Last blog, for the semester

At the end of my visit with my grandma, she held out a bear. It was about the size of my palm, and she had beaded every inch of it. I recognized this bear, it made me tear up every time I looked at it. 

I was there, when she first started making it. I would walk to her house during my lunch break at rally to come visit with her and my grandpa. My grandpa usually would hum some oldie song, say I "looked beautiful," and always talk kindly about everyone, even my mother. My grandma and I, we spoke about everything. I kept coming, everyday for our lunch date. My grandpa got slower, his memory started fading. The doctors told us this would happen, but I didn't expect the disease to progress so fast. My grandma kept beading, and we just kept talking. But my grandpa, stopped humming. I came one day to find my uncle there, he told me about how my grandpa had to go to the doctors, that it wasn't safe for him to be at home anymore. 

When I came back the next day, my grandma was there, and we did everything normal, except with out my grandpa. We found a note, it was a goodbye note. He knew he wouldn't be able to remember all of us soon, he knew he was dying. It was his final goodbye. I was there to see my grandma cry. That's the saddest thing I've ever seen, someone to be forced apart from a loved one. I began to cry too. After summer ended, I stopped going to see her. She kept beading, and kept visiting my grandpa. Until his last dying breath. So as I hold that beaded bear, I can almost feel the hope we once had that summer. That everything was once okay. But really, in the end everyone always leaves.  

Last year ... to this year

The first time I realized I didn't belong, was when no one had my last name. My dry sarcasm, or my brunette hair. My aunt would allow me to stay with them, eat with them, and live their lives with them. For weeks I would have family dinners, and do my homework before 7. I took showers at a certain time, I even had my own pill container for daily vitamins. With my three cousins, we were all sisters. I faked my own family. I pretended I was one of them. Until the harsh reality came pounding at my door. The meiners had charm, charisma, and talent. They were always kind hearted, not a mean bone in them. Everything that they did was out of the goodness of their hearts. All of them blonde and beautiful, each possessed a talent, add all of that plus straight A grades equaled the perfect cookie cutter family. 

One night, my cousin Maggie gave me two large books, one to study for the SATs and the other was 346 colleges from the princton review. She kept preaching to anyone that could hear about the fundamentals of a good life required education. I completely agreed. In all the books that I've read, I never wanted to be the character who was the dumb witted one. If maggie was a church, she defiantly had me converted. She inspired me to keep going, to keep trying. To find something, and succeed. Which inspired my first mistake. Cheerleading. Which leads me to my next cousin Gracie. 

One might wonder how college and cheerleading can be alike but somehow they crossed paths. If making fun of cheerleaders with their short skirts and high pony tails was a sport than I'd be the captain. Nothing made me more annoyed then a fake smile plastered on a girls face, yelling at you to cheer with them about a sport they could care less about, and not know less about. Still, one afternoon during lunch, I came up with an idea. Join Cheerleading. I practiced and even wore the short skirt rimmed with our crimson pride. I cringe everytime I look back at this. First day of practice, my hair had an orange streak in the bottom, for shoes I had converse and I always had my nirvana tee on. Over time, the orange faded, new hair dye was added. Before long I looked like the average brainless teenager.  Gracie was my best friend growing up. I always looked forward to our sleepovers, planning days in advance. As we grew up, we grew apart in friendship, and in our choice of activities. She always did sports, that was her thing. I just read, and did stupid things with my friends. When I started to stay at her house, we shared a room. We would stay up for hours at night, making me corrupt her bedtime. I never had one, so this was all new to me. I always envied how bold and outgoing she was, that might have been one of the reasons I was trying to change.  In the end, my fake hair and fake smile may have fooled the coaches, but in no way had it fooled me. I quit. And felt fulfillment, in my under achieving ways. As a quitter the only thing to do was drink. Drink my problems away. Which brings me to my last cousin. Abby.

Abby may just be my favorite cousin. When I was young..er I designed a duct tape dress for her to wear in the wearable arts show. No, I was not a hippy protesting against clothes, this was simply a huge classroom project. It even had it's own name, that today still makes all DZ middle schooler's hairs stand up when ever it's said aloud. Ropes is what it was called. Right of passage… was what it stood for, but really to every 8th grader it stood for one thing. Pass this project and you are allowed into the gates of high school, other wise known as a four year hell period full of gossip, drama, and boys with raging hormones. Flunk this, and you might as well get a McDonalds application, because they're the only ones that will let you in if that. When it came down to the day of the show, my aunt told me that abby looked up to me. I was shocked. I didn't believe this until the day abby came to me for help.  She was upset, being a 5th grader and not having a boyfriend. Her friends had deemed her uncool and hid from her on the bus. I assured her that those girls will soon realize that friends is what you need in life, but it may take until these boys drop their sorry asses. Of course I said it in a different manner, but the point was clear.

I wish I could stop right here, and tell you my life became a hell of a lot more innocent, and more enjoyable, but that would be lie. If anything, it got worse. 

I tried to be independent. With my cockiness, I thought I had even fooled myself. I tried for even more, I tried to be the best. Not the best of me, but the best I thought I should be. I faked a new me, wasting all of my work money on new clothes. Until one night, I stumbled onto the path of crazy ass drunk white girl. I still don't remember that night. But from what everyone kept telling me the next day at school, I had made a complete fool of myself. Black outs save the drunk and stupid from their foolishness to die from embarrassment. I realized, this is not who my little cousin looked up to. I had become just like the girls who hid from her. I was not me, I was trying to put up an act just to get by. I will always regret this, but it just might have saved me from worse, which I know is actually possible. Everyday, I try to act as if abby can see me, see my choices. Would she approve of this girl, is this really me? abby accepted me, with my dry sarcasm, my little kid attitude, and my actions. I will always try to stay the best of me, where ever I go, I have that little girl in my heart, allowing me to love myself the best of my ability. 

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What I learned.

In kindergarden, it was easy for kids to get along with someone you've never met. You didn't have a reputation, well unless you were the kid who got caught picking their nose. In High School, we form our own judgement on others, and establish our own cliques. When I walk into class, I can almost see the line that divides the students from each other. 

I was always scared to walk into class knowing I didn't fit into any of the groups. This caused me to be shy in all of my classes. I remember my freshmen year in health class, during feelings friday a sophomore said I seemed wise. They only thought that because I never talked.

Junior year, in mrs.Mckennas room. 218 to be exact, was the typical high school class. You had the jocks, the geeks, the drama nerds, the girls who brought alcohol in water bottles (okay there was only one girl who actually did that) the asians, and any other stereotype you can think of, all smashed together in one room. Now mrs.mckenna somehow, with her crazy ideas brought us all together. She also somehow, made me feel comfortable in high school. 

I miss mrs.mckenna's classroom assignments, they were truly life altering. To make a teenager focus, that involves a hell of an imagination. One time she made me be in a skit, and at last second gave me a scarf to stuff up my shirt. I was shy, and hated attention, yet I had fun. In every assignment, she'd have us show each other what we really thought of each other. Nothing was kept a secret. That year I learned, to not be afraid to write my opinions.

This year, the class is full of different kids, but the same type of cliques as last years. We're not together. We don't trust each other, but that's okay. Because I learned, from mr.good instead. I learned to write what I know. Everyday he would have us write something. This was extremely difficult for me at first, but with in the first week I actually enjoyed writing. I would go back and read my past entries, and sometimes that would inspire me to write something in more depth. Also, it was just a good way to create. To just write, and not plan. To let the pen touch the blank paper, and let it carrie it's own flow. I've learned a lot from mr.good, but for the first time i've learned a lot from myself. 

A Christmas Story

The phone rang. and rang. and… rang. It kept ringing until my sister finally gave up and pushed "end call." My dad not picking up the phone, was not surprising. Even on christmas, leave it to my dad to ignore us. To be honest, he's a nice person, or at least was. But this christmas, is exactly like the last three. I wouldn't have it that way. I wouldn't let him win. As we were driving to my grandmas house, I begged my already pissed off sister to stop off at dads house. She wouldn't go in, it wasn't safe for her kids. I trudged across the porch. Not caring what awaited me on the other side. I knocked on the door until my knuckles throbbed with needles. He wasn't going to win, he wasn't going to get away that easy. I pounded harder, sure someone would come. And sure enough someone did. Now to someone else, what happens next would have been extremely weird, and creepy, but to me it was something I just expected. A fat haggard looking man opened the door. He looked at me, like I was a cop. I guess my appearance is not something they see everyday. I actually take showers, this guy doesn't even own deodorant. I ignored him, I ignored the random pregnant lady in my old room glaring at me. I just kept walking, straight to my dad's room. Which was of course locked. Took a while for him to open, but me just being there really made him get nervous. I could tell he was trying to come up with excuses for his absence in my life. I grilled him, asking him questions after the next. "Anne tried calling, why didn't you pick up?" his eyes darted to the phone next to him.

"Some of the people here, were using it." Liar.

"Okay, well we're going to Grandmas because she's alone. Are you coming with us?" 

He hesitated. wiped his forehead, and stared at the wall behind me.

"I'm busy" he said real fast. 

"with what?" 

"I'm helping people who are in jail make phone calls to their family" he said this, like he was helping with a charity, making a fat donation. 

"What about your family?" 

"I'm talking to dani on the phone." My dad chose his white trash drug abusing jail rotting wife, instead of me. 

"What about me?" Before I even said it, I knew how stupid I was for asking him that. He didn't have a clue, how much he's hurt me. How much, I always ask myself that same question every night. 

He took a deep breath and got up to hug me, I always gave in. I could't refuse my dad, the memories of him and I were just to strong. This time was different. I'm not sure why, maybe it's because I had't eaten anything all day, or maybe because I was coming down from a chocolate buzz, or maybe it was just finally time to walk away. And that's exactly what I did. I didn't cry, and hold my arms out. I rejected his hold, and it's the hardest thing I've ever had to do. The scary part is, I'm not even sorry. 

My christmas sounds horrible, but surprisingly it was great. I got to see my grandma, hold my nephew, and draw with my niece. I also got to see how strong I truly can be. 

 

Danielle Cashen

The first thing I noticed was her voice. How it made me feel. 

I wanted to scream.

 Scream so loud we'd all be shocked into silence.

 That's all I ever wanted was for her to be silent.

 Most of all I wanted her shadow to fade away. 

Her cowering hunch, and that damn cigarette smoke following me, collapsing everything I once had.

 Her strong hold on my dad was my everyday nightmare.

 I never thought her out to be evil, to me she wasn't even human.

 She was just an empty shell, feeding off the lives of others. 

For a while I disappeared. 

Not on purpose, but on accident. It was like being in a coma, I couldn't feel them anymore. 

The memories were never lost though, they still had a grip on me. 

Forcing me to wake up. I saw it more clear, and I understood what I needed to do. 

Now because of me she rots in her cell. 

Waiting for time to release her, because time is the only one who will forgive her now. 

Write a Riff

How do I break a habit that's not mine? This habit follows me, trying to break me. But what if I'm already broken. Is she trying to smash the broken pieces into dust. Turn me into sand and watch me blow away. How do I stop this? Does it have a name? Why does she do this to me? the evil consumes her, turns a laugh into a cackle. Turns the air as cold as her heart. For what will not break me, builds me. I am strong, I can feel her fear. I see her hatred. Only evil understands this hatred I feel. Only evil can understand these questions.