Finally, its come. Blastingly hot summer weather, ushering in a flood of tests before we are set free. This summer will be one of less anticipation, for we know what we will return to. Yet there is that same constant aura of change, of moving on, of wondering of what next year will bring. Who will replace those who are leaving? What will the year be like?
We have come so far since September, and yet at the same time nothing has changed. It seems like so long ago that we were rehursing like crazy for the Music Man, or when physics class seemed like it went on forever. Since the change from one school to the new, to meeting new people, to becoming reaquainted with those I had left behind. From class changes to improvements to supposed maturity, we have come so far.
And yet as we drift, we stay together. We keep those friends who mean a lot to us close by, and plan with them. Parties and movies and food, which is a necessity with teenage guys around.
We miss what was around before, but we look to the future. Changing views in a changing world. Just think, our friends will be driving soon. It wasn't that long ago that I was amazed that I had turned 13, or had a Bat Mitzvah, or mad it to middle school...
So as I face finals, I wonder what would have happened if I had done it differently. If I hadn't switched schools. If I wasn't friends with the people I am now. If my friends had different friends. Each event and decision makes an impact. Will I come out of freshman year feeling that I should have done some thing differently? I don't know.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Thursday, June 5, 2008
****Note****
If drafts were not just published, then they are already up here in final form. Please check them out too!
Short Story (in progress)
Jean was completely sheltered. He did everything with his father; he went to the zoo with him, was tutored by him everyday. He lived to please his father, to have some connection to the mother whom he never knew; he knew that his father was always dreaming about her.
He disliked Celeste because she was the only one who didn’t love everything he did. He heard her muttering under her breath about how spoiled he had become, and he never understood exactly what she meant. All he knew is that she made him do all the stuff that he didn’t want to do, like practicing his math and his French when his father was busy.
Lemonnier devoted himself to spending time with his son, no matter what business changes came up. He made sure to plan outings at least three times a week, despite Celeste’s insisting that the boy’s time would be much better spent learning instead of constant pranks and playing. Yet Lemonnier insisted on spending as much time with his son as possible.
Jean loved sports, including soccer and tennis. He would play with his father all the time, with their games often dissolving into fits of laughter. Lemonnier’s friend M. Duretour often came by as well, and joined in the action. Even strict Celeste, watching from the window, couldn’t always hold back a smile watching the two men and the boy chasing each other around the field.
M.Duretour had become somewhat of an uncle to Jean. When he traveled, he would bring back little trinkets so that the boy had a small collection of items from across the globe. Jean looked up to him a lot, in some ways even more than his father. He once told Duretour that he wanted to be just like him when he grew up, and travel all around the world to all of the different cultures. Duretour also was willing to talk about Jean’s mother, a feat that Lemonnier had not yet achieved. He was full of stories, and always told Jean how much he was like his mother.
As Jean matured, he had become accustomed to a lot of attention. However, as a few more years went by, he began to feel the way Celeste had known he would feel eventually – restricted. He began to notice things about how his father behaved. One day he approached his father and inquired as to whether he could invite his friend to come and visit. Lemonnier was completely surprised. “My Jean,” he said. “We were going to go for a walk in the park that day! Don’t you remember?”
Jean accepted that excuse for the day, and had a lovely time in the park. Yet he couldn’t help noticing that his father seemed to have something planned for every single time he wanted to do something on his own. When he asked if he could go and speak to some children his age while watching a tennis match in a nearby town, he was told no, and asked, “Don’t you enjoy spending time just you and me?”
As Jean grew a little older, he was saddened by the fact that many children living on his road were being sent of to boarding schools. Jean, who had never really been farther from home than two or three towns, was intrigued. He went to his father one day, and asked casually, “Father, have you ever considered sending me to boarding school? Many of the other children are going, and I think it could be fun.”
Lemonnier didn’t skip a beat. “Jean,” he said. “I’ve been teaching you for a very long time now, and we’ve always had fun, haven’t we?”
After a few more incidents of this sort, Jean began to get fed up. Everywhere he looked he saw opportunities for more freedom, but when he asked his father, his requests were always denied. He grew more and more exasperated.
Once, as he left one such meeting with his father, he ran into Celeste outside the door, smirking. Still incredibly frustrated by his father’s lack of understanding, he had absolutely no patience. “What?” he snapped. “What’s so funny?”
“I knew this would happen, from the day you were born,” the nurse responded. Ever since your lovely mother died, he could not let you go for a minute. God forbid that you scrape your little knee, and he would never let himself get over the guilt of it. But to let you go away and be taught by someone else… it would take several major miracles to convince him of that one.”
Jean stormed off to his bedroom, and flopped into one of the soft, deep blue armchairs in the corner. He buried his face in his hands and sat there, contemplating what Celeste had said. “Ever since your mother died…” His mother. That was the key to the whole thing. He was being doted upon beyond words because his mother wasn’t there. He laughed out loud. Knowing that Duretour was coming for dinner that night, he decided what he was going to do.
After dinner that evening, Lemonnier went into his office to do some work on a particularly difficult project. With his father gone, Jean presented his idea to Duretour. However, Duretour was skeptical. “It will be very difficult to pull off… your father never loved anything or anyone more than he did your mother. We’ll see what happens.”
The next weekend, Duretour informed Lemonnier that he was going to bring a guest to dinner. Lemonnier, of course, thought nothing of it. He assumed that Duretour had finally found a nice woman to date. He was not at all prepared, though, for what happened next.
The woman who came to dinner was equal in beauty, if not more beautiful than his wife had been. She was a head shorter than Lemonnier, and was thin, but not sickly thin. She had a shy, gentle smile in the shape of a perfect quarter moon, and huge grey blue eyes. She wore her rabbit soft, dirty blond hair so that it draped gracefully down her back, reaching to just below her shoulders. Her skin was very pale, but with the tanned hue of being out in the sun.
As she stood in the front hall looking around, Lemonnier’s first thought was that he had never seen a more perfect looking woman. He immediately reprimanded himself for having that thought, thinking it an insult to his wife’s memory. At the same time, he couldn’t help thinking that after twelve or so years, his wife had become just that – a memory. “She would want me to move on,” Lemonnier thought to himself. “But I don’t know if I can. How can anyone be more darling than my Jeanne?”
Pulling himself together, he realized he had company. He hurried down from where he had been standing to welcome Duretour and the mysterious woman to his home. Jean, who had been standing near by, had judged his father’s thoughts by his facial expressions. He smiled to himself. His plan was actually working!
During dinner, Lemonnier could not stop talking to the woman. They discovered that her name was Rose, and she and Duretour were friends, but were not dating. Jean smirked as a quick smile darted across his father’s face.
*** To come: as Jean wishes for more freedom, his father finds a woman he loves as much as his first wife, and begins to ignore Jean. Having received his freedom, Jean wants his shelter back.****
He disliked Celeste because she was the only one who didn’t love everything he did. He heard her muttering under her breath about how spoiled he had become, and he never understood exactly what she meant. All he knew is that she made him do all the stuff that he didn’t want to do, like practicing his math and his French when his father was busy.
Lemonnier devoted himself to spending time with his son, no matter what business changes came up. He made sure to plan outings at least three times a week, despite Celeste’s insisting that the boy’s time would be much better spent learning instead of constant pranks and playing. Yet Lemonnier insisted on spending as much time with his son as possible.
Jean loved sports, including soccer and tennis. He would play with his father all the time, with their games often dissolving into fits of laughter. Lemonnier’s friend M. Duretour often came by as well, and joined in the action. Even strict Celeste, watching from the window, couldn’t always hold back a smile watching the two men and the boy chasing each other around the field.
M.Duretour had become somewhat of an uncle to Jean. When he traveled, he would bring back little trinkets so that the boy had a small collection of items from across the globe. Jean looked up to him a lot, in some ways even more than his father. He once told Duretour that he wanted to be just like him when he grew up, and travel all around the world to all of the different cultures. Duretour also was willing to talk about Jean’s mother, a feat that Lemonnier had not yet achieved. He was full of stories, and always told Jean how much he was like his mother.
As Jean matured, he had become accustomed to a lot of attention. However, as a few more years went by, he began to feel the way Celeste had known he would feel eventually – restricted. He began to notice things about how his father behaved. One day he approached his father and inquired as to whether he could invite his friend to come and visit. Lemonnier was completely surprised. “My Jean,” he said. “We were going to go for a walk in the park that day! Don’t you remember?”
Jean accepted that excuse for the day, and had a lovely time in the park. Yet he couldn’t help noticing that his father seemed to have something planned for every single time he wanted to do something on his own. When he asked if he could go and speak to some children his age while watching a tennis match in a nearby town, he was told no, and asked, “Don’t you enjoy spending time just you and me?”
As Jean grew a little older, he was saddened by the fact that many children living on his road were being sent of to boarding schools. Jean, who had never really been farther from home than two or three towns, was intrigued. He went to his father one day, and asked casually, “Father, have you ever considered sending me to boarding school? Many of the other children are going, and I think it could be fun.”
Lemonnier didn’t skip a beat. “Jean,” he said. “I’ve been teaching you for a very long time now, and we’ve always had fun, haven’t we?”
After a few more incidents of this sort, Jean began to get fed up. Everywhere he looked he saw opportunities for more freedom, but when he asked his father, his requests were always denied. He grew more and more exasperated.
Once, as he left one such meeting with his father, he ran into Celeste outside the door, smirking. Still incredibly frustrated by his father’s lack of understanding, he had absolutely no patience. “What?” he snapped. “What’s so funny?”
“I knew this would happen, from the day you were born,” the nurse responded. Ever since your lovely mother died, he could not let you go for a minute. God forbid that you scrape your little knee, and he would never let himself get over the guilt of it. But to let you go away and be taught by someone else… it would take several major miracles to convince him of that one.”
Jean stormed off to his bedroom, and flopped into one of the soft, deep blue armchairs in the corner. He buried his face in his hands and sat there, contemplating what Celeste had said. “Ever since your mother died…” His mother. That was the key to the whole thing. He was being doted upon beyond words because his mother wasn’t there. He laughed out loud. Knowing that Duretour was coming for dinner that night, he decided what he was going to do.
After dinner that evening, Lemonnier went into his office to do some work on a particularly difficult project. With his father gone, Jean presented his idea to Duretour. However, Duretour was skeptical. “It will be very difficult to pull off… your father never loved anything or anyone more than he did your mother. We’ll see what happens.”
The next weekend, Duretour informed Lemonnier that he was going to bring a guest to dinner. Lemonnier, of course, thought nothing of it. He assumed that Duretour had finally found a nice woman to date. He was not at all prepared, though, for what happened next.
The woman who came to dinner was equal in beauty, if not more beautiful than his wife had been. She was a head shorter than Lemonnier, and was thin, but not sickly thin. She had a shy, gentle smile in the shape of a perfect quarter moon, and huge grey blue eyes. She wore her rabbit soft, dirty blond hair so that it draped gracefully down her back, reaching to just below her shoulders. Her skin was very pale, but with the tanned hue of being out in the sun.
As she stood in the front hall looking around, Lemonnier’s first thought was that he had never seen a more perfect looking woman. He immediately reprimanded himself for having that thought, thinking it an insult to his wife’s memory. At the same time, he couldn’t help thinking that after twelve or so years, his wife had become just that – a memory. “She would want me to move on,” Lemonnier thought to himself. “But I don’t know if I can. How can anyone be more darling than my Jeanne?”
Pulling himself together, he realized he had company. He hurried down from where he had been standing to welcome Duretour and the mysterious woman to his home. Jean, who had been standing near by, had judged his father’s thoughts by his facial expressions. He smiled to himself. His plan was actually working!
During dinner, Lemonnier could not stop talking to the woman. They discovered that her name was Rose, and she and Duretour were friends, but were not dating. Jean smirked as a quick smile darted across his father’s face.
*** To come: as Jean wishes for more freedom, his father finds a woman he loves as much as his first wife, and begins to ignore Jean. Having received his freedom, Jean wants his shelter back.****
Who Would Have Thought? (Final)
June
One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. That’s all I found as I groped in my pocket for money, standing at the cool, black restaurant counter. My food rang up on the register as seven bucks and three cents and all I had was this. I was too young to have a credit card, or to use one, and I had somehow managed to lose the other ten bucks I had been carrying. Oh yeah… I lent it to my friend to buy something yesterday, and this was the change. What had I thought I could buy with only the change? I didn’t want to hear the lecture about money management, which my mom had essentially pounded into my head, over and over, using her words as mortar and pestle, for the thousandth time. The cashier, who was tall, thin, and wearing a lot of black eyeliner, started looking at me impatiently. Maybe she thought I was being parsimonious. I just wasn’t sure what to do.
*****
Shannon
A teenaged girl, probably about sixteen, stood before me, wearing faded blue jeans and a navy blue hoody. Her dirty blond hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, and it draped down behind her like a curtain. Her initially confident expression faltered as she searched her pockets for money and found very little. I drummed my fingers on the cash register, watching each shiny red painted nail hit with a satisfactory thud. Her food sat on the counter, getting continuously colder. She glanced up, an apologetic, nervous look on her face. I shifted from one leg to the other, then back again, waiting.
“Are you gonna pay?” I finally asked.
She looked up again, and then continued pulling copious numbers of pennies from her pocket.
“I sure hope so.”
*****
Danny
I went out to lunch with Mommy the other day. She got us food (I got chicken fingers and French fries), and she let me play with her smooth, tan wallet, as long as I didn’t spill the coins on the floor. Mommy had lots of money in her wallet, with endless numbers of silvery, shiny coins, each like a little moon, and crisp, greenish dollar bills. I stuck a few coins in my pocket, ‘cause Mommy said I could. I felt like a big grown-up.
While we were eating, there was a girl who couldn’t find enough money to give the food lady. The food she was going to buy looked very yummy, and she looked very sad. I thought that maybe she would be happier if I gave her the coins that I had in my pocket. I told Mommy that I was gonna walk around, and, pretending that I was a knight, galloped up to the girl on my invisible horse. When I got closer to her, I pulled up on the reins, and my horse stopped with a loud whinny. The girl was a lot taller than she had looked from near Mommy, and she looked almost as tall as Mommy is
I tapped her on the leg, said, “Here you go,” and handed her four very shiny quarters. She looked down nicely and said softly, “Thank you, little boy, but I can’t take your money. Why don’t you keep it?” I shrugged, shoved the quarters back in my pocket, and galloped away.
*****
Samantha
I was in the middle of my second meeting of the day when my phone started vibrating. I wouldn’t have noticed except for the fact that I had put it on the table in the meeting room and it caused the entire table to shake. I hung up on whoever was calling, and then put it on silent. I turned back to my coworkers, slightly embarrassed. The meeting finished about ten minutes later, and by then I had sixteen missed calls, all from my daughter. With a tired sigh, I called June back.
“Hello?”
“Hi, June, it’s Mom.”
“Oh thank goodness! I’m at that restaurant downtown and I only have a buck eighty-seven. Can you come help me out?”
“Honey, I’m at work, and I have yet another meeting in about fifteen minutes for this big project the company’s doing. I can’t go running all around town.”
“So what am I supposed to do?”
“Well… here, this is what I would do. Find someone at one of the other tables who seems like someone you would be comfortable talking to, ask if you can borrow some money, and write down their contact information. We’ll pay them back.”
“Um… ok… I guess.”
*****
Terri
The girl approached my table where I was eating lunch on my own. She seemed unsure as to which table to go up to, but mine won out.
“Um… hi,” she said. “Could I borrow six bucks? I will definitely pay you back if you write down some way I can contact you.”
I studied her for a minute, running my fingers through my curly brown hair, pulling it back into a ponytail. She seemed vaguely familiar, but I wasn’t sure from where. Did she go to my school? Was she in the dance class before mine? She seemed honest enough, either way.
“Sure…” I said. I pulled my hair through the hair elastic, then handed her the six dollars. “Here you go.”
She began to walk away. She didn’t have anyone to sit with either.
“Hey,” I called. “D’you wanna come sit over here and eat? I can give you my email address…” I clicked open a pen and began to scribble it down on a napkin.
“Sure,” she said. “Thanks.”
*****
June
Who would have known that one dollar and eighty-seven cents would lead to me meeting one of my best friends for the rest of high school and beyond? It turned out that Terri, the girl who lent me the money, went to the same school as me, and was the same age. We even shared an interest in cooking, something none of my other friends thought was a huge waste of time. I had just somehow never seen her at school before, each of us blending into a crowd of high school students. I did eventually pay her back for that day, both in money and in trust. We are great friends to this day.
One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. That’s all I found as I groped in my pocket for money, standing at the cool, black restaurant counter. My food rang up on the register as seven bucks and three cents and all I had was this. I was too young to have a credit card, or to use one, and I had somehow managed to lose the other ten bucks I had been carrying. Oh yeah… I lent it to my friend to buy something yesterday, and this was the change. What had I thought I could buy with only the change? I didn’t want to hear the lecture about money management, which my mom had essentially pounded into my head, over and over, using her words as mortar and pestle, for the thousandth time. The cashier, who was tall, thin, and wearing a lot of black eyeliner, started looking at me impatiently. Maybe she thought I was being parsimonious. I just wasn’t sure what to do.
*****
Shannon
A teenaged girl, probably about sixteen, stood before me, wearing faded blue jeans and a navy blue hoody. Her dirty blond hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, and it draped down behind her like a curtain. Her initially confident expression faltered as she searched her pockets for money and found very little. I drummed my fingers on the cash register, watching each shiny red painted nail hit with a satisfactory thud. Her food sat on the counter, getting continuously colder. She glanced up, an apologetic, nervous look on her face. I shifted from one leg to the other, then back again, waiting.
“Are you gonna pay?” I finally asked.
She looked up again, and then continued pulling copious numbers of pennies from her pocket.
“I sure hope so.”
*****
Danny
I went out to lunch with Mommy the other day. She got us food (I got chicken fingers and French fries), and she let me play with her smooth, tan wallet, as long as I didn’t spill the coins on the floor. Mommy had lots of money in her wallet, with endless numbers of silvery, shiny coins, each like a little moon, and crisp, greenish dollar bills. I stuck a few coins in my pocket, ‘cause Mommy said I could. I felt like a big grown-up.
While we were eating, there was a girl who couldn’t find enough money to give the food lady. The food she was going to buy looked very yummy, and she looked very sad. I thought that maybe she would be happier if I gave her the coins that I had in my pocket. I told Mommy that I was gonna walk around, and, pretending that I was a knight, galloped up to the girl on my invisible horse. When I got closer to her, I pulled up on the reins, and my horse stopped with a loud whinny. The girl was a lot taller than she had looked from near Mommy, and she looked almost as tall as Mommy is
I tapped her on the leg, said, “Here you go,” and handed her four very shiny quarters. She looked down nicely and said softly, “Thank you, little boy, but I can’t take your money. Why don’t you keep it?” I shrugged, shoved the quarters back in my pocket, and galloped away.
*****
Samantha
I was in the middle of my second meeting of the day when my phone started vibrating. I wouldn’t have noticed except for the fact that I had put it on the table in the meeting room and it caused the entire table to shake. I hung up on whoever was calling, and then put it on silent. I turned back to my coworkers, slightly embarrassed. The meeting finished about ten minutes later, and by then I had sixteen missed calls, all from my daughter. With a tired sigh, I called June back.
“Hello?”
“Hi, June, it’s Mom.”
“Oh thank goodness! I’m at that restaurant downtown and I only have a buck eighty-seven. Can you come help me out?”
“Honey, I’m at work, and I have yet another meeting in about fifteen minutes for this big project the company’s doing. I can’t go running all around town.”
“So what am I supposed to do?”
“Well… here, this is what I would do. Find someone at one of the other tables who seems like someone you would be comfortable talking to, ask if you can borrow some money, and write down their contact information. We’ll pay them back.”
“Um… ok… I guess.”
*****
Terri
The girl approached my table where I was eating lunch on my own. She seemed unsure as to which table to go up to, but mine won out.
“Um… hi,” she said. “Could I borrow six bucks? I will definitely pay you back if you write down some way I can contact you.”
I studied her for a minute, running my fingers through my curly brown hair, pulling it back into a ponytail. She seemed vaguely familiar, but I wasn’t sure from where. Did she go to my school? Was she in the dance class before mine? She seemed honest enough, either way.
“Sure…” I said. I pulled my hair through the hair elastic, then handed her the six dollars. “Here you go.”
She began to walk away. She didn’t have anyone to sit with either.
“Hey,” I called. “D’you wanna come sit over here and eat? I can give you my email address…” I clicked open a pen and began to scribble it down on a napkin.
“Sure,” she said. “Thanks.”
*****
June
Who would have known that one dollar and eighty-seven cents would lead to me meeting one of my best friends for the rest of high school and beyond? It turned out that Terri, the girl who lent me the money, went to the same school as me, and was the same age. We even shared an interest in cooking, something none of my other friends thought was a huge waste of time. I had just somehow never seen her at school before, each of us blending into a crowd of high school students. I did eventually pay her back for that day, both in money and in trust. We are great friends to this day.
Warning Label Poem (Final)
WARNING
SERIOUS IRRITATION may occur.
Older siblings can and will be annoyed by their younger siblings.
NEVER put a feuding pair of siblings together in a car or other tightly enclosed area.
Stay as far from siblings who choose to disagree with everything you say and just generally irritate you as possible.
ALWAYS use ANY MEANS to get away.
Fly Away (Final)
Some days I long to spring up to the sky,
I’d flap my arms and soar so far away,
Yet nobody would ever question why,
A flying person – what is there to say?
I’d dance about both butterfly and cloud,
The perfect cyan blue sky right behind,
Such joy at this that I would shout out loud,
And none on Earth would pay me any mind.
The wind would carry me on shining wings,
Just laughing, smiling everywhere I go,
I’d swirl around the robin as he sings,
And smile as the notes go high to low.
But much as I would like to float around,
I know I’m just as happy on the ground.
I’d flap my arms and soar so far away,
Yet nobody would ever question why,
A flying person – what is there to say?
I’d dance about both butterfly and cloud,
The perfect cyan blue sky right behind,
Such joy at this that I would shout out loud,
And none on Earth would pay me any mind.
The wind would carry me on shining wings,
Just laughing, smiling everywhere I go,
I’d swirl around the robin as he sings,
And smile as the notes go high to low.
But much as I would like to float around,
I know I’m just as happy on the ground.
O, Illness (Final)
You are a panther in the dark, never seen coming
Until you are spread far and wide
Like soft powder thrown into a fan, still humming
And there is no good place to hide.
Everything about your presence is sour
From the taste that you cause to your potent smell.
Sitting, sick, on rumpled and clammy feeling bed sheets all day long
A mere minute becomes an hour.
The murmuring of the TV helps to quell
And the softness of sleep helps as well.
Illness, you are a beast to be reckoned with, powerful and strong.
Until you are spread far and wide
Like soft powder thrown into a fan, still humming
And there is no good place to hide.
Everything about your presence is sour
From the taste that you cause to your potent smell.
Sitting, sick, on rumpled and clammy feeling bed sheets all day long
A mere minute becomes an hour.
The murmuring of the TV helps to quell
And the softness of sleep helps as well.
Illness, you are a beast to be reckoned with, powerful and strong.
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