Window Poem

I skip down the historic street

In Downtown St. Charles

Hand in hand with my grandmother.

I’m ten years old, I see it there.

It catches my eye so quick.

I had to pull aside to stop and stare.

There she was in the display

Protected by glass, keeping me away.

I needed that doll I thought.

It would be my best friend.

My grandma looks at me and says,

“It’s almost Christmas you know.”

She winks, and says lets go.

Edward Hopper

                

Nothing seems right anymore.  I own this convenience store a few miles off the main strip.  We used to be the busiest place in town, but that was always because of my wife.  She knew everybody’s name that lived within a 100 mile radius.  She treated these people with the utmost respect and kindness.  Unfortunately, I lost the love of my life to cancer three months ago.  My two kids, Bobby and Anna, took the lost very hard.  They moved across the country with their spouses and kids to start over, try and regain that happiness they had lost. 

                Did anybody think about me? I was married to my wife for over fifty years.  We were high school sweethearts, we even won prom king and queen.  Every Saturday morning, we opened up the shop a few hours late, and we would just sit on our back porch, drink coffee, and just enjoy each other’s presence.  She was my best friend.

                My whole family left me to run the store by myself.  It’s not like I could close it up, the shop was my only source of income.  Since my wife died, business kept getting worse and worse.  Most of that can be blamed on me though.  The places moral had weakened because of my broken heart. Sure, some of the friends we made from owning the store came by every once in a while, but even after visiting a couple times they stopped.  People always leave me.  This shop is who I am not because I have nothing else.  In my free time, which is always, I spend it cleaning and keeping up the cleanliness.  

My first line I chose for my first and last line piece was “The moment one learns English, complications set in.”  I took that as a child growing up and having to learn new things every day and be responsible for more as every year passes.  I wrote about the complications teenagers face in their daily lives like sadness, the butterflies you get from a certain person, and the judgmental minds of your peers.  I understand everybody has gone through something, but everybody has gone through the exact same thing.  One cannot understand someone to the full extent without trading places with them.  I guess I got that part right.  This line is from a 1900’s novel called Chromos, by Felipe Alfau. This book was published almost 50 years after being initially written in the 1940’s.  It is a novel set in the post WWII era.  When I saw that I thought that I had the meaning of the book kind of right.  The soldiers in the war had a responsibility to their country.  The people back home having dinner with their family or having a Saturday morning off could never understand what the soldiers were having to go through.  I found that interesting, and I might actually read this novel.

The last line was from the novel “The Sun Also Rises” by Earnest Hemmingway. The last line was “Yes,” I said “Isn’t it pretty to think so?”  I had a hard time matching these two statements together to make a story.  It still wasn’t the best possible, but on the bright side I have two new books I’m planning on reading.  The Sun Also Rises is a book I’ve never actually heard of, I’ve only heard of the author.  It is set after WW1.  So it seems I picked two lines from books set in post war times.  I love anything that contains a deeper meaning than just the text on the pages.  I love reading a book and having to read in between the lines and attempt to think and figure out what the author was going through at the time.  I love using little clues in the writings to figure out what the author is trying to convey.  Just from these lines,  I want to think that these books will be like that.  

First and Last Line

The moment one learns English, complications set in.  Decisions have to be made, fights have to be fought, and difficulties have to be faced head on, keeping strong. Being a teenager during this time is confusing.  People expect more of me.  They expect me to know right from wrong and what to say and when to say them.  Truth is, I was taught my manners, but nobody realizes that most people are not prepared for some of the things that we as teenagers have to deal with.

I would walk through the front doors of the school and glance around me, thinking about the people in my presence.  Almost judging them. Which is wrong, I know that, but they’re probably judging me just as much.  I already knew today was going to be a bad day.  I was unable to study for an important test the night before because my notebook was stolen. I also have another huge test that I had to ace to get a B in the class for the quarter.  It could be easily assumed that I was stressed out. Probably even more than just stressed out. 

Know what’s amazing? If one person was able to get me to smile or see something good about the day then I would be golden. That’s exactly what happened.  One text from one person made my day go from awful to livable in under two seconds.  It made me realize that this person cares about me.  That is the best feeling in the entire world. 

It’s impossible to have a stress-free perfect life.  What is possible is telling yourself it doesn’t have to feel imperfect or stressful.  I know from experience that looking on the positive sides of everything is easily the most difficult thing ever.  Think of the glass half full for a change.  Live your life thinking that if one door closes, another one opens.  Second chances can be given more than once, just don’t take advantage.  Instead of seeing the sunset and thinking that tomorrow is going to be a bad day, take time to take in the scenery and thank God for the blessings he’s given you.  Negativity is too contagious.  As hard as it may be, let even a sliver of happiness in.  Tell yourself that it’s okay to be who you are, because no matter how complicated or crappy you think your life is, it isn’t.  Simple as that. If anybody noticed my mood changing after one text and asked me if I was okay my response would be,

“Yes, isn’t it pretty to think so?”

Artists...Kind of

        I have never cared much for famous artists and paintings.  It always seemed so foreign to me to convey a story without words.  That’s why I kind of took this assignment into my own hands and decided to change it up a bit.  Instead of researching a painter type artist, I decided to write about my most favorite writer of all time, who in my mind is a genius artist. Robert Frost’s words have influenced me for a long time now.

         Robert Frost was born on March 26^th, 1874 in San Francisco, California.  He was born to William Prescott Frost Jr. and Isabelle Moodie.  He had a little sister named Jeanie.  His Father died of tuberculosis when he was 11. After His father died, he moved to Pennsylvania and finished high school at the top of his class.  After high school, Frost attended college at Dartmouth and Harvard.  His first piece was published on November 8, 1894.  He later married to Elinor Miriam White in 1895.  Frost has written many poems over the years.  My personal favorites are Fire and Ice, The Road Not Taken, and Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.  I have an old book containing poems by Robert Frost.  Many times I open it to a random poem, read it and try to interpret and relate it to my own life.  I find Robert Frost one of the most influential “artists” of all time.  He may not do paintings or sculptures but he captures feelings with words better than anybody I’ve ever seen.

        Fire and Ice is my all time favorite poem.  Mostly because its a mystery to me.  I never fully understood the deeper meaning behind it.  I've loved the rhythm this poem has as well.  I honestly love everything about it.  It is my favorite poem by Frost.

Dent in the Pillow

                I’ve visited her house every day since the cancer spread and she passed.  I drive the short ride to her front lawn whenever I can, yet it always seems so hard stepping out onto the lawn, where we used to pass the soccer ball on Saturday afternoons. My legs felt like steel, I couldn’t move them. It was almost a sign as if I’m not welcomed to where the most amazing girl used to spend her days. As a result, I’d sit in my car, sometimes smiling, thinking about all the memories etched into my brain. Other times, I just cried because I knew we would never be able to have anymore.  On the rare occasion when I couldn’t bring myself to either one, I prayed.  I prayed that one day I’d have the strength to walk up to her front porch, ring the doorbell, and tell her parents how much she meant to me and so many others.  Her family grew to be my favorite people in the world and I haven’t spoken to them since she died. It seemed so wrong, so unreal. It seemed as if she was still sitting in her room, talking to me on the phone or daydreaming about our future.  At least, that’s all I ever did.  Unfortunately, she is gone and there is no way to bring her back.  I know I won’t ever get closure until I step foot into that house again.

                As I park my beat up old truck that was the one thing I loved almost as much as I loved her, I glanced up to where her window is.  It’s the middle of autumn here in our small little town.  The crinkly leaves covered her front porch and driveway.  The lawn was overgrown and weeds have since came and gone when it got chillier. The cozy white house’s paint was chipping, mailbox was rotted out, and the rocking chairs on the front porch had been knocked over from a storm a few nights before.  The old townhouse that used to be beautiful and well-kept seemed to have lost its curb appeal. 

                I watched as the orange and yellow leaves swept across my vision.  Something seemed different about today.  I didn’t feel like smiling, or crying, or praying.  All I wanted to do was knock on the door, so I did.  For the first time in 4 months after coming here every day, I opened up my truck’s door and started towards the house. As I reached the porch, I noticed something I never saw before.  It was a letter, from her, from the girl I was in love with.  On the envelope, I saw a post-it note with her mother’s handwriting. It was dated for almost 4 months before.  The note said:

Dear Anthony,

                

       We have noticed you outside the house and every day we have been praying you would come inside so we could give you this letter Brooke wrote for you. So we left it here for when you built up the strength to come inside.  Please just walk in, Brooke would want you to read it in her bedroom, with all of her belongings and memories the two of you had. You’ll always be like a second son to us.

Much love,

Angela

I felt a tear stream down my face.  But I knew today was the day I would visit Brooke’s room for the first time.  I turned the doorknob of her house slowly making sure not to alarm her parents if they were home.  The door squeaked a bit, but then the house went back to complete silence.  The house seemed messier than usual, but it didn’t really bother me.  I walked up the creaky wooden stairs up to Brooke’s bedroom.  I couldn’t believe it, nothing in her bedroom had been touched.  Her photos of me and her, and of her and her best friends were still surrounding her vanity mirror.  Her clothes were still sprawled out on the floor. What I noticed that hit me the hardest though, is that her bed was unmade and it still looked like it had been slept in recently, even though it hadn’t.  Her pillow still had an ovular dent in it from her head sleeping in it five months ago.  The memories from all the years hit me like a truck.  I couldn’t help but fall to the ground in agony.  Something weird happened though, I felt like crying but no tears fell. No torturous desperate bursts of air were needed.  I actually felt peaceful. I felt like she was here with me. In the five months of loneliness, I had never been able to feel her presence until now.

I stood up from the floor and made my way towards the vintage old desk that she bought at an antique shop one day two summers ago.  I sat in the oak chair that had all the signatures from anybody who sat in it.  I never understood why she had people write on her furniture, it was always a mystery.  Then again, so was she. 

I opened the envelope and began to read.  I was expecting a long heartfelt letter, but that didn’t describe this letter at all.  Even so, it was probably the most meaningful thing I've ever read. It read:

Anthony,

                

       I will always love you, even at heavens gates. I’ll see you soon.

Love,

Brooke

Readers as Writers...

This piece was written based off of the book with a title and author I don’t even remember. It was the story itself that stuck with me. I read it my freshman year and I decided to use this assignment to put my thoughts about it into words. It was basically about an overweight girl who got bullied and eventually committed suicide.  I was attracted to this book when I read it because bullying is such a serious topic now a days, and so is suicide.  After reading this book, I decided to create some new characters and kind of write an aftermath chapter.  I changed the name of the main character and came up with a single bully.  This is a writing that is the best friend standing up to the bully after her friend died.  The bully shows no remorse for his actions in my writing.  I decided to write this sequel type piece to reflect my views on bullying today. 

*not a true story. Don’t read if  you are sensitive to this kind of content*

 “You will not get away with this! This is serious and you know it.” I argued trying to talk some sense into him.

“Oh please what I did didn't change the obvious outcome one bit. All I did was speed up the process.”

“Cameron, what you did to that poor girl is called bullying. Take responsibility for your actions and stop being a coward! What you did was wrong and so messed up.”

“Stop being so melodramatic.  She had it coming. Maybe if she would have stopped eating and taken a run once in a while we wouldn't have had to do anything to make her realize she was fat.  The way I see it, we did her a favor.” He argued back, with no sympathy in his voice whatsoever.

“I was her best friend. I knew her better than anybody. She was overweight, yes. But where you’re wrong, is that she knew she was.  What she told herself everyday was ten times worse than what you and your pathetic buddies said to her.  It just became so surreal when someone else but herself said it. Don’t you get it? She is gone now because of what you said to her.  Nobody deserves to be bullied so badly that they're pushed that far to the edge. I will not let you get away with this.” I let out all these words at once, with tears streaming down my face.  I cannot believe he has the audacity to stand here and have no regret about what he did to my best friend, it is so sickening.

“Sorry honey but you can’t live on the coast where beaches and bikinis are an everyday routine and look like she did.  This town went back to its original glory when she decided to leave.”

I could not believe what I was hearing.  Cameron bullied Olivia to the breaking point and he has no grief, apologies, or even sympathy for his actions. This world lost an amazing person because of his constant torment. My best friend Olivia may not have had the sexiest body in all of the state of California, but her heart was worth more than any curves or body types. She was the most genuine and caring person I have ever known.  The way a person looks shouldn't define who they are to the people on the outside.  Unfortunately, nobody truly understands that and now nobody will ever be able to get to know the person that I knew.