Day #9

It started with a dance.

I'm not much for dancing.  I can't dance and I've never really gotten into it as far as wanting to take it to another level and learn ballet or jazz dance.  When I got to high school, I missed homecoming.  Coming from an elementary/middle school that was relatively far away from my highschool, I didn't know anyone that would ask me to go to a dance with them.  And I wasn't interested in any of the guys that I had gone to school with before.  So when it was around Sadie's time, I resolved to ask a boy to go with me.  I really wanted to go-- I didn't want to spend high school sitting around and wishing something would happen for me. 

English class was my favorite.  Even today when I walk by that classroom on my way to lunch, I take in the familiar floral scent of potpourri.  I take a quick peek into the classroom and see the floor to ceiling bookshelves filled with new books and old books, the lamps that cast a home-y glow when the overhead fluorescent light was off.  It's still by far my favorite classroom.

I was usually the first one into the classroom.  I didn't have very many friends as a freshman, so I had no one to stop to talk to.  I just crossed the commons and went up the stairs, purposely trying to be first.  It was like a game.

My teacher told us that we were getting new seats, so she took out the new seating chart and told me where to go.  I was right by the door.

I sat with two boys and two girls (well, one, since the other girl wasn't there a lot of the time).  Everyone was excitedly babbling about going to Sadies (I think it's a freshman thing, since they never seem to know what's going on...) and our table was not the exception to this.  One of the guys at my table was going around and asking if any of us were going.  The other girl at my table (the one that was in the classroom consistently) said she was going with a group of friends and they were dressing up as the Powerpuff Girls from Cartoon Network.  I said I wanted to go, but I hadn't asked anyone yet.  The other boy said he'd go if someone asked him, but he didn't think that anyone would want to ask him.

I'm terrible at putting the pieces of a mental puzzle together, so I didn't even think to solve this problem.  The the boy that had asked if any of us were going passed a note to me across the table.

"You should ask the Guy to your right to Sadie's."

I think I whispered something really insensitive back like, "I don't know if I want to."
The bell was going to ring in five minutes, so everyone was up and moving around-- being generally social.  I saw the boy that was sitting next to me.  I really wanted to go and this boy was going to be my big chance.  I took a deep breath and walked up to him.

"Do you want to go to Sadie's with me?"

"Umm... sure."

After that, everything fell into place.  We went to Sadie's and had a great time!  We danced, we went on hayrides, we talked a lot... it was great fun.  Admittedly, it was weird holding this boy's hand, but it was either that or kiss.  I remember really wanting to kiss, but that was because I liked the idea of kissing, not that it was going to be with this boy.  We just weren't ready yet.

After that night, we became good friends.  We talked a lot and sat next to each other whenever we could.  Soon he started walking with me to my bus and we talked until the last possible minute until I absolutely had to get on the bus.  My bus driver began to notice how much time I was spending with this boy.

A couple months later, our interations caught the eye of some of our peers and we began to get questions.

"Are you together?"

"Are you two going out with each other?"

We'd always stare at each other with blank looks because neither of us really knew how to answer or ask the other The Question.  One day, another girl came up to us and asked us the same question and we came up with the typical answer of, "Umm..."

"Well, do you like her?"

"Yes!"

My heart fluttered-- cheesy but true.

"And do you like him?"

"Yes!"

"Then you two are a couple!"

We were all smiles after that.

We were walking to my bus when I turned to him and asked:

"Are we really together now?"

"Only if you want to be," he said smiling.

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Author's Note: This is a true "How They Met" story.

Day #8

Bethany closed her eyes and felt the warmth of the summer sun on her skin.  She was holding hands with the girl she loved while they were both lying on the dock that jutted out of a secluded part of the lake.

"Excuse the cliché, but I really hope that this day never ends..." said Bethany.

The girl, her name was Genevieve, gently squeezed Bethany's hand and a smile spread across each of their faces.

"Are we going to tell anyone?" asked Genevieve.

"I don't think that I want to," said Bethany, after taking some time to think.

"But... why not?" asked Genevieve.

"I just... I think that I'd shock my parents," said Bethany.  "I'm just not ready to have that conversation or take on that uphill battle."

"So... does that mean we can't tell anyone?" asked Genevieve.

"I don't know who we could tell," said Bethany.

"So, it's not that you're ashamed that we're together now," said Genevieve.

"Of course it's not that.  I wouldn't be here if I wasn't absolutely sure," said Bethany.

"Have you ever doubted?" asked Genevieve.

"Of course I have," said Bethany.  "It wasn't obvious for me like it was for you."

"Then how did you find out?" asked Genevieve.

"I don't know... I just... did," said Bethany.  "It's really hard to explain.  I just thought about it one day and the more I thought about it, I realized something about myself and everything in my life just... fit.  But it wasn't just based on one time.  I thought about this many times.  I came up with the same conclusion.  What was it like for you?"

"I kind of did the same thing as you did, but I realized it earlier than you did.  My parents kind of wondered too.  I had always been a little more attracted to females and I was absolutely terrified by the male gender, not to mention that I didn't feel comfortable around them and there was no level of attraction.  When I actually told them, there was no surprise.  They were completely supportive of me and everything was good," said Genevieve.

"I wish it was so easy for me to tell my family," said Bethany.  "I'm so used to being close to my parents.  We've never had a secret between us.  I can't help but wonder just how well I know my parents because every time I try to convince myself to tell them, I stop myself because I just don't know how they'll react.  I don't want them to think that they've failed me or that I've failed them... I know there isn't a connection between sexual identity and failure, but I don't know if my parents see things that way."

"If they really love you, then they'll take you for how you are.  One realization shouldn't change their view of you," said Genevieve.

Bethany smiled.

"See, that's why I keep you.  You just make everything better."

"There you go with your clichés again," said Genevieve, smiling.

"But they're true."

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Author's Note: I honestly don't understand how a realization changes the way you think of a person when you've known them for years.  It's beyond me...  And it doesn't even have to be a realization about one's sexual identity.  It could be a realization about religion, politics... anything.

I apologize for my lack of updating.  It's NaNoWriMo season, which means I'm working on bigger projects than just this blog.  As for the months before November, I don't have a legitimate excuse.  I was working on another short story and I just couldn't find a way to move forward, so this blog just sat and gathered dust.

I'll try and update a bit more regularly.  Perhaps once a week?

Day #7

Most of the time, we'd just lay on the floor and listen to music with our eyes closed.  His head would be touching my head and my hand would be in his.  We liked the record player the most.  We could listen to CDs any time.


I placed a stack of LPs and 45s on top of each other and set the turn table in motion.  We lay on the Persian rug with our eyes closed. 


After a couple of hours, the Beatles began to play.  We listened in silence for a while-- I mouthed the words, not wanting to wake him up.  Then the song 'Something' came on.  It was my favorite.


"Hey, love?" I asked him.  "Are you awake?"


The room was warm and the Persian rug exceptionally comfortable, so I expected him to sleep through my words.


"I'm awake," he responded.


I smiled.


"Don't you love this song?" I asked him.


"I do," he said.


I breathed deeply and then I felt him lift himself from the carpet patch next to me.  I opened my eyes to find that he was standing above me.  Without saying anything, he extended his arm to me and I grabbed it, allowing him to pull me up.  In one fluid motion, he lifted me from the floor where I landed in his arms.  He supported me until I regained my footing.


I stood up on my own and he ran his hands up and down my back and I put my arms around his neck.  We began to sway in time with the music.  His face gradually came closer to mine until we were cheek to cheek and dancing in time to the Beatles.


In the amount of time that I've known that falling in love is possible, I never thought it would happen to me.  In this precise moment, during this one song, I've never been more sure of anything in my life.

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 Author's Note: I'm a hopeless romantic.  I really want this to happen in real life.  Boyfriend, even though you don't really know about this blog, I hope you find this so that we can follow through on this thing.  Pretty please?

Day #6

Memories of Peppermint Tea

When my cousins and I were young, they used to come to my grandma's house as opposed to us going down to Iowa to see them.  It was usually around Christmas or other holidays until recently when they began coming up for college visits and even more recently, to see my oldest cousin off to college for the year.  

One of the most vivid memories I have is one Christmas when my eldest cousin, my sister, and I all received a Madeleine themed tea set.  My grandmother drinks tea like no other (and the occasional cup of coffee).  For years, we admired the many tea pots that she kept hanging up above the stove in her kitchen-- anything from Winnie the Pooh to a summer-y floral pattern hung above that stove.  We had been allowed to look and poke as long as we asked, but we had always wanted to use one, and finally, we were allowed to.  

We called my grandma Nani.  

Nani boiled some water and put it in one of the teapots.  She poured the water in the teapot and laid a tea bag in there, letting the tea particles disperse.  After that, she poured some of the tea from the big teapot into our little Madeleine teapots (they were really small, so we came back quite often for refills, because the cups were also tiny).  We also grabbed some crackers so we could have a "real tea party."

For the longest time, I forgot that I liked tea.  Well, peppermint tea.  We didn't have any tea at my house because I was the only one that liked it at the time, so it was a treat whenever I went over to Nani's house.  Once I entered high school, I didn't go there as often as I used to (I used to go to my grandma's house every day all the way through eighth grade, because that's how I got to school.  The bus wouldn't come to my house).  I soon forgot about my love of peppermint tea.  

When we hosted our second French student-- she liked tea a lot.  She had it every morning she was here-- she brought us tea.  Le Thé des Ecrivains, or, The Tea of Writers.  I loved the container, and it smelled really nice, but I didn't care too much for the taste, but then again, I might have made it too strong because we had to put the tea in tea bags ourselves if we wanted that kind.  Since she was staying for three weeks, my mom got a variety pack of different kind of tea, letting everyone try one kind of tea or another.  What could be found in this variety pack?  That's right.  Peppermint tea.  Then all of these old memories came up and it was lovely!  

Needless to say, I've been drinking more peppermint tea ever since.

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Author's Note: I've been lacking anything really good to post, so I figure I might as well post memories or dreams here too if I can't think of anything fictional to put.  Sorry if this was incredibly boring.  I liked writing it though.

Alrighty, my tea is cold and I think it's time to add a little more water and warm it up so I can figure out what I need to do today.  Have a good one!

Day #5

There were so many colors... so many...


She came here every night.  You could count on her being in the falling-apart building promptly at eight.  When she came, she'd take a seat on one of the many benches in front of the washing machines.  She would stay there until ten, then she would move over to the driers with the windows.  They were equally as thrilling for her.


Here I was, sitting behind the table by the front door.  I exchanged money for tokens so the different machines would work.  When she came in, she gave me ten dollars and I gave her the proper amount of tokens.  All forty of them.  I can't remember ever seeing her use these tokens.  she's definitely never used all of those tokens-- her pockets always jingled, harmonizing with the bell over the door.


The bell rang now.  I looked up at the clock on the wall (8:00pm, on the dot) and then looked over at the door where the girl was, just like normal.  She was digging in her pockets and she pulled out two fives.  She walked over to me.  I had taken out the forty tokens in anticipation of what she would ask for.  She smiled at me and scraped them all off the table and into her pockets.  She went to the machine nearest the window and sat down on the bench cross-legged.


Her eyes were already fixated upon the glass window of the washing machine.  They followed the brightest article of clothing in the machine-- a red shirt with Mikey Mouse on it.  At first glance, it looked a lot like something you would see in the Exorcist or some other paranormal movie, with Mickey's face spinning in circles, squished up into something unrecognizable by the creases in the shirt.  But still she kept looking.


I found myself moving closer to her and eventually sitting next to her on the bench.


"You like to watch too?" she asked me.


"Sometimes," I said.  And I wasn't lying.  I understood some of the joy of watching the spinning motions of the washing machines.


"I'm glad," she said.  "So you know?"


"Know what?" I asked her, confused.


She smiled at me now; like she knew something I didn't, which was probably the case.  She probably knew a lot of things I didn't know.


"So you're not one of them," she said, her smile fading.


"I don't know what you mean," I confessed.


"Oh... you're just normal," she said, sounding disappointed.  "Well, you've helped me out enough, any way.  It's all right."


"Helped you enough with what?"


"You've helped me collect enough pieces to get home.  I am forever in your debt," she said.


"Umm... you know you can't use these on the bus, right?  They're just useless pieces of metal outside of the laundromat," I explained.


"Of course you can't," she said, giving me a look that said quite plainly, 'No shit, Sherlock.'  "But where I come from, these will get you anywhere.  And right now, that's especially important.  I've been here too long. They promised."


"I don't fully understand... what do you mean 'where you come from?'" I asked her.


"Can you keep a secret?" she asked.


Finally, she was beginning to trust me!


"Yeah, of course."


"I have dual citizenship," she said.  That's all she said.


"You lost me..."


"I'm human-- my parents are from earth.  They're astronauts working for NASA.  Mom had no idea that she was pregnant... not until it was too late any way.  They landed on Mars and they had to operate.  I was born on a spaceship on Mars," said the girl.  "They've been contacting me since I was a small child.  They told me that they were going to come for me.  It would be a few years, but they would come for me.  Tonight is the night.  It has to be."


The girl reached into her pockets and began shoveling out handfuls of tokens onto the bench.


"I've been collecting for ten years.  This isn't all of them.  The rest are at my parents' house.  That's where they're going to pick me up," said the girl.


"How do you know?" I asked.


"I just do..."

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Author's Note: I don't know why, but several weeks ago whilst sitting through French class, I began to think about laundromats.  I haven't had to go to one in several years, but it's still fun to watch everything go around in colorful circles.  I don't know how the alien part came in.  Maybe they're possessing me... ;)  Any way, excuse the horrible cliff-hanger.  This might turn into a one-act that's going to be apart of a compilation that I'm hoping to call "The Ups and Downs of Living Life."  Even the original concept of that has changed.

Day #4

I am thin.
I will eat today.
Calories can't hurt me.
One hundred and twenty pounds is a good weight.
It's normal.
Normal is beautiful.
I won't be fat.
I'll never be fat.
I am beautiful.
Everyone wants to be as thin as me.
I will eat today.
Gaining weight is not the end of the world.
I am not fat.
I am perfect the way I am.
The girl in the mirror is a lie.
She's trying to turn you into something you're not.
Something you can't be-- don't want to be.
But I don't want to be like her.
I want to be the farthest from that girl.
I will not be fat.
I must work harder.
No food.
Plenty of exercise.
...
No.
I am beautiful.
I am me.
Gaining weight is not the end of the world.
It's good for me.
I will be somewhere over one hundred pounds.
That's a lot...
I don't think I can.
It's so hard...
I'm so thin, but I feel fine.
I'm fine.
I'm fine.
I will not be fat.

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Author's Note: I'm not sure of the statistics, but I'd wager a guess that the vast majority of girls (and boys too, for that matter) are self-conscious about their bodies.  I'm guilty of this too.  I've never gone down a path that this poem type of thing suggests, but I've deemed my days good or bad solely on if I thought I was skinny or fat that day.

Day #3

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven...


I touched the sink once.

...Two, three, four, five, six, seven...

That wasn't necessary... why would I do that?

Because I have to.  I have to.  If I don't, something bad will happen to me... or to someone else... even worse... I have to.  There is no question about it.  I have to.  No negotiations.  I have to.  I have to.  Why?  Because I have to...

My life is being put on hold.  I can't move or do anything until I reach seven, seven, seven, seven, seven, seven, seven.


"Is not seven the most magical number in the world?"

Magical, magical, magical, magical, magical, magical...


One, two, three, four, five, six, seven...


One, two, three, four, five, six, seven...


...

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Author's Note: I am guilty of watching Criminal Minds tonight... the episode was about a girl that had obsessive compulsive disorder.  She did everything in three's.  She started one fire, so she had to do it two more times, each time having a triad of three's.  So interesting!  Any way, that was my inspiration for this.  I felt really clever figuring out different ways to put seven's in this piece.

Day #2

BOOM!


Another rumble of thunder filtered through the house.  Mina hugged her knees closer to her chest as she watched the rain beat against the window and the lightning illuminate every window and room in her house.

Her family was gone for the evening.  They had a dinner party to go to an hour away.  She guessed that the storm wasn't as bad where they were.

Mina was by no means afraid of storms.  In fact, they were among her most favorite events.  It was an experiential thing for her.  Like being at a rock concert, but every time was her first.  Flashing lights and bursts of fire, screaming guitar music and drum beats that determined her very heartbeat.

She felt the house shake around her.  Even on the couch, she was jostled around where she sat.

She imagined that the rain splattering against the windows of her house was paint.  Splashes of orange, purple, green, blue, and red... she lived in a Technicolor house.  Every storm created something new.

Music and color were her world.  And she never intended to leave it.

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Author's Notes: This is what happens when I'm in an artsy mood and we're watching a movie all about lightning in physics.  Oh well!  What can you do?

Day #1

Ingrid tapped upon the door and waited in the uncomfortable silence for someone to answer the door.  She pulled her coat closer and wiggled her toes in her shoes for warmth.  It must have been negative five degrees Fahrenheit outside...

Finally, someone put her out of her misery and opened the door.

"Hey!  You made it!"  It was Sophia, Neil's second wife.

Neil and Ingrid had been friends since their sophomore year in high school.  She had been in love with him once, but then he married his high school girlfriend and she knew she was too late.

But she never stopped loving him.

Ingrid stepped over the threshold and Sophia took her coat and put in the nearly empty coat closet.  The only company her coat had were three coat hangers and a floral hat box that sat on the top shelf.

"Thank you," said Ingrid.  "Where would you like me to put my shoes?"

"Oh, I can take them.  I'll put them in my room so the dog doesn't chew them," said Sophia.

As if on cue, a chubby pug ambled into the room sending shock waves through the floorboards.  Ingrid bent down, resting on one knee and took the pug's face gently in both of her hands.  His face looked even more squished than a normal pug's because of his excess fat.  He was soft, but slightly greasy-feeling like the poor dog was in need of a bath pretty soon.

"What's his name?" asked Ingrid, not realizing that Sophia had left the room.

There was a slam upstairs-- Ingrid's heels hitting the floor of one of the bedrooms upstairs.  The floorboards creaked above me as Sophia moved to the doorway of the bedroom and down the stairs again.

"What was that?" she asked.

"What's your dog's name?"

"Simba," said Sophia.

Ingrid tilted her head to look at Sophia.

"Do you mean like the lion cub from 'The Lion King?'" asked Ingrid.

Sophia nodded with evidence of mockery on her face.

"Susan thought Simba looked like an ugly cat," laughed Sophia.

"No doubt she got that from her father," said Ingrid, smiling.

"Don't let him hear you say that!" said Sophia.  "Neil!  Ingrid is here!"

There was the sound of thunder coming from upstairs-- more than one set of pounding footsteps.  Ingrid knew that Neil had had one daughter with Sophia and a son with his former wife before she died.  For some reason, the footsteps upstairs sounded too loud for two kids who had to be thirteen and fourteen years old respectively and one adult.

Ingrid's question was answered as two, three, four, five kids rounded the banister before Neil.  She saw a shock of grey amongst his thick, dark locks.  At a second glance, maybe his hair wasn't as thick as it once was...

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Author's Notes: Just something to get this blog rolling... I kind of like this concept for a story, so I might just come back to it sometime in the future.

How This Will Go Down...

Hello there!  Welcome to my blog!

Let's get through with the introductions... my name is Jude Rosenberg.  I'm seventeen years old and I've been writing creatively for several years (though the exact number is not known to me).  You might know me from "...It's Like a Whirlwind Inside of my Head..."  But then again, you might not.  That's where I've been living in the  blogosphere longest though.

Last night, I was given five abandoned blue notebooks.  I was looking for a place where I could record some of my writing so that I wouldn't have to worry about losing anything.  It's my personal mission to get better at my craft and most importantly, become inspired again.

Basically, I created this blog to keep myself in check.  You're more than welcome to follow the madness!  A fair warning though: I don't plan on having anything be chronological.  It's just a gold mine for me to sift through.  No matter where you start when you visit, you won't have missed anything super important.

Thanks for stopping by!

--Jude