away to go to college. While there, she met a man who swept her up in love. His eyes had a hue of avocado green and they were married two years later. Margaret and Sarah both married after high school and had children two months apart. Bethie was the second college graduate of the family. She moved back home to become the first female lawyer the town had ever seen. Ethan joined the military and was promptly shipped overseas where he later was classified as "missing in action" during the final years of Vietnam. Her parents were never the same after that. It nearly killed them both.

She was flooded with memories as she drove the long stretch of Hwy. 20 headed home. It was another hot, sticky southern afternoon and she wondered what people had done before air conditioning on trips such as this. It was so long ago and she couldn't seem to remember. As she crossed the county line into the familiar territory, she rolled her window down and felt the warm breeze on her face. She had to go through town to get to her parents house and, unlike most visitors, she enjoyed the time to linger.

It had been at least fifteen years since she had been home. She had meant to visit, but her parents knew how busy she was with her work. She spent a great deal of time traveling to the corners of the earth taking pictures for the Associated Press that when she had time off, she just wanted to stay in one place for longer than a day or so. She had been in Beijing when her mother passed away. She tried everything to get back home in time, but there had been weather issues that forced the planes to remain grounded. She vividly remembered sitting alone in the huge airport, crying, with nothing, but her father's voice on the other end of her cell phone, to comfort her.

She had forgotten how beautiful the countryside was. She watched as the lush green pastures once again gave way to bigger buildings and wider roads. Elmer's Grocery appeared to be a ghost of a gone by era, as a large supermarket chain now stood in its place. There were no women gossiping in front of its windows, just shopping carts and trash canisters. The Barber Shop had seen its own remodeling, as it now bore a sign titled "Super Shear" and specialized in haircare needs for both genders. She recognized the girl styling one patrons hair as a girl she had gone to school with and faintly remembered her as the granddaughter of the old man who used to own it. She thought certain he had most likely passed years before. She recognized the old drugstore right away, though it no longer had the little wooden tables out front. As she passed she realized the tables weren't the only things that had changed. It was clear that a new generation had taken it over and the only thing that remained the same was the sign in front.

The bank was exactly the same as she remembered. Even the flowers lining the walk were the same. She slowed as she passed by remembering the last and only time she had ever frequented the area. It had been a long time ago, but that feeling in her heart stirred again, for a different reason this time.

She turned down the long drive that lead to her house and immediately felt that sense of belonging; that feeling that you get only from being in a place you know you are loved and accepted. She wished her husband could have come with her instead of working a double shift at the hospital, but such is life. The farm had not been a functioning one for over ten years now. It just got to be too much for her parents to handle and became impossible once her mother died. She had never been on this land when there weren't livestock roaming the fields or a tractor tilling the dirt. The fields were now grown over and the barns had been demolished. The only trace that there had ever been a farm there at all was the giant grain bin and the old International, both of which sat abandoned like a shipwreck on the ocean floor. Weeds overcame them until they were almost unrecognizable. She was so angry that she had let so much time pass without coming home. That familiar lump rose in her throat and she once again pushed away the tears.

She parked her car amongst the others and walked around back to join the party. Children ran about the yard in the middle of a fierce game of hide and seek. There were several dogs that were clearly trying to get in on the action. She could see all three of her sisters arranging food on the long table at the corner of the yard. Margaret walked behind the other two, rearranging according to her specifications. The birthday boy himself sat in a lawn chair, in the middle of the chaos. She watched him as his eyes glimmered with the happiness of the occasion. Her sisters noticed her standing there and promptly ran to greet her. The usual words were exchanged: "It's been too long!" "Have you done something to your hair?" "Where's Zach?" She expressed her apologies and agreed that it had been too long, explained that her hair was shorter, and that she had to leave her dear husband at home to work.

She walked into the house to set her things down. When she went to her old bedroom, she noticed something on the small, twin bed. As she moved closer, she couldn't believe her eyes. It was the case that held her old polaroid camera. She opened it up and she could almost swear she smelled the same humid air from that summer all those years ago. There sat her camera, some old pictures, and a small piece of paper. She lifted it from the case to reveal that it was a note from her father:

"I found this while I was cleaning out the attic and thought you might like to have it. I even bought you some new film. That was a task--I had to get your sister to order it off of that net, web thing on her computer. I don't know what they'll think of next. Anyway, I know you have a bunch of fancy cameras now, but I hope you can still enjoy it as much as you did that summer. Love, Your Father"

She took everything out of the case and found the new film behind the camera. She held the old photographs in her hand, laughing as she thumbed through a headless Macy, many catycornered pasture shots, and pictures of her childhood friends that would probably make them cringe if they knew she had them. The last one in the pile caused her breath to catch in her throat. It was the one she had taken of her father sitting on the steps of the bank. His normally vibrant eyes, dull and weary-transfixed on the pavement in front of him. All around him, the world continued to move forward, while he was stuck in that moment as sure as his words had hung in the air. The image still brought a tear to her eyes. She placed the photo in her purse and took the camera down stairs.

Her father saw her walk out of the back door and smiled upon realizing she had found his gift. She walked over to him as he stood to embrace her. His arms, though not as strong as they once were, still had the power to create a sense of comfort that she had yet to feel any place else. She wished him happy birthday and thanked him for his surprise. As he sat back down in his chair he told her she should let someone test it out for her, make sure it worked okay. Bethie stepped forward and took the camera from her hands. Her father motioned for her to sit beside him and when she did, Bethie pressed the shutter and got the shot. She turned to look at her father, expecting to see the grimace that always showed on his face when he knew he had been photographed, but instead she saw his enigmatic avocado green eyes still glimmering even brighter than before. Bethie handed her the picture just in time to see their shapes fill the image. As she sat there holding the image of her father that she spent that entire summer trying to capture, the tears slid down her face and there was no stopping them. Her father squeezed her hand and told her how glad he was to have her there. She sat back in the chair and felt the warm breeze once again on her face. Whoever said you can't go home again? She sighed and the thought blew away as quickly as it came.