Chemicals

I’m in a coffee shop. It was a particularly good day to be in a coffee shop because it was a snow day. Good coffee, good food, and a good book. High school is a good place to be in life sometimes because there still are snow days. You don’t have to go to work on those days yet because you don’t need money.

I was deep into the book I was reading when I heard a voice. It was an energetic kind of voice that seemed to demand one’s attention. I looked up. I found myself immediately attracted to the girl who belonged to the voice. I had that feeling when a little flutter begins in your heart and an unsettling in your stomach begins.

Don’t get me wrong; it was not “love at first sight” as some call it. I don’t believe in any initial feeling being called love. Love is more of a long term, self-sacrificing thing. I think people that believe in love at first sight over-indulge in their sentimental nature.

As this girl ordered her drink and sat down, I could not help but steal the occasional glance. She was, in fact, beautiful. She was short with dark hair. She looked almost Italian.

 What was strange is that there was nothing in particular to attract me to her. She was pretty. But, I see a number of pretty girls on any particular day. Maybe if she came in on a different day, or in a different way, I would not have noticed her. I wonder, sometimes, if people’s chemicals can just match at the glance of an eye. It really makes no other sense. I don’t know her, she doesn’t know me. But when I look at her, something leaps that demands my attention, and demands my action. Maybe the same thing happens when she looks at me. That can happens sometimes. Sometimes the chemicals are one sided, but sometimes they aren’t. That’s magic, if you ask me.

The girl got up and walked out the door with her friends. Maybe one day I will see her again under different circumstances. A circumstance where I can easily talk to her or find out about her. Maybe I will never see her again. For some reason, I think I will.

College Prep

“Hey! Logan right? Have a seat.” The lady motioned to a chair next to her desk.

“You probably know why I called you down. I just wanted to take some time today, talk about future plans and colleges you might be interested in. It shouldn’t take that long. Let me just find a copy of your transcript.” She shuffled through some files in a drawer by the desk.

“Here it is.” She said, handing it to me.

I focused my eyes in and out of the paper. I didn’t know what a transcript meant. Then I realized I was holding a copy of my grades in each class for every year I’ve been in high school. At the end of each year’s grade was my GPA. At the very end of the paper was my total GPA for my 9^th, 10^th, and 11^th grade years. It said I made an eighty three point five GPA. Not terrible.

“What do you want to major in?”

“Well…I want to be a writer,” I mumbled.

“What?”

“I want to be a writer.”

She seemed to mull that statement over in her mind for a bit. “Well I’m sure we can find something for you.”

She reached under her desk and grabbed a huge volume with both her hands, picked it up, and slammed it down on the desk.

“If you like to write, you will probably want to major in something like journalism or communications, and minor in writing. That will broaden your scope with potential jobs coming out of college and into the job field. Also, not many colleges around here offer writing as a major. Do you have any specific area you want to go to college?”

“Ummm, Oregon? Or maybe I’ll stay around here. I don’t know if I could pay for the tuition if I go out of the state.”

“Ok. Let me see here.”

She opened the volume, and ran her finger down a page with a large list of majors on it. She got to Journalism/ Communications, and flipped the volume to the page number it said. I saw her pass the “Writing” section of the volume while getting to Journalism/ Communications. She started writing on a slip of paper, with her finger still running up and down the page.

“With that GPA, here are some potential colleges you can get in to that offer the major you want. Oh, and the one there on the bottom is in Oregon, if you want to look in to it.”

I looked at the slip. They were average colleges. For my average grades. My sister actually went to one of them.

I walked out of the office, saying thank you with patronizing smiles she wasn’t aware of. She shut her office door, and all the papers she gave me found their way into the nearest waste basket.

Monologue

I am the good kid. The one that never gets in trouble. The one that studies late into the night. I am the kid that drives the speed limit, who only drinks alcohol when his dad lets him take a sip. I grew up in a cookie cutter suburban neighborhood. All the kids played together in those days. At least the kids in my neighborhood.

The kid across the street is my friend, or, was my friend. When I was little, I mean. Stamped on the forehead as a rebel now. When did that start? Was it in fifth grade when he told Mrs. McLanahan to go to hell? Was it in middle school, when he crushed up smarties and pretended to snort them like cocaine, and got suspended for two days? He’s a real smart, bright kid. Even if he has a bad attitude, he never harmed a soul. Hilarious too. Just all around fun guy to be around. I couldn’t have found a better person to grow up with, if I tried. And he lived right across the street before I moved to that bigger house. He's about ten minutes away now. Buuuut we stopped hanging out. Why is that? It’s not like he’s a different person. In fact, he probably changes the least out of anybody I’ve ever met. He doesn’t strive, if you know what I mean. He merely is. Who has that kind of ability? Just to be, when the world is telling you to be more. I’ve gotten caught up in that, I’d say, the “be more.” But he doesn’t. When I think about it, in my sixteen years of knowing him, have I ever actually seen him smoke pot? Why does everyone tell me that he does? If I ask him, he would most likely just chuckle and write it off as to say, “Would you be my friend anyway? Be my friend just to be my friend, even if the label and rumors came with it?” He definitely doesn’t need me though. He has far more friends than I, and I don’t need him either. I don’t fit in with his friends. He doesn’t fit in with mine; but he would take me in. He would let me hang out with him and his more popular friends, because he knows me, and likes me for who I am. How often do you find someone that truly knows you? If I meet someone tomorrow, will they, or can they, ever know me like a person I grew up with? Someone who has been with me through all the stages leading up to adulthood? We used to always find interesting things to do together. We don’t need friends, but life is better with them. And that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it? We can choose our friends, not because we need them but because we like them. I don’t want to miss my chance for a friend. I’m going to call him. Tomorrow maybe. After school. We can walk to the pharmacy down the street for a candy bar like old times. We have a lot to catch up on. Wouldn’t that be nice. Yeah I’ll text him. I’ll text him “Hi.”

In The Gray

Black and white my world was drawn
Black and white the world began
Or was it just white?
No knowledge of black

Black and white
Are oil and water
Black and white
Are fire and ice

But the bane of man
Cooked deep in the bowls of earth
By the dark one
Unnatural it crawled
From the depths

And older I grew
Confused I became

When I discovered
The Gray

If I Were To Be Honest

If I were to be honest with you

I don’t know what I’m doing

My prayer is non- existent

I do what I hate, suppress what I love

I’m one person to some people

Different to others

And this is involuntary

Though I’m sure I’m guilty

In some way

Even If I were to tell you I did

Know what I was doing

That I had a plan

If I was put together

I wouldn’t know if it was right

If it was what I was meant to do

Or if there even is something

I was meant to do

Like there was

Some sort of fate

Guiding us

But you can’t see it,

If there is fate.

What do I sacrifice my life to?

What do I decide

To get lost

In the everyday of

And be able to say

I’m satisfied in this.

There is nothing to life

But the living of it

Which is a sobering thought

But a freeing one, none the less

Because then you know

To experience

However much you can

Be it good and pure, fulfilling

I guess

But by god

At least choose and live

The great charter

Of mankind.

Letter Gifts

“Are we doing letter gifts this year?”
            It’s December and a bit late in the season to be going out to buy more presents. If we remember, than we remember, If we don’t, we don’t.

“Of course!” My mom exclaimed. She enjoys family traditions the most.

My sister, Heidi, went to work. She is the practical one.

Heidi grabbed paper, pencil, scissors, and two hats. She wrote the alphabet on the paper. She cut out each individual letter, and sprinkled them into the hat. She wrote down the names of everyone in the immediate family; Jess, Joe, Mom, Dad, and Heidi. She cut these out also, and then sprinkled them in hat number two.

She danced around the house, “Pick your names! Pick your names!” Mom was in the kitchen, mulling over a cookie recipe. Dad was in the living room watching a show on his laptop. I sat on the couch reading a book. Jess was on her laptop also, doing “college stuff.”

We all picked our names as Heidi came up to us. Jess and I rolled our eyes at each other as Heidi hopped from one person to another, overly excited.

“Now pick your letters!” Heidi pronounced, grabbing the other hat and giving the letters one last mix.

We picked our letters. My person was Dad, and my letters were “S” and “T.” I had to make sure nobody knew who I had. Jess always found out somehow. I had to make sure this year she didn’t. I put the letters in my wallet so I would remember which ones I picked.

Throughout the next couple of weeks everyone shopped presents. The presents had to start with the letters they picked. It’s hard to maneuver when and where to go shopping, especially when I can’t drive yet. I can’t go with my dad, for obvious reasons, and I don’t want Jess to know either, because she always finds out somehow. That leaves my mom and Heidi. Heidi can’t keep a secret. I end up telling my mom. She won’t tell anyone.

I say, “Can you take me to the mall? I need to shop for my letter present.”

“Sure, Sure. Who do you have? I won’t tell.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I just want to help.”

“Okay fine, but don’t tell anyone. I have dad, and my letters are ‘S’ and ‘T.’ What should I get him?”

“Oh don’t worry I won’t, and I don’t know that’s a tough one. We’ll figure something out.”

Christmas Eve comes fast. My Grandma comes over and the smell of welsh cookies on the skillet fills the air. The fire is going in the fire place. My dad is putting the finishing touches on the Christmas tree. My two sisters and I are sitting on the couch ready to open our letter presents.

“Are you guys ready yet?” One of us yells out every couple of minutes. We are growing impatient. Our letter presents we open tonight, and tomorrow we open the rest. It helps to curb the excitement for the Christmas morning presents. We sleep a lot better this way.

The adults filter in one at a time and give us our presents, but we don’t open them yet. Jess guesses who we all had to buy presents for. We reveal that she was right one by one. Then my mom says to go ahead and open them, and we do. We all tell each other what letters we had, and the presents are goofy because they had to start with letters like “X” and “Q.” It’s all so much fun.

We sit on the couch into the late hours of the night watching Christmas movies and eating fudge and welsh cookies. Then we all fall asleep when our fatigue overcomes our anxiousness for Christmas.

Car Story

The various outcomes a human life can have amazes me. I think of it as funny. Not really a funny like “ha-ha that’s funny” but funny as in peculiar. A decision to go to the grocery store on a Tuesday instead of on a Wednesday can effect whether or not you become an ambassador or a garbage man. A second pause will mean you pass different people on the road, whether or not you run into an old friend, or, also, whether it is the day you die or not.

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I was pulling out of the bank with my mom in the passenger seat. I had just gotten my permit and driving was still exciting. The old Volvo wasn’t a fast or classy car, but it was a tank. My parents bought it because it was so safe.

“Put your seat belt on, Joe!” my mom exclaimed as she noticed I was driving away from the bank unfastened. I buckled it reluctantly. We were stopped at busy four-way. I was on my way to a movie store across the intersection. I watched as the light turned from red to green, and then proceeded.

What happened next was sort of a blur. I remember looking left, a white light, or was it a green blur? The scene was in slow motion, but also a split second. The blur bore down on me. There was nothing I could do, so it consumed me.

The car was totaled. No one was hurt. I remember after the crash pretty well. We were hit on the driver’s side, where I was. I was sitting there, a rush of adrenaline pulsing through my veins. My mom’s arm was pressed up against my chest. 

“Are you alright? Joe! Are you all right?” My mom said.

“Yeah, yeah… I’m fine! Are you okay?” I replied.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

I tried opening my door but it wouldn’t budge, being completely smashed in. I ended up crawling out the passenger side door. The car, we saw, was leaking fluid so we walked away fast. A man stopped his car to help the lady that crashed into us out of her car. She seemed pretty shaken up and a little pissed. She was older, probably in her seventies. She thought the light was green when she went through. Her daughter just bought the car. 

There were no injuries, except my sore neck and my mom’s bruised arm. 

Later on our way home when my dad picked us up, my mom thoughtfully said, “This will be part of your story someday, Joe.”

“Your right,” I said.