ain't it fun livin' in the real world?
BIRDS
chapter 2
//
nick emerson dryden
i first met Pepper in Charleston.
then, i was an aspiring writer trying
to make a mark on this too-big world as
so many of my heroes had. i had no idea how
much pain would go into this mere token of fame.
i had just gotten out of graduate school at Northwestern and moved into an apartment in D.C.
i was probably as fresh eyed and naïve as every other graduate trying to get their name in the New York Times, The Washington Post, or the Wall Street Journal.
i had applied to every classified journalism position in town
and had absolutely no luck.
my friend Ruby told me to look for Pepper in Charleston—
said i’d find what i was looking for.
i wanted to write something interesting,
but real.
something that had been done,
but not told.
something i had no idea what would be about,
but would still write.
and not knowing it at the time,
but it was something that would change my life.
it’s almost painfully cliché how it changed my life because
everything changes your life somehow—
whether it be a meeting… or a book…
or a girl…
but the bottom line,
the point is,
ultimately,
it changes you.
and the most irritating thing about clichés,
are how frequently they are true.
there is a lovely road that runs from a straight, narrow, two-lane highway into the hills.
these hills are grass-covered and rolling, and they are lovely beyond any singing of it.
the road climbs seven miles into them, to a rusted gate that shrieks and squeaks.
beyond this gate is a ranch, and from there, if there is no mist, you look
down on one of the most breathtaking views in the world—
Charleston and the Atlantic Ocean.
the sun was suddenly tired and dipped beneath a thin, dark line.
the sky turned to a light, dusky indigo,
littered with exploding silver stars.
my luggage hung heavy from my shoulder.
the last bend had dug deep into my skin and burnt up my last pack of cigarettes.
so when i finally came to the address,
i almost melted to the ground.
the house was white oak with a thick layer of settled dust,
frayed and flaky edges, blue shutters, a wrap around porch,
and wind chimes, along every post, softly swaying in the wind and playing their sweet songs.
“hello? anyone home?” i yelled to the house.
the house was a tall two-story house with curtains and spider webs peeping through every window.
and at this appointed hour, lights brightened the windows so from far away it looked
like yellow candles on the blue, blended, pencil, horizon.
“HEY ANYBODY HOME?”
i walked around the façade of the house.
there was an old, rugged, blue, pick-up truck parked near the bank of a forest.
from the amount of light emanating from the house, i could make out fresh cigarette butts strewn on the gravel road.
i sighed with tightened frustration.
“/IS ANYBODY HOME?/”
“yeah! just shut up! i’ll be right out!”
for a moment i was shocked,
not at the response,
but at the tone of the response.
it was sharp,
acute,
yes.
but it was also a girl’s.
i rolled my eyes with a soft scoff.
she stepped out and onto the balcony with a
cigarette in hand and a look that glittered with harsh curiosity.
A breeze lifted off the ocean and several hundred notes from the wind chimes roared into life.
a sudden chill ran through my spine,
and through the hollowness of my stomach, excitement buzzed around me.
a prickly, dry, swallow, dragged down my throat.
she had an oval face framed by a halo of soft, wavy, blonde hair.
piercing sea-green eyes drilled into me.
falling in love could be achieved in a single word—
a glance.
i didn’t have the vaguest idea of what to do—i couldn’t keep staring at her forever.
but even that admonition didn’t work.
a faculty advisor reviewing a graduation thesis would have had the perfect comment:
you write well, you argue clearly, but you don’t have anything to say.
i had a weird, hollow feeling inside me. not the bad sort of empty.
it was a sort of lack of sensation,
like being in pain for a long time and then
suddenly realizing that you’re not anymore;
her eyes tightened softly.
like you risked everything to be here with a girl and
then realizing that she was exactly what you wanted.
they blazed like a loud whisper.
being a picture and then finding you were really a puzzle piece,
once you found the piece that was supposed to fit beside you.
and i realized, there was nothing in the world except those eyes.
“it’s actually hilarious how silence is actually something you hear,”
she said. a staggering look half-caught on her face.
she stood completely still as if caught in a pensive mood.
her gaze fixed at my eyes.
she looked like a statue—
frozen, delicate, timeless, immortal.
i wouldn’t mind watching her for the rest of my life.
and then, like she was reading my thoughts,
she tilted her head and took a puff from her cigarette.
her movement was chemical. it was more graceful and fluent and natural and elegant
than anyone i have ever met; everyone seemed pale beside her.
my heart sank into my shoes as i realized how much i wanted her.
no matter what her past was.
“well?” she paused between sentences to give herself a quick puff.
it seemed like even when she wasn’t smoking, she paused anyway,
as if to keep in practice those moments that she is.
“you look like you need a cigarette,” she said with blunt candor.
it took me a few moments before my mind began to process. “sorry.”
another pause.
i watched her. the mesmerizing sensation was beginning to draw me back.
i had to remind myself why i was here and… why i was here.
“i’m looking for a Mr…. Pepper?”
a smile cracked and broke into loud laughter before
she hid behind her fist.
my eyes shifted around nervously.
“he… lives here… right?”
she nodded through the laughter.
“well… can you tell him that Ruby sent me and—”
her laughter quickly faded.
“Ruby sent you?”
i nodded.
“do you know Ruby?”
she paused then took a quick puff.
“yeah, isn’t she the best?”
i nodded with a glazed smile.
a glazed smile that probably made me look like an idiot.
she looked at the ground in contemplation.
“i’m gonna kill her,” she decided with a graceful flourish.
i laughed
like a fool.
her eyes jumped towards me with such a sudden interest,
that i thought i had done something completely taboo.
but then she spoke, in a voice calm and gentle,
and completely absorbing that it was almost
lost in the distant waves and nightfall quiet.
“did she tell you to look for Pepper?”
i nodded with that stupid glazed smile still on my face.
“she has a funny sense of humor doesn’t she? well, /Mr…. Pepper/ isn’t home right now.”
pause. “in fact, i don’t if… /he’ll/ be returning anytime soon.”
my brow furrowed, momentarily baffled.
“well… well… i traveled a long way to see him and—”
“well what do you need?”
she asked, cocking her head as her smile ran away from her lips.
i paused watching her take another puff.
“basically, a place to stay.”
her eyebrows shot up,
then knit in confusion.
“are you in the circus?”
i lit up in pleasant surprise then laughed.
“no, it’s not like that. i’m a writer and i want to write a book.
and i’ve had this idea about it being based in Charleston, so it’s understandable that i need some background in Charleston before i can actually start writing this book… about Charleston.”
she studied me.
it seemed like she was going to break into laughter.
i swallowed hard and my weight shifted nervously.
“i’m sorry if this all seems a little rushed and desperate. it is.”
her mind engaged in rapt contemplation.
time wavered and stretched and shrank.
and then she threw a butt onto the floor,
sighed and said in a voice of casualness,
“you can stay here.”
confusion immediately covered my face.
“w-what?”
a nonchalant shrug popped onto her shoulders.
“unless you don’t want to.”
a stiff, robotic laugh erupted from my mouth.
“i’m not that fickle.”
“then you can stay here.”
i watched her light another cigarette, take a long puff, and couldn’t
help but think how cool and relaxed she looked:
the girl with the cool, relaxed look.
what is pertinent is the calmness of that beauty, its sense of restraint.
“just like that?”
smoke bloomed from her lips.
“/just like that/.”
my brow arched.
“but i thought Mr. Pepper—”
“who’s at the door, Peps?” someone asked, as if on queue.
i stared at her in disbelief.
that stupid smile and that idiot laugh rang in my head.
my face was probably contorted from embarrassment.
a smoke cloud blew into my face and once the picture sharpened,
i saw a mischievous smile playing on her lips.
“you’re… /Mr./ Pepper… and… i’m an idiot.”
i was suddenly glad darkness was beginning to blur sight
and my red, flushed, face.
her head bounced in approval.
“both… are true.”
i laughed and this time, i didn’t feel stupid.
“look, i’m sorry about the whole mistaken identity thing—”
“don’t worry about it,” excused Pepper. “i’ll kill Ruby later.”
i laughed again and Pepper smiled.
it was a light smile,
but from her,
it felt rare.
“why don’t you come on in? you can get the lay of the house,” she proposed.
“wow, i didn’t think i’d get a room this smoothly,” i confessed.
she smiled and motioned to follow her but not before
she threw another cigarette butt into the gravel.
half-way through the door she suddenly stopped and turned around, her smile dropping.
“i know i wear shorts and keep my hair really messy but… do i really look like a boy?”
i laughed and suddenly felt the urge to
take her face and press it against mine.
but she continued inside.
and i contained the urge.
even though my stomach did flips.
“living room, kitchen, family room,”
she said, pointing to each room from the hall.
it was an old house that had dust everywhere.
except on the books.
these books seemed to know travel.
they were stacked under tables, on chairs, in the corners of the rooms.
there where books in the kitchen and books in the lavatory.
books on the TV set and in the closet, small piles of books,
tall piles of books, books thick and thin, books old and new.
they welcomed people in with invitingly opened pages;
they kept boredom at bay when the weather was bad.
and i bet that sometimes you fall over them.
“you have a lovely house.”
my neck craned around the rooms,
cramming textures, carving pictures, memorizing scents.
“it’s not mine,” she snapped.
she examined the room with a look of baneful disdain on her face.
the house was charming,
but it didn’t fit with Pepper.
it was well put together,
sturdy, sculptured, old-fashioned
while she was unruly,
reckless, apathetic, intricate.
the two didn’t fit,
and i’m sure Pepper saw it too.
my eyes fell back onto Pepper.
she was studying me again.
“i’m sorry, i didn’t get your name.”
my stomach lurched.
“Nick. Nick Emerson Dryden.”
her eyes lingered on mine for a moment,
like she was running my name through her mind.
maybe engraving a picture or impression along side a name like
i had done for her.
“Nick,” she said softly,
gently, lightly.
her head nodded delicately,
smoothly, fluently.
and suddenly,
everything went muffled,
Pepper’s lips formed words
but it seemed like time slowed
and the words were somehow lost
in translation and then the only thing
that hammered in my mind was the slamming of my heart and it’s wild beat:
thump thump
thump thump
thump thump thump
thump thump
i saw the slight pulsing in her wrists—
they reflected the beat of her heart, which made sense.
and then i felt as if i was looking into her heart.
it was a beautiful melodious rhythm.
i smiled.
and she smiled back.
but not at me.
“this is my husband, Dean.”
she motioned towards the piano stool.
i suddenly became conscious that some one was looking at me.
i turned half-way round and saw Dean Rowland Seven for the first time.
when our eyes met, i felt that i was growing pale.
a curious sensation of terror came over me.
i knew that i had come face to face with some one whose mere
personality was so fascinating that,
if i allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself.
“your husband?” i asked with a sudden, passionate interest.
Pepper said, “yes.”
she was so casual about the situation.
Dean rose slowly from the piano stool, and fixed those burning, intelligent, blue eyes piercingly and at the same time with unimaginable friendliness upon me.
he grinned, his unruly dirty blonde hair tumbling into his face.
Pepper’s was bright with a smile.
then they looked at each other.
two piercing eyes gazed into two piercing eyes.
and i suddenly felt misplaced.
i was lout compared.
maybe her heart didn’t beat like mine—
maybe it was already in synch with Dean’s.
i bowed my head so our eyes no longer met.
yet, i suddenly felt honored to be in the presence of two extraordinary people like Pepper and Dean Seven.
most people spend their whole lives searching for people so interesting, and exciting, and esoteric as them.
and here i was, suddenly blown into Charleston,
to write, and to live with extraordinary people like Pepper and Dean.
“hi Nick.”
Dean’s voice was a strong, galvanizing, yet tonal, sound.
my eyes wandered up and met his smile with a subtle nod.
“thanks for…” my head strayed around the room. “you know.”
his eyes nodded.
“your room will probably be the spare. it’s down the hall on the right.”
he talks quickly and precisely and with absolute authority,
but there’s an underlying note of destructive, impulsive, risk-taking attitude that’s blanketed.
i was still shocked at how quickly this all happened—
but maybe that was the pace of Pepper and Dean
and i only needed to fully saturate myself
to finally understand the grand scheme of their adventures under the ragged skies.
Dean was the one who broke my drunken admiration with a pat on the back and a long laugh.
Pepper was the one who helped me find my way and carry my extra bag to my new room.
the door creaked and shrieked and above all begged wistfully.
“this is it,” she said,
scanning the room, frowning, but very politely.
my eyes followed her path.
“thank you,” i said, almost inaudibly.
i placed my bag on a couch and she placed my other things beside it.
and pulling out my typewriter from one of my bags,
i decided i was suddenly bitten by the bug.
i was eager to write—
about the beauty, and humor, and smoke, and pauses, and pace, and fascination and moments of honor and laughter, and wanting to write.
after plodding to the door, Pepper sighed.
“i’ll leave you then; it’s getting late.”
her eyes were fixed on my type writer.
“goodnight, Pepper.”
i looked at
her
and thought about how
silly and stupid and maddening it was to want her.
and then
her eyes met mine in a rare moment that only some experience once or twice in their lives,
a rare moment that captures the quality of eternity,
and challenged and conveyed just how still life could be,
and how the whole external world could be concentrated into that rare instant.
“goodnight, Nick,”
and then she peeled away,
and closed the door.
and i swear,
every butterfly in the world migrated to my stomach.
- n. emerson dryden
EMOTIONS
THAT ENDING
GUISE
I JUST LOVE IT OKAY
IT MAKES ME HAVE BUTTERFLIES
AND THIS SET
UGH
PEPPER IS MY INSPIRATION
I HAVE SO MANY SETS FOR HER ITS INSANE
ME I’M INSANE
YAH
PEPPER HAS MADE ME INSANE SHE MAKES ME MAKE SETS THAT SCREAM
I DID NOT JUST MAKE THIS BEAUTIFUL THING STOP LYING
well golly,
CHAPTA TWO IS DONE AND OMG ENCHANTED FITS SO PERFECTLY
now i’ve committed to my story so i’m gonna hafta finish it.
sorry aspen,
you might just have to wait.
i’m determined to finish this baby.
well maybe.
you know me and commitments.
how many times did i try quitting FU, erin?
3? and how long did it take me to come back on my knees?
5, 10 minutes?
sounds right.
BUT GUISE SERIOUSLY I LOVE ROOTS
AND PEPPER AND DEAN AND NICK OKAY
OH AND ALL THE GIRLS EVEN THOUGH NO ONES POSTED YET
I’M SERIOUSLY FINE WITH IT HONEST I AM
chapter 2
//
nick emerson dryden
i first met Pepper in Charleston.
then, i was an aspiring writer trying
to make a mark on this too-big world as
so many of my heroes had. i had no idea how
much pain would go into this mere token of fame.
i had just gotten out of graduate school at Northwestern and moved into an apartment in D.C.
i was probably as fresh eyed and naïve as every other graduate trying to get their name in the New York Times, The Washington Post, or the Wall Street Journal.
i had applied to every classified journalism position in town
and had absolutely no luck.
my friend Ruby told me to look for Pepper in Charleston—
said i’d find what i was looking for.
i wanted to write something interesting,
but real.
something that had been done,
but not told.
something i had no idea what would be about,
but would still write.
and not knowing it at the time,
but it was something that would change my life.
it’s almost painfully cliché how it changed my life because
everything changes your life somehow—
whether it be a meeting… or a book…
or a girl…
but the bottom line,
the point is,
ultimately,
it changes you.
and the most irritating thing about clichés,
are how frequently they are true.
there is a lovely road that runs from a straight, narrow, two-lane highway into the hills.
these hills are grass-covered and rolling, and they are lovely beyond any singing of it.
the road climbs seven miles into them, to a rusted gate that shrieks and squeaks.
beyond this gate is a ranch, and from there, if there is no mist, you look
down on one of the most breathtaking views in the world—
Charleston and the Atlantic Ocean.
the sun was suddenly tired and dipped beneath a thin, dark line.
the sky turned to a light, dusky indigo,
littered with exploding silver stars.
my luggage hung heavy from my shoulder.
the last bend had dug deep into my skin and burnt up my last pack of cigarettes.
so when i finally came to the address,
i almost melted to the ground.
the house was white oak with a thick layer of settled dust,
frayed and flaky edges, blue shutters, a wrap around porch,
and wind chimes, along every post, softly swaying in the wind and playing their sweet songs.
“hello? anyone home?” i yelled to the house.
the house was a tall two-story house with curtains and spider webs peeping through every window.
and at this appointed hour, lights brightened the windows so from far away it looked
like yellow candles on the blue, blended, pencil, horizon.
“HEY ANYBODY HOME?”
i walked around the façade of the house.
there was an old, rugged, blue, pick-up truck parked near the bank of a forest.
from the amount of light emanating from the house, i could make out fresh cigarette butts strewn on the gravel road.
i sighed with tightened frustration.
“/IS ANYBODY HOME?/”
“yeah! just shut up! i’ll be right out!”
for a moment i was shocked,
not at the response,
but at the tone of the response.
it was sharp,
acute,
yes.
but it was also a girl’s.
i rolled my eyes with a soft scoff.
she stepped out and onto the balcony with a
cigarette in hand and a look that glittered with harsh curiosity.
A breeze lifted off the ocean and several hundred notes from the wind chimes roared into life.
a sudden chill ran through my spine,
and through the hollowness of my stomach, excitement buzzed around me.
a prickly, dry, swallow, dragged down my throat.
she had an oval face framed by a halo of soft, wavy, blonde hair.
piercing sea-green eyes drilled into me.
falling in love could be achieved in a single word—
a glance.
i didn’t have the vaguest idea of what to do—i couldn’t keep staring at her forever.
but even that admonition didn’t work.
a faculty advisor reviewing a graduation thesis would have had the perfect comment:
you write well, you argue clearly, but you don’t have anything to say.
i had a weird, hollow feeling inside me. not the bad sort of empty.
it was a sort of lack of sensation,
like being in pain for a long time and then
suddenly realizing that you’re not anymore;
her eyes tightened softly.
like you risked everything to be here with a girl and
then realizing that she was exactly what you wanted.
they blazed like a loud whisper.
being a picture and then finding you were really a puzzle piece,
once you found the piece that was supposed to fit beside you.
and i realized, there was nothing in the world except those eyes.
“it’s actually hilarious how silence is actually something you hear,”
she said. a staggering look half-caught on her face.
she stood completely still as if caught in a pensive mood.
her gaze fixed at my eyes.
she looked like a statue—
frozen, delicate, timeless, immortal.
i wouldn’t mind watching her for the rest of my life.
and then, like she was reading my thoughts,
she tilted her head and took a puff from her cigarette.
her movement was chemical. it was more graceful and fluent and natural and elegant
than anyone i have ever met; everyone seemed pale beside her.
my heart sank into my shoes as i realized how much i wanted her.
no matter what her past was.
“well?” she paused between sentences to give herself a quick puff.
it seemed like even when she wasn’t smoking, she paused anyway,
as if to keep in practice those moments that she is.
“you look like you need a cigarette,” she said with blunt candor.
it took me a few moments before my mind began to process. “sorry.”
another pause.
i watched her. the mesmerizing sensation was beginning to draw me back.
i had to remind myself why i was here and… why i was here.
“i’m looking for a Mr…. Pepper?”
a smile cracked and broke into loud laughter before
she hid behind her fist.
my eyes shifted around nervously.
“he… lives here… right?”
she nodded through the laughter.
“well… can you tell him that Ruby sent me and—”
her laughter quickly faded.
“Ruby sent you?”
i nodded.
“do you know Ruby?”
she paused then took a quick puff.
“yeah, isn’t she the best?”
i nodded with a glazed smile.
a glazed smile that probably made me look like an idiot.
she looked at the ground in contemplation.
“i’m gonna kill her,” she decided with a graceful flourish.
i laughed
like a fool.
her eyes jumped towards me with such a sudden interest,
that i thought i had done something completely taboo.
but then she spoke, in a voice calm and gentle,
and completely absorbing that it was almost
lost in the distant waves and nightfall quiet.
“did she tell you to look for Pepper?”
i nodded with that stupid glazed smile still on my face.
“she has a funny sense of humor doesn’t she? well, /Mr…. Pepper/ isn’t home right now.”
pause. “in fact, i don’t if… /he’ll/ be returning anytime soon.”
my brow furrowed, momentarily baffled.
“well… well… i traveled a long way to see him and—”
“well what do you need?”
she asked, cocking her head as her smile ran away from her lips.
i paused watching her take another puff.
“basically, a place to stay.”
her eyebrows shot up,
then knit in confusion.
“are you in the circus?”
i lit up in pleasant surprise then laughed.
“no, it’s not like that. i’m a writer and i want to write a book.
and i’ve had this idea about it being based in Charleston, so it’s understandable that i need some background in Charleston before i can actually start writing this book… about Charleston.”
she studied me.
it seemed like she was going to break into laughter.
i swallowed hard and my weight shifted nervously.
“i’m sorry if this all seems a little rushed and desperate. it is.”
her mind engaged in rapt contemplation.
time wavered and stretched and shrank.
and then she threw a butt onto the floor,
sighed and said in a voice of casualness,
“you can stay here.”
confusion immediately covered my face.
“w-what?”
a nonchalant shrug popped onto her shoulders.
“unless you don’t want to.”
a stiff, robotic laugh erupted from my mouth.
“i’m not that fickle.”
“then you can stay here.”
i watched her light another cigarette, take a long puff, and couldn’t
help but think how cool and relaxed she looked:
the girl with the cool, relaxed look.
what is pertinent is the calmness of that beauty, its sense of restraint.
“just like that?”
smoke bloomed from her lips.
“/just like that/.”
my brow arched.
“but i thought Mr. Pepper—”
“who’s at the door, Peps?” someone asked, as if on queue.
i stared at her in disbelief.
that stupid smile and that idiot laugh rang in my head.
my face was probably contorted from embarrassment.
a smoke cloud blew into my face and once the picture sharpened,
i saw a mischievous smile playing on her lips.
“you’re… /Mr./ Pepper… and… i’m an idiot.”
i was suddenly glad darkness was beginning to blur sight
and my red, flushed, face.
her head bounced in approval.
“both… are true.”
i laughed and this time, i didn’t feel stupid.
“look, i’m sorry about the whole mistaken identity thing—”
“don’t worry about it,” excused Pepper. “i’ll kill Ruby later.”
i laughed again and Pepper smiled.
it was a light smile,
but from her,
it felt rare.
“why don’t you come on in? you can get the lay of the house,” she proposed.
“wow, i didn’t think i’d get a room this smoothly,” i confessed.
she smiled and motioned to follow her but not before
she threw another cigarette butt into the gravel.
half-way through the door she suddenly stopped and turned around, her smile dropping.
“i know i wear shorts and keep my hair really messy but… do i really look like a boy?”
i laughed and suddenly felt the urge to
take her face and press it against mine.
but she continued inside.
and i contained the urge.
even though my stomach did flips.
“living room, kitchen, family room,”
she said, pointing to each room from the hall.
it was an old house that had dust everywhere.
except on the books.
these books seemed to know travel.
they were stacked under tables, on chairs, in the corners of the rooms.
there where books in the kitchen and books in the lavatory.
books on the TV set and in the closet, small piles of books,
tall piles of books, books thick and thin, books old and new.
they welcomed people in with invitingly opened pages;
they kept boredom at bay when the weather was bad.
and i bet that sometimes you fall over them.
“you have a lovely house.”
my neck craned around the rooms,
cramming textures, carving pictures, memorizing scents.
“it’s not mine,” she snapped.
she examined the room with a look of baneful disdain on her face.
the house was charming,
but it didn’t fit with Pepper.
it was well put together,
sturdy, sculptured, old-fashioned
while she was unruly,
reckless, apathetic, intricate.
the two didn’t fit,
and i’m sure Pepper saw it too.
my eyes fell back onto Pepper.
she was studying me again.
“i’m sorry, i didn’t get your name.”
my stomach lurched.
“Nick. Nick Emerson Dryden.”
her eyes lingered on mine for a moment,
like she was running my name through her mind.
maybe engraving a picture or impression along side a name like
i had done for her.
“Nick,” she said softly,
gently, lightly.
her head nodded delicately,
smoothly, fluently.
and suddenly,
everything went muffled,
Pepper’s lips formed words
but it seemed like time slowed
and the words were somehow lost
in translation and then the only thing
that hammered in my mind was the slamming of my heart and it’s wild beat:
thump thump
thump thump
thump thump thump
thump thump
i saw the slight pulsing in her wrists—
they reflected the beat of her heart, which made sense.
and then i felt as if i was looking into her heart.
it was a beautiful melodious rhythm.
i smiled.
and she smiled back.
but not at me.
“this is my husband, Dean.”
she motioned towards the piano stool.
i suddenly became conscious that some one was looking at me.
i turned half-way round and saw Dean Rowland Seven for the first time.
when our eyes met, i felt that i was growing pale.
a curious sensation of terror came over me.
i knew that i had come face to face with some one whose mere
personality was so fascinating that,
if i allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself.
“your husband?” i asked with a sudden, passionate interest.
Pepper said, “yes.”
she was so casual about the situation.
Dean rose slowly from the piano stool, and fixed those burning, intelligent, blue eyes piercingly and at the same time with unimaginable friendliness upon me.
he grinned, his unruly dirty blonde hair tumbling into his face.
Pepper’s was bright with a smile.
then they looked at each other.
two piercing eyes gazed into two piercing eyes.
and i suddenly felt misplaced.
i was lout compared.
maybe her heart didn’t beat like mine—
maybe it was already in synch with Dean’s.
i bowed my head so our eyes no longer met.
yet, i suddenly felt honored to be in the presence of two extraordinary people like Pepper and Dean Seven.
most people spend their whole lives searching for people so interesting, and exciting, and esoteric as them.
and here i was, suddenly blown into Charleston,
to write, and to live with extraordinary people like Pepper and Dean.
“hi Nick.”
Dean’s voice was a strong, galvanizing, yet tonal, sound.
my eyes wandered up and met his smile with a subtle nod.
“thanks for…” my head strayed around the room. “you know.”
his eyes nodded.
“your room will probably be the spare. it’s down the hall on the right.”
he talks quickly and precisely and with absolute authority,
but there’s an underlying note of destructive, impulsive, risk-taking attitude that’s blanketed.
i was still shocked at how quickly this all happened—
but maybe that was the pace of Pepper and Dean
and i only needed to fully saturate myself
to finally understand the grand scheme of their adventures under the ragged skies.
Dean was the one who broke my drunken admiration with a pat on the back and a long laugh.
Pepper was the one who helped me find my way and carry my extra bag to my new room.
the door creaked and shrieked and above all begged wistfully.
“this is it,” she said,
scanning the room, frowning, but very politely.
my eyes followed her path.
“thank you,” i said, almost inaudibly.
i placed my bag on a couch and she placed my other things beside it.
and pulling out my typewriter from one of my bags,
i decided i was suddenly bitten by the bug.
i was eager to write—
about the beauty, and humor, and smoke, and pauses, and pace, and fascination and moments of honor and laughter, and wanting to write.
after plodding to the door, Pepper sighed.
“i’ll leave you then; it’s getting late.”
her eyes were fixed on my type writer.
“goodnight, Pepper.”
i looked at
her
and thought about how
silly and stupid and maddening it was to want her.
and then
her eyes met mine in a rare moment that only some experience once or twice in their lives,
a rare moment that captures the quality of eternity,
and challenged and conveyed just how still life could be,
and how the whole external world could be concentrated into that rare instant.
“goodnight, Nick,”
and then she peeled away,
and closed the door.
and i swear,
every butterfly in the world migrated to my stomach.
- n. emerson dryden
EMOTIONS
THAT ENDING
GUISE
I JUST LOVE IT OKAY
IT MAKES ME HAVE BUTTERFLIES
AND THIS SET
UGH
PEPPER IS MY INSPIRATION
I HAVE SO MANY SETS FOR HER ITS INSANE
ME I’M INSANE
YAH
PEPPER HAS MADE ME INSANE SHE MAKES ME MAKE SETS THAT SCREAM
I DID NOT JUST MAKE THIS BEAUTIFUL THING STOP LYING
well golly,
CHAPTA TWO IS DONE AND OMG ENCHANTED FITS SO PERFECTLY
now i’ve committed to my story so i’m gonna hafta finish it.
sorry aspen,
you might just have to wait.
i’m determined to finish this baby.
well maybe.
you know me and commitments.
how many times did i try quitting FU, erin?
3? and how long did it take me to come back on my knees?
5, 10 minutes?
sounds right.
BUT GUISE SERIOUSLY I LOVE ROOTS
AND PEPPER AND DEAN AND NICK OKAY
OH AND ALL THE GIRLS EVEN THOUGH NO ONES POSTED YET
I’M SERIOUSLY FINE WITH IT HONEST I AM
10 comments 55 likes
you didn’t think i’d forget your birthday, did you!?!
@molliana
… well you thought wrong cause i sorta did
IN MY DEFENSE THOUGH…
i have a really really really /reaaaaaaaaaaallly/ /REAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLY/
bad memory.
HAPPY (BELATED) BIRTHDAY MOLLY!
i’m so honored to have met you!
you are the nicest person in the world
and i love our conversations; they’re so silly
and fun and serious and make me giggle which means
you have something special cause i never giggle unless i’m
looking at pictures of logan lerman or zefron… them boyz make me giggz.
when we first started talking iwent,
“ew a ging-er.”
then we started talking more and joking around
and now i’m like
FUQYAHGINGERS
even though you have no soul
and are unnatural
it’s okay
i like you anyways
YOU GET MY ATTRACTION TO LOGAN LERMAN
OMG
OH MY GOSH
no one gets it!
if you look at him long enough,
his awkwardness will seduce you.
OH
and i will hook you up with zefron once me and darren get married
so you can shout,
“TAKE MY VIRGINITY ZAC!”
hahahaha
…….. you’re the only girl i know who likes niall…….
FREAK
just kidding
we need more niall’s and miranda’s in the world.
;D
i luhb you you ‘ol red head!
@molliana
… well you thought wrong cause i sorta did
IN MY DEFENSE THOUGH…
i have a really really really /reaaaaaaaaaaallly/ /REAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLY/
bad memory.
HAPPY (BELATED) BIRTHDAY MOLLY!
i’m so honored to have met you!
you are the nicest person in the world
and i love our conversations; they’re so silly
and fun and serious and make me giggle which means
you have something special cause i never giggle unless i’m
looking at pictures of logan lerman or zefron… them boyz make me giggz.
when we first started talking iwent,
“ew a ging-er.”
then we started talking more and joking around
and now i’m like
FUQYAHGINGERS
even though you have no soul
and are unnatural
it’s okay
i like you anyways
YOU GET MY ATTRACTION TO LOGAN LERMAN
OMG
OH MY GOSH
no one gets it!
if you look at him long enough,
his awkwardness will seduce you.
OH
and i will hook you up with zefron once me and darren get married
so you can shout,
“TAKE MY VIRGINITY ZAC!”
hahahaha
…….. you’re the only girl i know who likes niall…….
FREAK
just kidding
we need more niall’s and miranda’s in the world.
;D
i luhb you you ‘ol red head!
5 comments 80 likes
BIRDS
chapter 1
//
the sound of gravel shifting underneath the tires grew
louder and louder.
i knew this sound—
it was all too-familiar.
it was reminiscent of a life i had in Charleston—
but more specifically, a summer i had in Charleston.
the summer was humid and one of those record scorchers
of the century that had weathermen bustling.
through the heat mirages and lazy days,
i still remember the events that transpired.
these memories wash over me with such perfect clarity,
that it’s as if i was still there.
reliving them.
redeeming my past.
because now,
they’re just regrets—
or what people call “memories.”
pepper seven
there’s a straight, narrow, two-lane highway that leads up to my old ranch.
it heads northeast into the highlands, climbing through green hills
that bump against pale blue skies. this goes through small farms
and patches of forests, then breaks over a crest of land and
seems to leap out into space, into a bowl of blue hills,
which is the Atlantic Ocean.
the road descends into Charleston,
cutting across wrinkled knees of bluffs,
until it hits bottom and unravels into the town
dotted with brick buildings and charming boutiques.
this is what i grew up with—
this is what i am coming back to.
the pickup truck smashed through a pall of diesel smoke and bounced as it hit a pothole.
Dean gripped the steering wheel tighter. “they need to fix these da/mn roads,” he said
with a smirk of disapproval. “at least they’re better than they were last time.”
i laughed, clutching the handlebar with a firmer grasp.
i hadn’t been back to Charleston since my mother’s funeral.
that was five long years ago.
the truck roared and accelerated.
we hit another pothole and my head went flying into the roof.
“Dean!” i chastised. “drive a bit slower, please!”
his face crinkled with laughter.
“i thought you liked it when i break new speed records.”
i shook my head with a smile.
“thanks, but i value life.”
“and i don’t?”
“not if you want to burn the rubber off those tires.”
i smiled because i trusted Dean.
he could hold a full coffee cup while driving and never spill a drop,
even going over bumps. but he lost his temper faster than anyone.
i felt his eyes lingering on me for a few seconds before
checking the road then returning to me.
i didn’t realize it, but my face was a contorted mess.
Dean laughed and nudged my knee playfully.
a smile broke onto my face.
rows of identical orange tree went on for days.
my eyes would follow each column as they passed,
repetitively and methodically.
three birds flew over these trees,
soaring and swooping and dipping and diving,
and just sailing in the wind.
and suddenly, the orange trees and the birds were gone and
mansions and houses and farms—
structures of wild grace
—filled my view.
beyond the square of the window i saw a peeling white fence which
was my last memory of Charleston before i left.
i wanted to forget it. so of course every detail was immediately,
irrevocably, branded into my brain.
we stopped right in front of the gate and i saw how badly tattered and torn it was.
“i’ll get it,” i told Dean,
unbuckling my belt and stepping out into the open air.
it was crisp, wispy, and a light breeze brushed across my face.
the rusted lock opened easily.
the gate was smooth, besides a few squeaks and shrieks.
and while i was walking back to the car,
i stopped to watch the sun. my eyes lingered for a while
before blinking away the brightness.
“you miss the west?” Dean asked once i stepped back into my seat.
i nodded silently. “in a few hours the sun will dip and disappear behind the ocean…”
“it’s still the same sun,” he reasoned.
i shook my head.
“but it’s not the same sunset…”
we rolled over the hill
and looked down at my old home.
Dean laughed.
“ah,” he said with dreamy sarcasm.
he stared at me with amused disbelief.
as if he didn’t believe that this house was
where i grew up, what i eventually left—my roots.
“if you look at things from a distance, most anything looks beautiful,”
i told him with a rough sigh.
Dean turned to me with harsh concern.
i supplied a reassuring glance.
the gravel road widened into a large turnaround.
Dean cut the engine and suddenly
the hum of the car became low and distant.
stepping out of the truck, my heart became heavy.
the house looked the same as it always has in my memories:
white oak—although a thick layer of dust had settled and
the edges were slowly become frayed and flaky—with
blue shutters, a wrap around porch, and wind chimes
along every post, softly swaying in the wind and
playing their sweet sirens. it was all the same.
it was still strewn on the boarder of a small patch of trees.
the color of this forest was a silvery green from the olive trees,
yet here and there, a dark-green cedar tree burst through the canopy.
my brow furrowed.
a flood of emotions rushed into me.
pain and anger.
sadness and pity.
but most surprising of all, regret.
i stepped onto the porch and looked around at the wind chimes
and the dust-covered seats.
the wraparound porches were there to hold rainy-day children and morning tea carts and
quiet late-evening conversations, cozy, discreet conversations which could not easily
take place in front rooms or kitchens or bedrooms, certainly not on the street.
the front door creaked as i opened it,
announcing my arrival.
inside the house
i immediately noticed
the deafening silence—
or a tranquil calmness.
i couldn’t decide which.
my shoes left footprints on the floor,
disrupting the dust that slept there—
but other than that, everything was the same.
sunlight peered through windows
or cracks along the roof,
revealing floating dust.
everything was littered, strewn,
powdered, with dust.
framed photos on a bookshelf caught my attention.
i moved closer and picked one up silently.
a small girl with long blonde hair was swinging on a tree-swing,
her face tilted up in delight as it’s feathery leaves brushed across her face.
there was a women pushing her; her face was also lit up in delight,
and frozen leaves framed her blonde hair.
then i realized it, that small girl, with a bright, adventurous, smile, was me.
and the women with her face lit up in delight, was my mother.
but there’s a story behind everything:
how a picture got on a wall or shelf or frame,
or how you became stronger, braver.
sometimes the stories are simple,
and sometimes they’re hard and heartbreaking.
but behind all your stories is always your mother’s story,
because hers is where yours began.
i realized that these were snapshots which people would look at someday with wonder,
thinking i had lived a smooth, well-ordered life and got up in the morning to walk
proudly on the sidewalks of life, never dreaming of raggedy madness and riot
or my actual life, my actual night, the hell of it, the senseless emptiness.
i hadn’t noticed how moist my eyes were,
from old wounds that hadn’t fully healed,
from lost memories, and past regrets.
i hurriedly swiped my eyes and
rallied with a steadying breathe.
a stack of photos were pressed against the corner of the shelf,
they were in jagged shapes and sizes, and in two neat piles.
i reached for both piles, mixing them together.
leafing through it,
i saw pictures of my childhood.
the same unruly blonde hair,
the same petite girl laughing,
the same backdrop—Charleston.
but i also saw pictures of my mother.
shots of the both of us together had been cut,
the parts were neatly trimmed away,
leaving my image behind.
photos of me alone or of mountains and rivers and deer were left intact.
i later found out that three albums rendered into a revised past.
it was as if i’d been alone at birth, alone all my days,
and would continue alone.
i wondered why she kept that one picture of me on the swing and the her pushing me and leaves encasing us like confetti thrown into the sky.
my face began to fume with bitterness.
i heard Dean enter the room,
probably dropping our belongings onto the couch.
i felt him move closer to me.
he peered over my shoulder and the pictures seemed to catch his eye.
“hm,” he said, momentarily fazed.
and it became all too much for my heavy heart.
this wasn’t me.
i was a ghost in my old (own) home.
i was someone else, some stranger,
and my whole life was a haunted life,
the life of a ghost.
i bit my lip, but a few tears ended up streaking my cheeks.
unmoving, Dean watched me,
probably noting that tears were pouring down my face.
he didn’t ask any questions,
he just took me into his arms, held me tightly,
and took my hand between both of his and pressed his lips to it.
i surfaced from my tears grasping for air and roughly wiping my eyes.
my brows knit in confusion. my muscles and voice tensed,
“i’m surprised she didn’t burn them,” i said brokenly.
my face buried itself into Dean’s chest with a scrunched
scowl frozen on my face and dried tears staining my cheeks.
he took the stack of pictures and
placed them faces down.
then with a groan i tore from his chest.
“hey,” he said gently, tightening his hand,
trying to make me stand alone, “it’s okay…”
he stroked my head as i wiped my swollen eyes and
recovered with some steadying breathes.
and that’s when i saw it—:
me
andy
ryann
brady
delilah
standing together with mud strewn on our faces and smiles glowing proudly.
we must’ve been anywhere between 5-10.
i took the picture and smiled.
they say the best friendships shine brightest when we hit our darkest point—
it’s true.
looking at our faces: happiness,
sadness, hammered my heart.
but mostly, it made me miss my friends i hadn’t seen in awhile.
my old anchors.
shakily, i formed the words.
“thank you.”
dusk was setting.
the sun was either above the horizon or below it.
that means day and night are somehow linked.
the only sound i could hear came from inside the house.
and out of the house i step out of its glimmering half-light
into openness and evening quiet. into the wind, the same wind that the clouds feel,
the bright ocean and the swaying fields stand slowly grinding at the sky’s edge.
look—:
the sky, which purer clouds throng,
and under it all white in endless changes,
and over it that huge, thin-spun gray,
pulsing warmly as on red under-paint,
and over everything this silent radiance
of a setting sun.
i walked far down a dirt side road and into a field. the wild, yellow, rattling grass, was
chest high, swaying gently, and rustled as its blades inflicted small paper burns on
my skin as i walked through them. and in that field, when the appointed hour,
minute, and second of the darkness came, i lay myself down on the ground,
surrounded by the tall pithy grain stalks and the faint sound of insects,
and held my breath, there experiencing a mood that i have never been
able to shake completely—a mood of darkness and inevitability
and fascination—a mood that surely must have been held by
most young people since perhaps, the dawn of time, as
they have crooked their necks, stared at the heavens,
watching as their dim purple sky went out.
and then i saw how deeply colored the sky was, how the grass is so sharply fragrant,
how the fields are a dazzling gold, and you have to step back and
breathe in this wild fabulous world.
even as a child, i preferred night to day,
i enjoyed laying out in the fields after sunset,
under the silver-star-speckled sky listening to frogs and crickets.
darkness soothed. it softened the sharp edges of the world,
toned down the too-harsh colors.
with the coming of twilight, the sky seemed to recede; the universe expanded.
the night was bigger than the day, and in its realm,
life seemed to have more possibilities.
the sky is such a beautiful, miraculous structure,
moved within itself and upheld by itself,
shaping figures, giant wings, faults
and high mountain ridges before the first star.
and suddenly, there: a gate into such
distances as perhaps only birds know…
i want to know too.
sincerely,
P. S.
GUIIIIIIIISE,
what did i just write!?!
hahaha
man
can i ramble or what?!?
i’m either a rambling genius
or a rambling idiot
i hope you enjoyed the story
i’ve been feeling kinda deflated lately so
this sorta echoes my emotions
oh
i love pepper so much
i have a slew of plans for her
and an onslaught of sets too.
ILOVEROOTSSOMUCHOMGOMGOMGOMG
I LOVE ROOTS SO MUCH OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH OH MYYYY GOSSSSSH
chapta two sooon! :D
chapter 1
//
the sound of gravel shifting underneath the tires grew
louder and louder.
i knew this sound—
it was all too-familiar.
it was reminiscent of a life i had in Charleston—
but more specifically, a summer i had in Charleston.
the summer was humid and one of those record scorchers
of the century that had weathermen bustling.
through the heat mirages and lazy days,
i still remember the events that transpired.
these memories wash over me with such perfect clarity,
that it’s as if i was still there.
reliving them.
redeeming my past.
because now,
they’re just regrets—
or what people call “memories.”
pepper seven
there’s a straight, narrow, two-lane highway that leads up to my old ranch.
it heads northeast into the highlands, climbing through green hills
that bump against pale blue skies. this goes through small farms
and patches of forests, then breaks over a crest of land and
seems to leap out into space, into a bowl of blue hills,
which is the Atlantic Ocean.
the road descends into Charleston,
cutting across wrinkled knees of bluffs,
until it hits bottom and unravels into the town
dotted with brick buildings and charming boutiques.
this is what i grew up with—
this is what i am coming back to.
the pickup truck smashed through a pall of diesel smoke and bounced as it hit a pothole.
Dean gripped the steering wheel tighter. “they need to fix these da/mn roads,” he said
with a smirk of disapproval. “at least they’re better than they were last time.”
i laughed, clutching the handlebar with a firmer grasp.
i hadn’t been back to Charleston since my mother’s funeral.
that was five long years ago.
the truck roared and accelerated.
we hit another pothole and my head went flying into the roof.
“Dean!” i chastised. “drive a bit slower, please!”
his face crinkled with laughter.
“i thought you liked it when i break new speed records.”
i shook my head with a smile.
“thanks, but i value life.”
“and i don’t?”
“not if you want to burn the rubber off those tires.”
i smiled because i trusted Dean.
he could hold a full coffee cup while driving and never spill a drop,
even going over bumps. but he lost his temper faster than anyone.
i felt his eyes lingering on me for a few seconds before
checking the road then returning to me.
i didn’t realize it, but my face was a contorted mess.
Dean laughed and nudged my knee playfully.
a smile broke onto my face.
rows of identical orange tree went on for days.
my eyes would follow each column as they passed,
repetitively and methodically.
three birds flew over these trees,
soaring and swooping and dipping and diving,
and just sailing in the wind.
and suddenly, the orange trees and the birds were gone and
mansions and houses and farms—
structures of wild grace
—filled my view.
beyond the square of the window i saw a peeling white fence which
was my last memory of Charleston before i left.
i wanted to forget it. so of course every detail was immediately,
irrevocably, branded into my brain.
we stopped right in front of the gate and i saw how badly tattered and torn it was.
“i’ll get it,” i told Dean,
unbuckling my belt and stepping out into the open air.
it was crisp, wispy, and a light breeze brushed across my face.
the rusted lock opened easily.
the gate was smooth, besides a few squeaks and shrieks.
and while i was walking back to the car,
i stopped to watch the sun. my eyes lingered for a while
before blinking away the brightness.
“you miss the west?” Dean asked once i stepped back into my seat.
i nodded silently. “in a few hours the sun will dip and disappear behind the ocean…”
“it’s still the same sun,” he reasoned.
i shook my head.
“but it’s not the same sunset…”
we rolled over the hill
and looked down at my old home.
Dean laughed.
“ah,” he said with dreamy sarcasm.
he stared at me with amused disbelief.
as if he didn’t believe that this house was
where i grew up, what i eventually left—my roots.
“if you look at things from a distance, most anything looks beautiful,”
i told him with a rough sigh.
Dean turned to me with harsh concern.
i supplied a reassuring glance.
the gravel road widened into a large turnaround.
Dean cut the engine and suddenly
the hum of the car became low and distant.
stepping out of the truck, my heart became heavy.
the house looked the same as it always has in my memories:
white oak—although a thick layer of dust had settled and
the edges were slowly become frayed and flaky—with
blue shutters, a wrap around porch, and wind chimes
along every post, softly swaying in the wind and
playing their sweet sirens. it was all the same.
it was still strewn on the boarder of a small patch of trees.
the color of this forest was a silvery green from the olive trees,
yet here and there, a dark-green cedar tree burst through the canopy.
my brow furrowed.
a flood of emotions rushed into me.
pain and anger.
sadness and pity.
but most surprising of all, regret.
i stepped onto the porch and looked around at the wind chimes
and the dust-covered seats.
the wraparound porches were there to hold rainy-day children and morning tea carts and
quiet late-evening conversations, cozy, discreet conversations which could not easily
take place in front rooms or kitchens or bedrooms, certainly not on the street.
the front door creaked as i opened it,
announcing my arrival.
inside the house
i immediately noticed
the deafening silence—
or a tranquil calmness.
i couldn’t decide which.
my shoes left footprints on the floor,
disrupting the dust that slept there—
but other than that, everything was the same.
sunlight peered through windows
or cracks along the roof,
revealing floating dust.
everything was littered, strewn,
powdered, with dust.
framed photos on a bookshelf caught my attention.
i moved closer and picked one up silently.
a small girl with long blonde hair was swinging on a tree-swing,
her face tilted up in delight as it’s feathery leaves brushed across her face.
there was a women pushing her; her face was also lit up in delight,
and frozen leaves framed her blonde hair.
then i realized it, that small girl, with a bright, adventurous, smile, was me.
and the women with her face lit up in delight, was my mother.
but there’s a story behind everything:
how a picture got on a wall or shelf or frame,
or how you became stronger, braver.
sometimes the stories are simple,
and sometimes they’re hard and heartbreaking.
but behind all your stories is always your mother’s story,
because hers is where yours began.
i realized that these were snapshots which people would look at someday with wonder,
thinking i had lived a smooth, well-ordered life and got up in the morning to walk
proudly on the sidewalks of life, never dreaming of raggedy madness and riot
or my actual life, my actual night, the hell of it, the senseless emptiness.
i hadn’t noticed how moist my eyes were,
from old wounds that hadn’t fully healed,
from lost memories, and past regrets.
i hurriedly swiped my eyes and
rallied with a steadying breathe.
a stack of photos were pressed against the corner of the shelf,
they were in jagged shapes and sizes, and in two neat piles.
i reached for both piles, mixing them together.
leafing through it,
i saw pictures of my childhood.
the same unruly blonde hair,
the same petite girl laughing,
the same backdrop—Charleston.
but i also saw pictures of my mother.
shots of the both of us together had been cut,
the parts were neatly trimmed away,
leaving my image behind.
photos of me alone or of mountains and rivers and deer were left intact.
i later found out that three albums rendered into a revised past.
it was as if i’d been alone at birth, alone all my days,
and would continue alone.
i wondered why she kept that one picture of me on the swing and the her pushing me and leaves encasing us like confetti thrown into the sky.
my face began to fume with bitterness.
i heard Dean enter the room,
probably dropping our belongings onto the couch.
i felt him move closer to me.
he peered over my shoulder and the pictures seemed to catch his eye.
“hm,” he said, momentarily fazed.
and it became all too much for my heavy heart.
this wasn’t me.
i was a ghost in my old (own) home.
i was someone else, some stranger,
and my whole life was a haunted life,
the life of a ghost.
i bit my lip, but a few tears ended up streaking my cheeks.
unmoving, Dean watched me,
probably noting that tears were pouring down my face.
he didn’t ask any questions,
he just took me into his arms, held me tightly,
and took my hand between both of his and pressed his lips to it.
i surfaced from my tears grasping for air and roughly wiping my eyes.
my brows knit in confusion. my muscles and voice tensed,
“i’m surprised she didn’t burn them,” i said brokenly.
my face buried itself into Dean’s chest with a scrunched
scowl frozen on my face and dried tears staining my cheeks.
he took the stack of pictures and
placed them faces down.
then with a groan i tore from his chest.
“hey,” he said gently, tightening his hand,
trying to make me stand alone, “it’s okay…”
he stroked my head as i wiped my swollen eyes and
recovered with some steadying breathes.
and that’s when i saw it—:
me
andy
ryann
brady
delilah
standing together with mud strewn on our faces and smiles glowing proudly.
we must’ve been anywhere between 5-10.
i took the picture and smiled.
they say the best friendships shine brightest when we hit our darkest point—
it’s true.
looking at our faces: happiness,
sadness, hammered my heart.
but mostly, it made me miss my friends i hadn’t seen in awhile.
my old anchors.
shakily, i formed the words.
“thank you.”
dusk was setting.
the sun was either above the horizon or below it.
that means day and night are somehow linked.
the only sound i could hear came from inside the house.
and out of the house i step out of its glimmering half-light
into openness and evening quiet. into the wind, the same wind that the clouds feel,
the bright ocean and the swaying fields stand slowly grinding at the sky’s edge.
look—:
the sky, which purer clouds throng,
and under it all white in endless changes,
and over it that huge, thin-spun gray,
pulsing warmly as on red under-paint,
and over everything this silent radiance
of a setting sun.
i walked far down a dirt side road and into a field. the wild, yellow, rattling grass, was
chest high, swaying gently, and rustled as its blades inflicted small paper burns on
my skin as i walked through them. and in that field, when the appointed hour,
minute, and second of the darkness came, i lay myself down on the ground,
surrounded by the tall pithy grain stalks and the faint sound of insects,
and held my breath, there experiencing a mood that i have never been
able to shake completely—a mood of darkness and inevitability
and fascination—a mood that surely must have been held by
most young people since perhaps, the dawn of time, as
they have crooked their necks, stared at the heavens,
watching as their dim purple sky went out.
and then i saw how deeply colored the sky was, how the grass is so sharply fragrant,
how the fields are a dazzling gold, and you have to step back and
breathe in this wild fabulous world.
even as a child, i preferred night to day,
i enjoyed laying out in the fields after sunset,
under the silver-star-speckled sky listening to frogs and crickets.
darkness soothed. it softened the sharp edges of the world,
toned down the too-harsh colors.
with the coming of twilight, the sky seemed to recede; the universe expanded.
the night was bigger than the day, and in its realm,
life seemed to have more possibilities.
the sky is such a beautiful, miraculous structure,
moved within itself and upheld by itself,
shaping figures, giant wings, faults
and high mountain ridges before the first star.
and suddenly, there: a gate into such
distances as perhaps only birds know…
i want to know too.
sincerely,
P. S.
GUIIIIIIIISE,
what did i just write!?!
hahaha
man
can i ramble or what?!?
i’m either a rambling genius
or a rambling idiot
i hope you enjoyed the story
i’ve been feeling kinda deflated lately so
this sorta echoes my emotions
oh
i love pepper so much
i have a slew of plans for her
and an onslaught of sets too.
ILOVEROOTSSOMUCHOMGOMGOMGOMG
I LOVE ROOTS SO MUCH OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH OH MYYYY GOSSSSSH
chapta two sooon! :D
9 comments 59 likes
you have no idea how hard this was to do.
i spent at least an hour analyzing people's personalities.
it was all worth it though, i really like the setup for this table...
probably because i get to sit next to darren and stanley and across from RDJ (who's sitting next to NPH hehe)
i spent at least an hour analyzing people's personalities.
it was all worth it though, i really like the setup for this table...
probably because i get to sit next to darren and stanley and across from RDJ (who's sitting next to NPH hehe)
5 comments 20 likes
my baby aspen is graduating [‘:
and look! she’s wearing all chanel whilst doing it!
and look! another 50 items exactly set!
and look! this story is peerlessly late!
and look! i love this story because i listened
to “shake it out” by florence + the machine
while writing it and it fits so perfectly it hurts
and it makes me cry and go
FEELINGS
//
aspen blair chanel > > > FU
sunday, june tenth.
mood: anxious, nervous, scared.
style: school spirit, clad in school colors (and chanel).
hair: like doll’s.
with: graduating class of 2012.
venue: // tenth. – graduation.
//
the families of graduating seniors emptied out of cars,
sheepish in uncommon splendor,
like milling clans at the origin of a parade.
there is something spent about the families of teenagers;
perhaps we need to tire and differentiate, leave and adapt.
the highschool students, though, all seemed quite excited to be here,
like they were finally getting a glimpse of this magical new world they assumed was adulthood.
as if adults regularly got together in football fields, all dressed up in caps and gowns.
on such a liberating, important day in my teenage years,
i suddenly felt very choked.
my robe felt heavy,
as if it were chains;
i was clad in chains
a curtain of chains.
and yet i stood in a gathered circle,
my head raised high,
with the people i have grown to love.
“we’re graduating…” i murmured under my breathe.
Darcy gave a squeal as a response.
“/we’re graduating…/” i told myself,
as if it just hit me.
i adjusted my cap,
which had constantly
wanted to fall of my head
since the moment i put it on at home.
i took it as the universe sending me strong signs of disapproval.
“yeah, isn’t it great?” asked Darcy,
she showcased her gown and honor stole.
i tried smiling,
but it just didn’t fit,
which made me frustrated,
but most of all, scared.
i tried not to show it,
but i had been plagued with anxiety.
this day—wasn’t it suppose to define our adulthood?
this day—wasn’t it suppose to be the highlight of our adolescence?
this day—wasn’t this day the day we spend four long years working for?
everywhere my eyes landed,
i saw people with wide smiles.
i tried to blend in,
but my smiles weren’t genuine.
they were stiff,
apathetic, shattered, and
would quickly fade from my lips.
especially when another graduate passed me.
Darcy tapped me on the shoulder.
“hey, you okay?”
“yeah… i just…” i drifted off. “i’ll be right back.”
i stalked up the sidewalk.
and my mind drifted backwards.
and my heart became still; very still.
in a place far away from anyone or anywhere,
i closed my eyes and drifted into the black,
and it got brighter and brighter. it wasn’t black at all—it was red.
warm, vibrant, brilliant red… i floated into the red benediction.
but through the haze i heard a familiar voice.
“Robert,” i chirped.
it was nice to see a familiar face in
the sea of strangers.
“you came…” i sounded surprised, but i was anticipating this moment.
my cap slowly inched off my head,
making me stop to straighten it.
it made me irritated.
“i wouldn’t miss my oldest friend’s graduation.”
i stayed silent.
right.
we’re
friends.
“are you excited?” he asked with a supple smile.
my eyes dropped.
my breathe became silent.
my teeth found my bottom lip.
“to be honest, more scared than excited.”
i could tell from the “hm” that escaped his mouth that
he went through this before and was genuinely concerned.
i peered up,
finding Robert’s eyes glued to the ground,
like he was lost in deep thought.
“i’m going to new york this september,”
i said, the words flowing out louder than expected.
his eyes flew up to mine. i
caught the small sliver of
surprise trapped in his eyes.
but he stayed solemn, silent.
then his eyes met mine.
they were the same gentle,
calm, easy, delicate, eyes that
i recognized from my childhood.
“you’ll do great things in new york,” he said with a smile.
my lips curled slightly, but not enough to make a smile.
“were you scared for your graduation?” i asked him.
he laughed.
“i was more concerned with keeping my cap on my head.”
Robert’s eyes were glazed, in a way,
and he took off my graduation cap and laughed,
and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear,
and placed the cap back on,
and smiled at me;
a smile i haven’t seen for awhile.
i chuckled softly.
“i hear superglue is a good remedy.”
“who do you think thought of it?”
he quipped, pointing to himself.
my eyes trailed to my heels after a light laugh. and the moment faded.
“i just wish i felt ready, or sure, or prepared.”
the smile ran away from his face and his voice tightened.
“that’s life, aspen, you’re never ready, or sure, or prepared for it.”
“but what if i make a mistake?” i asked.
Robert threw back his head and laughed.
“a mistake? one mistake? then you’re really lucky.
you’ll make dozens! i made four or five on my first day alone!
of course you’ll make mistakes. just don't make any of them twice.
if you do mess things up, don’t try to hide it. don’t try to rationalize it.
recognize it and admit it and learn from it.
we never stop learning, none of us.”
Robert’s eyes glittered with harsh concern.
“adulthood isn't black and white—it’s a thousand shades of grey. or taupe. or hot pink. it’s not where you are, it’s who you are.
so i’ll be there watching your brilliant, beautiful life unfold.”
i looked at my oldest, dearest friend,
and finally felt happy that he was
here, and we were friends.
because maybe being an adult wasn’t crossing some arbitrary age line into wisdom.
maybe it was like anything else—training wheels and mistakes, trial and error,
and now and again that feeling that you might have wings.
there was an ocean of blue caps and gowns surrounding me.
anxiety littered the air, but it was mixed with excitement.
i reached up to wipe the tears that i hadn’t noticed.
because everything i knew
was going to change.
but maybe this time,
i didn’t have to be scared.
i repeated the words Robert had told me:
we never stop learning—
none of us.
and a renewed confidence washed over me.
Darcy stood beside me,
her eyes were invested on the dean,
their glittering admiration sparkled with
the tears that were now pooling in her eyes.
i gave her hand a squeeze and her breathes turned even, calm.
she didn’t say anything. she just squeezed back tightly.
and that was enough.
then, with an extended, falling glissando of relief, i took a deep breathe,
my smile slowly becoming genuine.
“this is our moment.”
and suddenly the dean was saying goodbye.
and suddenly the class of 2012 was holding hands.
and suddenly a million flat hats were soaring into the sky,
disappearing into the atmosphere as they turned the color of the clouds.
i started to laugh.
i laughed for the four years,
i laughed for my freedom,
i laughed for my future,
i laughed for fun.
tipping my head back to the jagged, fringes of the sky.
i said nothing, but simply stared upward, floating,
watching, with bittersweet eyes, the
slow dance of our flat caps.
and suddenly i was no longer a high school student.
snapshots, moments, mere seconds:
as fragile and beautiful and hopeless as a
single butterfly, flapping on against a gathering wind.
“I’VE GRADUATED!” i screamed running down the lawn,
waving my diploma madly in the air.
Robert came charging toward me with unmatched excitement.
“HAPPINESS!”
i lit up and laughed.
there was a fresh, cool wave of
relief that washed over me as
i ran into Robert’s arms.
and when he lifted me into his arms
and spun me around,
my heart lost my breathe,
leaving it suspended in my throat.
it was like a million butterflies were flapping and fluttering and caught in my lungs,
trapping the words with their wings.
a camera would’ve missed it—
a magnificent picture worth it’s thousand perfect words:
me and Robert.
you should always take a picture, if not with a camera, then with your mind.
memories you capture on purpose are always more vivid than the ones you pick up by accident.
and when i finally caught my breathe,
Robert placed me down, and respired deeply.
“you did it,” he told me.
i nodded into his chest.
even if Robert wasn’t always with me on my journey in highschool,
it was understood that i wouldn’t be who i am today without him.
he changed me, made me a better person, the person i never
knew i could be, a person /i/ could rely on; be proud of.
a butterfly rolled out of my mouth
and released the words,
“thank you.”
there was a jolt of happiness that ran through my body
and something went boom in my stomach,
making me lurch forward even
though i had let go.
“ROBERT!”
a head of ringlets came bounding in, camera in hand,
squeezing her McQueen-blonde locks between
our bodies for a quick snapshot.
the picture probably looked like a modern Picasso.
“oh my gosh i can’t believe you’re here!” Darcy chirped,
turning to give Robert a big hug. “you have no idea how good it is to see you!”
he laughed and hugged her back tightly.
“you too! and i can’t believe you’ve graduated, you old giraffe!”
she grinned and displayed her diploma proudly.
he scanned it quickly. “you survived!”
“WE SURVIVED!” i shouted, falling over Darcy.
“and it only took a sh/it load of all-nighters, advil, and anxiety!”
countered Darcy.
“BUT IT WAS TOTALLY WORTH IT!” i howled as
Darcy and i raised our diplomas into the air.
she squealed and began to take pictures with the two of us.
silly pictures with exaggerated, childish, and whimsical poses.
every now and then i’d burst into laughter,
or Darcy would erupt into a flurry of giggles,
or Robert would tip his head to the sky in hysterics,
and then the three of us would find tears streaming down our eyes.
tears of laughter,
tears of joy.
because this was the day reserved for tears.
as i caught my breathe, i watched Darcy and Robert continue their silliness.
my head cocked,
my smile ran away,
and i just stared at Robert.
because it seemed like nothing had changed.
only, there was a two-year gap between us.
something fluttered and twisted.
at that moment, a strange sensation engulfed me;
i felt restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, redeemed.
everyone had somewhere to go,
some thing to attend,
some place to be.
except me and Zac.
we took his old convertible and parked on top of a hill.
it was our safe place,
our safe haven.
even the dreaded future couldn’t touch us,
we were shielded in possibility.
we sat on the hood of Zac’s car, on
the hill where seniors used to tell
us they could do things better
than us and then laughed.
we
were
talking,
joking around,
but most importantly,
just remembering;
the times that make you go “ahhhhhh”,
the times that make you wish they never passed,
the times that make you nod your head because those
were so fleeting, and so precious, that all you could do now is remember.
there was a comfortable silence that ensued.
because words would spoil the memories,
and all we’d be left with were two
people who couldn’t remember.
“aspen blair chanel,” he said my name like an incantation.
i laughed. “what do you want?”
“i just haven’t said your full name in a while,”
Zac trilled in a plummy tone.
i laughed and punched his arm playfully.
he seemed to flinch.
he glared at me
and i stared at him.
“why do you keep staring at me like i’ve killed your goldfish?”
he simply laughed.
“do you feel any different now that you’ve graduated?” i asked.
he stiffened like
i had struck a
sour note.
“yeah.”
i was ready to leave it at that,
but then he continued,
“i feel like i have expectations to live up to now,” he said. “so now, every time i think i’m getting smarter i realize that i’ve just done something stupid.”
my face scrunched in agreement.
“dad says there are three kinds of people in the world:
those who don’t know, and don’t know they don’t know;
those who don’t know and do know they don’t know;
and those who know and know how much they still don’t know.”
Zac’s face contorted in confusion.
“heavy stuff, i know. but i think i’ve finally graduated from the don’t-knows that don’t know to the don’t-knows that do.”
“yeah, totally, me too,” he said monotonously.
i turned to him and punched his arm. “you ruined the moment dou/chebag!”
he laughed, deep and throaty. “be a lady, kitty-cat!”
i whipped around. “don’t ever call me that,” i snapped.
“it’s better than calling someone a dou/chebag, isn’t it?” he replied smugly.
“you know, you’re right. how wrong of me to call you a dou/chebag. because a dou/chebag is too nice of a word for you,” i said, smiling sweetly. “you’re a di/ckhead.”
“a di/ckhead?” he repeated. “how charming.”
his voice, the very sound of rolling eyes.
“aw c’mon, Zac. /laugh, it’s funny/.”
he teasingly pushed my head away with a defeated grin.
i laughed before flipping Zac off.
“what do you think the future has for us?” i asked.
there were a few moments of silence.
i could tell he was thinking because when he answered,
the playfulness had left his voice.
“Asp, i think i’ve finally graduated from the don’t-knows that don’t know to
the don’t-knows that do.” he said with a fleeting, fearful whisper.
there was a sharp twinge of disappointment in his tone. “but
i felt like once we’d graduated, we would know.” he
held out his arms to showoff his blue robe.
“that’s just another part of life, Zac. on
the flip side of everything we think we absolutely
have pegged, lurks an equal amount of the unknown.
understanding is but the sum of our misunderstandings.”
i turned to him and smiled. he held his hands in mine tightly.
“it’s dumb, actually. how they throw us out in deep water,
and expect us to learn to swim. to float or sink.”
his voice struck bitterness.
“you have to accept that sometimes that’s how things happen in this world.
people’s opinions, their feelings, they go one way, then the other.
it just so happens you grew up at a certain point in this process.”
somewhere within the last 30 seconds,
i felt stronger, calmer, and wiser—
somewhere within the last 30 seconds,
i grew up.
he was quiet again—
racking his brain.
“and i know you’re scared. i am too.
i think we all are. but you can’t live in fear.”
he gazed at me skeptically, like i was either saying something
profound, or absolutely crazy.
i clasped his hand tighter, suddenly feeling excited and sure.
“this is the magnificent world of a picaresque novel.
just brace yourself and enjoy the smell of it.
we’re shooting those da/mn rapids.
and if you go over the falls,
do it in a grand style.”
silence fell on us again, but then he
turned to me with beaming, booming, eyes.
“trust me when i say—
there are great things coming for you, Asp.
and if you want them, you’ve got to move down the sidewalk of life.”
my eyes filled.
“promise me you’ll come with me.”
“i never left your side, if you think about it.”
he smiled.
and i smiled back.
that’s when i saw it, behind him.
the flowers.
pink roses.
“i was gonna give these to my mom,” he said,
handing me the flowers. “you know, for giving me life and sh/it like that,”
i smiled again
and laughed.
“but you can have them before i accidentally sit on them.”
i took the flowers.
“pink roses signify friendship,”
i said, digging my nose into the bouquet.
his eyes shifted around. “okay… that was a random fact…”
the playfulness reentered our atmosphere.
we lay on our backs on the hood of Zac’s car parked on top of a hill,
watching the sky and making a list called “never.”
all the things we would never do:
let’s never get married.
let’s never get fat.
let’s never stop being sarcastic.
let’s never get dull-eyed and ironic.
let’s never get stuck in a rut—or trapped in a life we didn’t choose.
let’s never grow bitter.
let’s never forget.
we were both rather precocious, and like many precocious young people
we found it hard to grow up.
there was a time we laughed at the old guys up on the hill.
the ones who graduated a couple of years before us,
and who hung around the school and the ballpark,
and would sit on the hoods of their cars and tell
us how when they were seniors they did it
better, faster, and further. we’d laugh,
because we were still doing it,
and all they could do was talk.
if our goals were not met,
there was next year,
but it never occurred to us that one day there would not be a next year, and that
the guys sitting on the hoods of their cars at the top of the hill, wishing
they could have one more year, willing to settle for one last game,
could one day be us.
but for one moment in this magnificent, ambiguous, picaresque novel,
we are not failed tests and broken condoms and cheating on essays;
we are crayons and lunch boxes and swinging so high
our sneakers punch holes in the clouds.
and everything feels better.
> > > aspen.
and look! she’s wearing all chanel whilst doing it!
and look! another 50 items exactly set!
and look! this story is peerlessly late!
and look! i love this story because i listened
to “shake it out” by florence + the machine
while writing it and it fits so perfectly it hurts
and it makes me cry and go
FEELINGS
//
aspen blair chanel > > > FU
sunday, june tenth.
mood: anxious, nervous, scared.
style: school spirit, clad in school colors (and chanel).
hair: like doll’s.
with: graduating class of 2012.
venue: // tenth. – graduation.
//
the families of graduating seniors emptied out of cars,
sheepish in uncommon splendor,
like milling clans at the origin of a parade.
there is something spent about the families of teenagers;
perhaps we need to tire and differentiate, leave and adapt.
the highschool students, though, all seemed quite excited to be here,
like they were finally getting a glimpse of this magical new world they assumed was adulthood.
as if adults regularly got together in football fields, all dressed up in caps and gowns.
on such a liberating, important day in my teenage years,
i suddenly felt very choked.
my robe felt heavy,
as if it were chains;
i was clad in chains
a curtain of chains.
and yet i stood in a gathered circle,
my head raised high,
with the people i have grown to love.
“we’re graduating…” i murmured under my breathe.
Darcy gave a squeal as a response.
“/we’re graduating…/” i told myself,
as if it just hit me.
i adjusted my cap,
which had constantly
wanted to fall of my head
since the moment i put it on at home.
i took it as the universe sending me strong signs of disapproval.
“yeah, isn’t it great?” asked Darcy,
she showcased her gown and honor stole.
i tried smiling,
but it just didn’t fit,
which made me frustrated,
but most of all, scared.
i tried not to show it,
but i had been plagued with anxiety.
this day—wasn’t it suppose to define our adulthood?
this day—wasn’t it suppose to be the highlight of our adolescence?
this day—wasn’t this day the day we spend four long years working for?
everywhere my eyes landed,
i saw people with wide smiles.
i tried to blend in,
but my smiles weren’t genuine.
they were stiff,
apathetic, shattered, and
would quickly fade from my lips.
especially when another graduate passed me.
Darcy tapped me on the shoulder.
“hey, you okay?”
“yeah… i just…” i drifted off. “i’ll be right back.”
i stalked up the sidewalk.
and my mind drifted backwards.
and my heart became still; very still.
in a place far away from anyone or anywhere,
i closed my eyes and drifted into the black,
and it got brighter and brighter. it wasn’t black at all—it was red.
warm, vibrant, brilliant red… i floated into the red benediction.
but through the haze i heard a familiar voice.
“Robert,” i chirped.
it was nice to see a familiar face in
the sea of strangers.
“you came…” i sounded surprised, but i was anticipating this moment.
my cap slowly inched off my head,
making me stop to straighten it.
it made me irritated.
“i wouldn’t miss my oldest friend’s graduation.”
i stayed silent.
right.
we’re
friends.
“are you excited?” he asked with a supple smile.
my eyes dropped.
my breathe became silent.
my teeth found my bottom lip.
“to be honest, more scared than excited.”
i could tell from the “hm” that escaped his mouth that
he went through this before and was genuinely concerned.
i peered up,
finding Robert’s eyes glued to the ground,
like he was lost in deep thought.
“i’m going to new york this september,”
i said, the words flowing out louder than expected.
his eyes flew up to mine. i
caught the small sliver of
surprise trapped in his eyes.
but he stayed solemn, silent.
then his eyes met mine.
they were the same gentle,
calm, easy, delicate, eyes that
i recognized from my childhood.
“you’ll do great things in new york,” he said with a smile.
my lips curled slightly, but not enough to make a smile.
“were you scared for your graduation?” i asked him.
he laughed.
“i was more concerned with keeping my cap on my head.”
Robert’s eyes were glazed, in a way,
and he took off my graduation cap and laughed,
and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear,
and placed the cap back on,
and smiled at me;
a smile i haven’t seen for awhile.
i chuckled softly.
“i hear superglue is a good remedy.”
“who do you think thought of it?”
he quipped, pointing to himself.
my eyes trailed to my heels after a light laugh. and the moment faded.
“i just wish i felt ready, or sure, or prepared.”
the smile ran away from his face and his voice tightened.
“that’s life, aspen, you’re never ready, or sure, or prepared for it.”
“but what if i make a mistake?” i asked.
Robert threw back his head and laughed.
“a mistake? one mistake? then you’re really lucky.
you’ll make dozens! i made four or five on my first day alone!
of course you’ll make mistakes. just don't make any of them twice.
if you do mess things up, don’t try to hide it. don’t try to rationalize it.
recognize it and admit it and learn from it.
we never stop learning, none of us.”
Robert’s eyes glittered with harsh concern.
“adulthood isn't black and white—it’s a thousand shades of grey. or taupe. or hot pink. it’s not where you are, it’s who you are.
so i’ll be there watching your brilliant, beautiful life unfold.”
i looked at my oldest, dearest friend,
and finally felt happy that he was
here, and we were friends.
because maybe being an adult wasn’t crossing some arbitrary age line into wisdom.
maybe it was like anything else—training wheels and mistakes, trial and error,
and now and again that feeling that you might have wings.
there was an ocean of blue caps and gowns surrounding me.
anxiety littered the air, but it was mixed with excitement.
i reached up to wipe the tears that i hadn’t noticed.
because everything i knew
was going to change.
but maybe this time,
i didn’t have to be scared.
i repeated the words Robert had told me:
we never stop learning—
none of us.
and a renewed confidence washed over me.
Darcy stood beside me,
her eyes were invested on the dean,
their glittering admiration sparkled with
the tears that were now pooling in her eyes.
i gave her hand a squeeze and her breathes turned even, calm.
she didn’t say anything. she just squeezed back tightly.
and that was enough.
then, with an extended, falling glissando of relief, i took a deep breathe,
my smile slowly becoming genuine.
“this is our moment.”
and suddenly the dean was saying goodbye.
and suddenly the class of 2012 was holding hands.
and suddenly a million flat hats were soaring into the sky,
disappearing into the atmosphere as they turned the color of the clouds.
i started to laugh.
i laughed for the four years,
i laughed for my freedom,
i laughed for my future,
i laughed for fun.
tipping my head back to the jagged, fringes of the sky.
i said nothing, but simply stared upward, floating,
watching, with bittersweet eyes, the
slow dance of our flat caps.
and suddenly i was no longer a high school student.
snapshots, moments, mere seconds:
as fragile and beautiful and hopeless as a
single butterfly, flapping on against a gathering wind.
“I’VE GRADUATED!” i screamed running down the lawn,
waving my diploma madly in the air.
Robert came charging toward me with unmatched excitement.
“HAPPINESS!”
i lit up and laughed.
there was a fresh, cool wave of
relief that washed over me as
i ran into Robert’s arms.
and when he lifted me into his arms
and spun me around,
my heart lost my breathe,
leaving it suspended in my throat.
it was like a million butterflies were flapping and fluttering and caught in my lungs,
trapping the words with their wings.
a camera would’ve missed it—
a magnificent picture worth it’s thousand perfect words:
me and Robert.
you should always take a picture, if not with a camera, then with your mind.
memories you capture on purpose are always more vivid than the ones you pick up by accident.
and when i finally caught my breathe,
Robert placed me down, and respired deeply.
“you did it,” he told me.
i nodded into his chest.
even if Robert wasn’t always with me on my journey in highschool,
it was understood that i wouldn’t be who i am today without him.
he changed me, made me a better person, the person i never
knew i could be, a person /i/ could rely on; be proud of.
a butterfly rolled out of my mouth
and released the words,
“thank you.”
there was a jolt of happiness that ran through my body
and something went boom in my stomach,
making me lurch forward even
though i had let go.
“ROBERT!”
a head of ringlets came bounding in, camera in hand,
squeezing her McQueen-blonde locks between
our bodies for a quick snapshot.
the picture probably looked like a modern Picasso.
“oh my gosh i can’t believe you’re here!” Darcy chirped,
turning to give Robert a big hug. “you have no idea how good it is to see you!”
he laughed and hugged her back tightly.
“you too! and i can’t believe you’ve graduated, you old giraffe!”
she grinned and displayed her diploma proudly.
he scanned it quickly. “you survived!”
“WE SURVIVED!” i shouted, falling over Darcy.
“and it only took a sh/it load of all-nighters, advil, and anxiety!”
countered Darcy.
“BUT IT WAS TOTALLY WORTH IT!” i howled as
Darcy and i raised our diplomas into the air.
she squealed and began to take pictures with the two of us.
silly pictures with exaggerated, childish, and whimsical poses.
every now and then i’d burst into laughter,
or Darcy would erupt into a flurry of giggles,
or Robert would tip his head to the sky in hysterics,
and then the three of us would find tears streaming down our eyes.
tears of laughter,
tears of joy.
because this was the day reserved for tears.
as i caught my breathe, i watched Darcy and Robert continue their silliness.
my head cocked,
my smile ran away,
and i just stared at Robert.
because it seemed like nothing had changed.
only, there was a two-year gap between us.
something fluttered and twisted.
at that moment, a strange sensation engulfed me;
i felt restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, redeemed.
everyone had somewhere to go,
some thing to attend,
some place to be.
except me and Zac.
we took his old convertible and parked on top of a hill.
it was our safe place,
our safe haven.
even the dreaded future couldn’t touch us,
we were shielded in possibility.
we sat on the hood of Zac’s car, on
the hill where seniors used to tell
us they could do things better
than us and then laughed.
we
were
talking,
joking around,
but most importantly,
just remembering;
the times that make you go “ahhhhhh”,
the times that make you wish they never passed,
the times that make you nod your head because those
were so fleeting, and so precious, that all you could do now is remember.
there was a comfortable silence that ensued.
because words would spoil the memories,
and all we’d be left with were two
people who couldn’t remember.
“aspen blair chanel,” he said my name like an incantation.
i laughed. “what do you want?”
“i just haven’t said your full name in a while,”
Zac trilled in a plummy tone.
i laughed and punched his arm playfully.
he seemed to flinch.
he glared at me
and i stared at him.
“why do you keep staring at me like i’ve killed your goldfish?”
he simply laughed.
“do you feel any different now that you’ve graduated?” i asked.
he stiffened like
i had struck a
sour note.
“yeah.”
i was ready to leave it at that,
but then he continued,
“i feel like i have expectations to live up to now,” he said. “so now, every time i think i’m getting smarter i realize that i’ve just done something stupid.”
my face scrunched in agreement.
“dad says there are three kinds of people in the world:
those who don’t know, and don’t know they don’t know;
those who don’t know and do know they don’t know;
and those who know and know how much they still don’t know.”
Zac’s face contorted in confusion.
“heavy stuff, i know. but i think i’ve finally graduated from the don’t-knows that don’t know to the don’t-knows that do.”
“yeah, totally, me too,” he said monotonously.
i turned to him and punched his arm. “you ruined the moment dou/chebag!”
he laughed, deep and throaty. “be a lady, kitty-cat!”
i whipped around. “don’t ever call me that,” i snapped.
“it’s better than calling someone a dou/chebag, isn’t it?” he replied smugly.
“you know, you’re right. how wrong of me to call you a dou/chebag. because a dou/chebag is too nice of a word for you,” i said, smiling sweetly. “you’re a di/ckhead.”
“a di/ckhead?” he repeated. “how charming.”
his voice, the very sound of rolling eyes.
“aw c’mon, Zac. /laugh, it’s funny/.”
he teasingly pushed my head away with a defeated grin.
i laughed before flipping Zac off.
“what do you think the future has for us?” i asked.
there were a few moments of silence.
i could tell he was thinking because when he answered,
the playfulness had left his voice.
“Asp, i think i’ve finally graduated from the don’t-knows that don’t know to
the don’t-knows that do.” he said with a fleeting, fearful whisper.
there was a sharp twinge of disappointment in his tone. “but
i felt like once we’d graduated, we would know.” he
held out his arms to showoff his blue robe.
“that’s just another part of life, Zac. on
the flip side of everything we think we absolutely
have pegged, lurks an equal amount of the unknown.
understanding is but the sum of our misunderstandings.”
i turned to him and smiled. he held his hands in mine tightly.
“it’s dumb, actually. how they throw us out in deep water,
and expect us to learn to swim. to float or sink.”
his voice struck bitterness.
“you have to accept that sometimes that’s how things happen in this world.
people’s opinions, their feelings, they go one way, then the other.
it just so happens you grew up at a certain point in this process.”
somewhere within the last 30 seconds,
i felt stronger, calmer, and wiser—
somewhere within the last 30 seconds,
i grew up.
he was quiet again—
racking his brain.
“and i know you’re scared. i am too.
i think we all are. but you can’t live in fear.”
he gazed at me skeptically, like i was either saying something
profound, or absolutely crazy.
i clasped his hand tighter, suddenly feeling excited and sure.
“this is the magnificent world of a picaresque novel.
just brace yourself and enjoy the smell of it.
we’re shooting those da/mn rapids.
and if you go over the falls,
do it in a grand style.”
silence fell on us again, but then he
turned to me with beaming, booming, eyes.
“trust me when i say—
there are great things coming for you, Asp.
and if you want them, you’ve got to move down the sidewalk of life.”
my eyes filled.
“promise me you’ll come with me.”
“i never left your side, if you think about it.”
he smiled.
and i smiled back.
that’s when i saw it, behind him.
the flowers.
pink roses.
“i was gonna give these to my mom,” he said,
handing me the flowers. “you know, for giving me life and sh/it like that,”
i smiled again
and laughed.
“but you can have them before i accidentally sit on them.”
i took the flowers.
“pink roses signify friendship,”
i said, digging my nose into the bouquet.
his eyes shifted around. “okay… that was a random fact…”
the playfulness reentered our atmosphere.
we lay on our backs on the hood of Zac’s car parked on top of a hill,
watching the sky and making a list called “never.”
all the things we would never do:
let’s never get married.
let’s never get fat.
let’s never stop being sarcastic.
let’s never get dull-eyed and ironic.
let’s never get stuck in a rut—or trapped in a life we didn’t choose.
let’s never grow bitter.
let’s never forget.
we were both rather precocious, and like many precocious young people
we found it hard to grow up.
there was a time we laughed at the old guys up on the hill.
the ones who graduated a couple of years before us,
and who hung around the school and the ballpark,
and would sit on the hoods of their cars and tell
us how when they were seniors they did it
better, faster, and further. we’d laugh,
because we were still doing it,
and all they could do was talk.
if our goals were not met,
there was next year,
but it never occurred to us that one day there would not be a next year, and that
the guys sitting on the hoods of their cars at the top of the hill, wishing
they could have one more year, willing to settle for one last game,
could one day be us.
but for one moment in this magnificent, ambiguous, picaresque novel,
we are not failed tests and broken condoms and cheating on essays;
we are crayons and lunch boxes and swinging so high
our sneakers punch holes in the clouds.
and everything feels better.
> > > aspen.
23 comments 52 likes
@imaginationrunningwild
happy eighteenth again!
i made this outfit and thought of you.
mostly because it's your birthday today,
but also because you'd totally wear this. haha.
i hope today brought you memories, crazy-wild-crazy-fun-crazy-brilliant-mad fun, and a massive amount of gifts.
i love you dearly.
i incorporate you with this song;
this song is yours;
this song is you.
- sierra
happy eighteenth again!
i made this outfit and thought of you.
mostly because it's your birthday today,
but also because you'd totally wear this. haha.
i hope today brought you memories, crazy-wild-crazy-fun-crazy-brilliant-mad fun, and a massive amount of gifts.
i love you dearly.
i incorporate you with this song;
this song is yours;
this song is you.
- sierra
Three comments 68 likes
just let the pain remind you hearts can heal
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