August Goals

Well, summer has been great these past 2 months. School starts on the 18th and marching band on the 4th, though, so summer is nearly over. Time for some August goals:
-finish reading The Reason for God
-read at least 2 other books (I used to read a book a day so I know that's possible)
-do 3 art projects I have planned (a quote board, a sketch collage, and a drawing)
-have a good start to marching band and senior year of school
-spend time every day with Jesus
-exercise 5 days a week
-choose colleges to apply to (yikes!)
-drive somewhere that's not in your neighborhood (I NEED to get my license soon but I have such anxiety about driving in general and I need to practice more on real roads going to real places with real traffic)
-make another blog post sometime this month about something a bit deeper than your to-do list
Let's see where I am in 31 days!

Last One

This is my final creative writing blog entry. While I do hope to keep this up over the summer and my senior year, I will no longer be frantically blogging the weekend before they're due. And I hope to have some more thought-through, well-written posts rather than my usual rambles.
Writing has been a solace for me. As much as I hate getting up and hauling my butt to school at 7 AM, this class taught me that sometimes writing is a discipline. I write something every day now. Sometimes a sentence. Sometimes 5 pages. Sometimes crap. Sometimes great. But either way, writing has comforted me and helped me.
Summers aren't always easy. The structureless weeks can seem endless, lonely, and boring. But with friends, books, Netflix, music, and writing, I am sure to be okay.
See you in the fall.

Eva's Dance

“Play it again, Sam.”

           “Okay, Eva,” I said as I pressed my long, thin fingers down on the keys once more. I closed my eyes; I knew the song by heart and didn’t need the sheet music any more, even though it still sat on the music stand before me, the edges frayed and the ink faded from years of use. I knew that behind me, Eva would be swaying to the music, eventually twirling and dancing around the room as the music swelled to a crescendo and then quieted, still and peaceful, like our lives.

           Or the way we wished our lives could be.

I can’t remember the days before my twin sister and I fell ill; perhaps we had always been sick in some way or another. All I remember is our lives after: constant hospital visits and doctor’s appointments, endless tests and medicines and experimental treatments. Countless doctors stood before my parents in waiting rooms as the two of them clung to each other and prayed for good news, longed for a diagnosis, a treatment, a cure, some hope. Well, they got the diagnosis at least: familial pulmonary fibrosis, a disease that caused us to have too much connective tissue built up on our lungs. They suspected a genetic link. Eva and I were four. Our prognosis wasn’t good. The rest of our lives, however shortened the disease had made them, would be filled with medical problems and the subsequent treatments necessary to keep us alive. We would always have difficulties with our lungs and possibly other complications, and since the medicine to counteract the scarring on our lungs suppressed our immune systems, we would have to be extra careful.

           Eva and I had always been close. We were twins, after all. But after our diagnosis, we became inseparable. We were  homeschooled together since kindergarten. We had a few friends from preschool, but whenever we tried to hang out with them, they wanted to run around and play outside. That wasn’t an option for us, so we became each other’s best friend, rarely apart for a minute. Even in the hospital during our many medical treatments, we shared a room. The nurses and doctors always joked that it was like treating one patient with two bodies, since we had the same symptoms and complaints. Today, Eva and I are fifteen.

           “Eva, stop it! You’ll overexert yourself!” My mom’s voice interrupted my thoughts. I stopped playing and turned around on the padded piano bench. Eva and Mom sat on the couch. Eva was wheezing, and Mom had a worried look on her face as she grabbed Eva’s inhaler. “You know you’re not supposed to exercise like that, honey!”

           “But, Mom, I was only dancing!”

           “I know you enjoy it, dear, but your health comes first. It’s not good for your lungs. You’ve got to be able to breathe deeply, so your body gets plenty of oxygen. You know this! I’m sorry you can’t go to dance classes or do a lot of the things the other kids do, but it’s for the best! That’s why we bought the piano, so you and Samantha could have something nice and relaxing to do and stay safe indoors.”

           Indoors. Where Eva and I had spent the majority of each day since our diagnosis. Any venture outside had to be planned in advance, with extra antihistamines taken to prevent any flare-up from the allergens that seemed to attack us the moment we set foot out our front door. Even when we drove to the hospital, we never once spent a moment outside: from the car in the garage attached to our house to the parking deck attached to the hospital and back. Never a breath of air that wasn’t constantly filtered. We were two sisters destined to spend our lives looking out of windows, never participating in any of the activities we so longed to do.

That is, until the day we got the piano. I still remember it clearly. Eva and I were six. We were playing with our dolls when we heard the crunch of gravel on the driveway. We ran to the window and saw a big white delivery truck parked in our front yard. We rushed downstairs, ignoring Mum’s calls not to run and raced to the door just as Daddy opened it to greet the delivery man, who held a clipboard and a pen out for my dad to sign. I caught a hint of a breeze on my face as I quickly leaned outside. Before Daddy nudged me back in, I saw three other men unloading the piano from the back of the truck. They wheeled it up the brick walkway and somehow got it through the front door and into the living room, where it sits today.

From the very beginning, I was enchanted.  The moment they placed the bench before the piano, I was glued to the seat, tracing my fingers lovingly over the smooth ivory keys. Eva, however, showed little interest in playing the piano for herself. All she ever wanted to do was dance to the music.  

           Mom and Dad didn’t like it when she danced. We were supposed to rest most of the time and not elevate our heart rates too much, because then our bodies would demand more oxygen than our lungs could give. I was okay with resting all the time. I even adjusted to rarely ever going outdoors. As long as I had the piano, I was okay. Playing the music made me happy. When I sat before the piano, I was alive. I just knew that when my disease took control and my body stopped being able to fight, I would be one of those angels in heaven making music for all of eternity. Eva, however, wasn’t made to be still. Dance was her catharsis, and since she was my best friend and twin sister, I played the songs for her. It was our little secret.

           “Are you okay now, Eva?” I asked as I walked over to the couch after Mom had left. I sat next to her and gently massaged her back. The dose of corticosteroids had stopped the wheezing, but I knew Mom’s scolding wouldn’t work. She’d want to dance again tomorrow, and the next  day, and the day after that, no matter the consequences.

           “Yeah, I’m fine,” she responded. “I think I’m just going to rest for a while.”

           “What, no more dancing today? Mom’s gone. You know I won’t tell,” I teased.

           “No. No more dancing today!” she snapped. “I could’ve stopped breathing! Sometimes I think you forget how much danger we’re in!” She stormed out of the room and stomped up to our bedroom. I sighed and went back to the piano, blinking back tears.

           “Eva! Samantha! Dinnertime!”  

           “Coming, Mom!” I shouted from the living room. Gathering up the sheet music, I put it in a neat stack, folded the top of the piano down, and turned off the lamp. I met Eva, Mom, and Dad in the kitchen. Eva returned my smile with one of her own. I knew things were right between us.

           After  we finished dinner, cleared the table, and loaded the dishwasher, Eva tugged my sleeve to get my attention. “Yes?” I turned to her.

           “Can we talk?”

           “Sure.”

           Upstairs, we lied side by side on my bed. Eva hugged a stuffed animal to her chest and began. “Sorry for snapping at you earlier. I’m just so scared sometimes. I know we don’t talk about it much so I don’t know about you, but I’m getting worse. Sam, I’ll probably need to use an oxygen tank soon. I won’t be able to dance forever, so I have to while I can. Do you understand that? I have to, but it’s so scary to think that someday soon I won’t be able to.”

           “I understand,” I lied. How could I really? I would always be able to play piano for as long as I could sit on a bench. Oxygen tank or no oxygen tank, my passion would always be accessible. But it wasn’t so for Eva.

           After a moment of silence, I said, “You know, you’ll be dancing in heaven.”

           “I guess so.” She smiled. “Thanks, Sam. You’re the best.” She rolled over on her side and was soon asleep. I moved to her bed and, after an hour or so of tossing and turning, fell asleep as well.

           “Sam, SAM!”

           My eyes flew open. I sat up in bed and saw Eva on the floor, gasping for air. “Sam, get Mom, I can hardly breathe!” I sat down beside her, noticing how her face was getting paler and her eyes more panicked by the second.

           “Mom, something’s wrong with Eva!” I yelled.

           Mom and Dad rushed into the room. “Call 911!” Mom cried as she tossed the cell phone at Dad and grabbed Eva’s inhaler. “Breathe, Eva, just breathe,” she begged. “The medicine’s not working!”

           “The paramedics are on their way right now!” Dad leaned down next to us on the floor.

           The next few minutes were a blur. Eva’s face was turning blue, and she was losing consciousness. Dad went downstairs to let the medics in; they rushed past him and were immediately by her side. They had an oxygen mask on her face and loaded her on a stretcher.

           “No, Eva, NO!” I screamed and rushed to her side. “Eva, no, don’t die, Eva, please, PLEASE!” Dad pulled me back and held my arms behind me when I tried to fight him off. I sobbed into his arms as I watched them take my twin away and cried even harder when I heard the sirens fade away as the ambulance raced down the street.

           After that, there was only numbness. Numbness as Dad carried me to the car and we drove to the hospital. Numbness as we tensely waited in the lobby. Numbness when the doctors told us they were sorry, they had done everything they could, but her weak lungs had been unable to supply enough oxygen to her heart, causing cardiac failure. Numbness during the following days, and numbness now, as we sat in our pastors’ office and planned her funeral.

           “Sam? Sam, honey, did you hear me?”

           I looked up at the pastor. “What?” I responded, not even trying to hide the “just-leave-me-alone” tone of my voice.

           “I was asking if you wanted to play a song or two for the funeral, since Eva enjoyed your music so much.”           

           I couldn’t speak, couldn’t cry. I only nodded.

           Later that day, I sat down at the piano bench. I didn’t lift the cover. I didn’t turn on the lamp. I simply stared at the sheet music in front of me and remembered the last time Eva and I were in this room together. The last time forever.

           And so that’s why, two days later, when the pastor called me up on stage--“And now, a special song from Eva’s sister, Samantha”--I sat down and played the final song that Eva had danced to, because I knew in heaven, she heard me. I knew she was smiling. I knew she was dancing.

    

 

 

           

Battlefield Songs

I received a telegram last night.

I opened it, not knowing what it would say.

My lover a fallen soldier, sacrificed his life that day.

“He died bravely, honorably, won the fight.”

 

I opened my eyes this morning.

Sunlight streamed inside, the birds sung their song.

Don’t they know that I’m in mourning?

Don’t they understand that everything’s all wrong?

 

Today they’ll be sending his body on the train.

Nobody will be here to understand my pain.

But the birds will keep singing when they lay him in the ground,

Their song will guide me to a light I will have found.

For they sing of hope, a song bright and true;

A song that he heard on the battlefield too.

 

 

 

Andrea Gibson

Andrea Gibson is everything I hope to be as a writer.

The Nutritionist

The nutritionist said I should eat root vegetables
Said if I could get down 13 turnips a day
I would be grounded,
rooted.
Said my head would not keep flying away to where the darkness is.
The psychic told me my heart carries too much weight
Said for 20 dollars she’d tell me what to do
I handed her the twenty,
she said “stop worrying darling, you will find a good man soon.”
The first psychotherapist said I should spend 3 hours a day sitting in a dark closet with my eyes closed, with my ears plugged
I tried once but couldn’t stop thinking about how gay it was to be sitting in the closet
The yogi told me to stretch everything but truth,
said focus on the outbreaths,
everyone finds happiness when they can care more about what they can give than what they get
The pharmacist said klonopin, lamictil, lithium, Xanax
The doctor said an antipsychotic might help me forget what the trauma said
The trauma said don’t write this poem
Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones
My bones said “Tyler Clementi dove into the Hudson River convinced he was entirely alone.”
My bones said “write the poem.”
The lamplight.
Considering the river bed.
To the chandelier of your fate hanging by a thread.
To everyday you could not get out of bed.
To the bulls eye on your wrist
To anyone who has ever wanted to die.
I have been told, sometimes, the most healing thing to do-
Is remind ourselves over and over and over
Other people feel this too
The tomorrow that has come and gone
And it has not gotten better
When you are half finished writing that letter to your mother that says “I swear to God I tried”
But when I thought I hit bottom, it started hitting back
There is no bruise like the bruise of loneliness kicks into your spine
So let me tell you I know there are days it looks like the whole world is dancing in the streets when you break down like the doors of the looted buildings
You are not alone and wondering who will be convicted of the crime of insisting you keep loading your grief into the chamber of your shame
You are not weak just because your heart feels so heavy
I have never met a heavy heart that wasn’t a phone booth with a red cape inside
Some people will never understand the kind of superpower it takes for some people to just walk outside
Some days I know my smile looks like the gutter of a falling house
But my hands are always holding tight to the ripchord of believing
A life can be rich like the soil
Can make food of decay
Can turn wound into highway
Pick me up in a truck with that bumper sticker that says
“it is no measure of good health to be well adjusted to a sick society”
I have never trusted anyone with the pulled back bow of my spine the way I trusted ones who come undone at the throat
Screaming for their pulses to find the fight to pound
Four nights before Tyler Clementi jumped from the George Washington bridge I was sitting in a hotel room in my own town
Calculating exactly what I had to swallow to keep a bottle of sleeping pills down
What I know about living is the pain is never just ours
Every time I hurt I know the wound is an echo
So I keep a listening to the moment the grief becomes a window
When I can see what I couldn’t see before,
through the glass of my most battered dream, I watched a dandelion lose its mind in the wind
and when it did, it scattered a thousand seeds.
So the next time I tell you how easily I come out of my skin, don’t try to put me back in
just say here we are together at the window aching for it to all get better
but knowing as bad as it hurts our hearts may have only just skinned their knees knowing there is a chance the worst day might still be coming
let me say right now for the record, I’m still gonna be here
asking this world to dance, even if it keeps stepping on my holy feet
you- you stay here with me, okay?
You stay here with me.
Raising your bite against the bitter dark
Your bright longing
Your brilliant fists of loss
Friend

if the only thing we have to gain in staying is each other,
my god that’s plenty
my god that’s enough
my god that is so so much for the light to give
each of us at each other’s backs whispering over and over and over
“Live”
“Live”
“Live”

Car Radio

Because I feel the need to post these lyrics. Car Radio by Twenty-One Pilots.

I ponder of something great
My lungs will fill and then deflate
They fill with fire
Exhale desire
I know it's dire
My time today

I have these thoughts
So often I ought
To replace that slot
With what I once bought'Cause somebody stole
My car radio
And now I just sit in silence

Sometimes quiet is violent
I find it hard to hide it
My pride is no longer inside
It's on my sleeve
My skin will scream
Reminding me of
Who I killed inside my dream
I hate this car that I'm driving
There's no hiding for me
I'm forced to deal with what I feel
There is no distraction to mask what is real
I could pull the steering wheel

I have these thoughts
So often I ought
To replace that slot
With what I once bought
'Cause somebody stole
My car radio
And now I just sit in silenceI ponder of something terrifying
'Cause this time there's no sound to hide behind
I find over the course of our human existence
One thing consists of consistence
And it's that we're all battling fear
Oh dear, I don't know if we know why we're here
Oh my,
Too deep
Please stop thinking
I liked it better when my car had sound

There are things we can do
But from the things that work there are only two
And from the two that we choose to do
Peace will win
And fear will lose
There's faith and there's sleep
We need to pick one please because
Faith is to be awake
And to be awake is for us to think
And for us to think is to be alive
And I will try with every rhyme
To come across like I am dying
To let you know you need to try to think

I have these thoughts
So often I ought
To replace that slot
With what I once bought
'Cause somebody stole
My car radio
And now I just sit in silence

I ponder of something great
My lungs will fill and then deflate
They fill with fire
Exhale desire
I know it's dire
My time today

I have these thoughts
So often I ought
To replace that slot
With what I once bought
'Cause somebody stole
My car radio
And now I just sit in silence

 

 

Europe

So in approximately one year I will be heading off to Europe with my friends and some classmates that I tolerate and call acquaintances. It'll be a wonderful time and we will be there for about 10 days. I looked at the itinerary today and I'm really excited. We go to London and Paris and Rome and probably some other places I can't remember. I'm really looking forward to the Eiffel Tower. I am pretty much in love with the Eiffel tower and yes this is an exciting thing. But what I'm really looking forward to is seeing Les Miserables. When I saw that on the schedule I literally started crying out of happiness and running around my house (yes that is a thing that happened) and listening to the various soundtracks and singing in the showers and I'm probably going to cry throughout the entire show whilst fangirling because yes. Les Mis. In Europe. Is a thing. That is going to happen in my life in less than a year.