Things I've Learned While in High School

#1: No matter how old you are, you're still a child at heart. You still have that little streak of immaturity: you still get a little jealous when you see your best friend hanging out with someone else, you still laugh when the ketchup bottle "farts", and you still get a kick out of sucking the helium from balloons. You go to Wal-Mart with your friends and make a beeline for the toys and the candy, you sport T-shirts that display your favorite childhood cartoon characters, and I'm willing to bet that we've all eaten a Fruit Roll-Up within the past year. When you see a sprinkler watering a lawn, you have the urge to run through it. You got a Slip N' Slide for your 18th birthday party. You still get excited over sparklers and snappers on the Fourth of July. There's just something about a particularly bright flower that makes you want to pick it and tuck it behind your ear. You were first in line to see The Lion King 3-D. You still like to twirl around in flowy skirts and slide across wooden floors in your socks.  There's nothing that tastes better to you than an ice cream cone in the summer or a cup of hot cocoa after a snowball fight.  You love amusement parks, from the roller coasters all the way down to the bumper cars and everything in between.  Last time you bought Band-Aids, they were the Spongebob kind, because those just make it hurt less.  You miss the days of falling asleep on the couch and waking up in your bed.  Sometimes you still need a night-light and your stuffed Pikachu to cuddle up with.  You often think that life was so much simpler back when the opposite sex still had 'cooties' and all you needed was your mommy and a best friend to make your life complete.  Sometimes you wish that you could throw away your calculus homework and 'count the apples' again.  Sometimes you wish that you could have stayed a child forever.  You gain knowledge, when you grow up, of the world around you.  You learn of love, pain, death, and war, and a your innocence flies away like that balloon that you lost at the fair when you were little.  I don't know about everyone else, but I've managed to hang onto a precious little bit of that innocence, just enough to remember what it was like back when life was still simple, and I don't ever plan on letting go.   

R.I.P. West Liberty...

...or at least the West Liberty I'll always remember.  There's not a doubt in my mind that we will rebuild, but I think I speak for everyone when I say that it will never, ever be the same.  We've lost so many historic landmarks to the EF-3 tornado that ripped through on Friday, March 2nd, that the appearance of the town will be changed forever.      

Main Street.

                                                                 Commercial Bank.

 Methodist Church.

Christian Church.

 Courthouse.

Freezer Fresh.

  

"Tire Swing"

      It is dusk when the first glimmering star makes its brilliant appearance on the fading, pink horizon, just beyond the distant Cincinnati skyline. I sigh with contentment, lost in blissful thought as I admire the magnificent sight that God has placed right before my very eyes, almost forgetting the presence of the blue-eyed boy sitting in the soft, lush grass behind me.

      This is our special place, where not even the brightest city lights can find us and where we can fully connect with the beauty of nature, as well as with each other. Nobody else knows about this place; we discovered it last year while hiking and vowed to keep it our perfect little secret.

      Flowing on one side of our meadow is a sparkling, clear brook, teeming with fish, almost tropical in appearance, of all different colors. Along the bank, weeping willows extend their lonely arms down toward the water, clean and untouched by corporate-hungry human hands. The brook makes for a refreshing escape from the heat of the summer sun, as well as for a feverish rendezvous beneath the soft glow of the sinless moon.

      Just beyond the brook lies a steep bluff, providing an unobstructed view of the city, a stark reminder that, eventually, we must return to the place that we’ve temporarily left behind. That, however, is the only indicator that there is any kind of world beyond ours, as the rest of the meadow is surrounded by nothing but forest.

      This meadow that we have come to love, nearly as strongly as we love each other, is just a tiny clearing in the dense foliage, where small patches of black-eyed Susan, candytuft, and evening primrose poke their heads up through the down-like, emerald colored grass. In the center stands a gracious, old apple tree that bears fruit as sweet as if you were eating pure cane sugar.  We like to call this our very own little Garden of Eden. 

     We drive out here often, he and I, leave the car in a parking lot off the interstate and hike up to our spot.  Sometimes we bring a picnic basket, sometimes our guitars, sometimes just ourselves.  We'll spend all day up here sometimes, talking, eating Sour Patch Kids, taking silly pictures of each other with my old-school Polaroid camera, and singing our favorite indie songs.  One day last spring, we even decided to hang a classic tire swing from one of the apple tree's strong, solid branches. 

     This is where I'm sitting now, taking in the aesthetic scenery surrounding me.  I look to the sky, gradually fading to indigo as the sun sets behind the trees.  At some point, Blue Eyes comes up and wraps his arms around my waist from behind, disrupting my train of thought as I catch a slight whiff of his Hollister cologne.  

     "Make a wish and hold on tight," he whispers softly into my right ear, before brushing my waist-length, auburn hair to the side and pressing his warm lips into the indention between my neck and shoulder.  

     I squeeze my eyes shut, decide what my wish will be, and suddenly I'm flying, soaring high above the treetops, beyond the city, toward the celestial sea so far away from here.  I open them again, taking in Heaven's natural light show, watching each star gradually come out to play underneath the watchful eye of the Man in the Moon, until the sky is filled with them.  Back here on earth, the occasional flicker of a firefly breaks up the darkness as I swing back and forth, Blue Eyes pushing me higher and higher. 

     Eventually, I begin to feel dizzy.  "Baby, let me down!" I call to him, and before I can take another breath, the swing stops abruptly, causing me to gasp.

     "Never," he says, helping me down from the swing and enveloping me in his arms, my dizziness getting the best of me and causing us both to tumble to the grass.  As soon as our intertwined bodies hit the ground, laughing hysterically, the sound of an explosion momentarily startles the peaceful calm, silencing the tree frogs and katydids and causing us to nearly jump out of our own skin.  Not for long, though, because the sound of a second explosion reminds us what day it is.

     Fourth of July. 

     Blue Eyes rises to his feet and then offers me his hand.  I gratefully take it as he pulls me upright and leads me over to the side of the brook.  The sky over Cincinnati is all ablaze with red, white, and blue as we watch, mesmerized, hidden back just out of sight, underneath the weeping willows.  "My God, you're beautiful," he finally manages to murmur as he takes both my hands in his. 

     Beautiful?  If I'm beautiful, then what exactly does that make him, standing here with me, smiling as the fireworks dance off of his eyes and his hair falls perfectly into his rugged face?  Beyond beautiful?  Instead of searching for words, I silently release his hands, wrap my arms around his neck, and gently press my lips against his.  Several delicious minutes and hundreds of fireworks later, I pull back and look down at my phone.  When on earth did it get so late? 

     He's obviously just seen the time as well because his eyes grow wide with panic.  "What time were your parents expecting you home?"

     "Eleven-thirty.  I have half an hour."  

     "We can make it if we drive fast; come on!"  He takes my hand and we take off sprinting downhill, through the woods, along the same path that we've traveled a million times.  About a mile later, we find his black Camry parked right where he'd left it.  We hurriedly pile inside, click our seatbelts, blast the music, and speed off down the interstate, headed back for civilization.

     After doing ninety for most of the trip, his car pulls sensibly into my driveway at precisely 11:29.  We made it. 

     A few last kisses, a promise to go to the same spot tomorrow, and he's off, about to miss his midnight curfew.  I smile as I watch him drive to the end of my street, turn left, and speed out of sight.  As I'm walking through my front door and heading up the stairs to let my parents know I'm home, I feel something in my jeans pocket.  I reach in and find a small piece of paper; he must have placed it there sometime during the fireworks, or perhaps the chaos of trying to get me home on time.  I slowly unfold it, smile as those three little, ever-powerful words register in my brain.

     I love you.

     "I love you, too," I whisper as I turn the corner at the top of the stairs.  "I love you, too."

Razor Blade (poem)

You slowly pull back the security of a long sleeve,
Revealing to me the deep scars of your personal battle.

I feel powerless, helpless,
As I examine the countless red gashes
That have felt the cold metal far too many times.

Tears of sadness and anger
Stream down my burning cheeks,

Like the crimson blood
That has streamed down your frail, hurting arm,
Secretly, for too long.

But still,
I embrace you warmly like only a true friend could do.

Can't you see that,
When you hurt yourself,
You hurt me as well?

Let me be your razor blade.
Let me take away the pain.

I will always be there to share your burden.
Place it on my shoulders
And we'll wait out the storm together.

Now, dry your tears and stop the bleeding.
I'll be your razor blade.

My Inspiration

     I probably never would have gotten up enough courage to post my work for the whole world to see, had it not been for my summer spent at the Kentucky Governor's Scholars Program.  GSP was by far the most close-knit, friendly, enthusiastic, and supportive community that I have ever had the privilege of being a part of.  (Wow, I used "community" and "privilege" in the same sentence.  Shouldn't I receive some kind of award for that, John Kinkade?) 

     But in all seriousness, those are truly the two best words I can find to describe it.  I made some friends that I wouldn't trade for the world, had some awesome teachers that I wish I could have in my normal high school environment, and got an education unlike any classroom experience I have ever been a part of. 

     I immediately loved my focus area, Tony Crunk's Creative Writing & Literary Studies class, pictured below.  These people are true inspirations in themselves.  Keep an eye out for them -- I'm sure there will be some great writers from this very talented group someday! (:

Short Story -- "Forget-Me-Not Eyes"

     Lightheadedness began to set in.  My eyelids grew heavier and heavier, as if simply blinking would cause me to slip into a deep, comatose state.  My mind was cloudy, my thoughts scattered like jagged shards of broken glass.  The supply of oxygen in the cramped acrylic bubble surrounding my head was quickly depleting and being replaced by strong fumes that burned my lungs when I tried to inhale.  My eyes overflowed like a waterfall, salty teardrops cascading down onto the year-old magazine that I held in my lap, turned to the same tattered page that it landed on when I had opened it 20 minutes prior.

     Suddenly, just as I began to foresee a painful, smothering death, the bubble lifted, fresh air rushing all around me once again.  I gratefully drew in several deep breaths, melting away a throbbing headache and regaining my sense of vision.

     "Okay, you're almost dry, hon.  Just sit tight for a few minutes while I see this customer right quick."

     "All right," I managed to cough up as Dee scurried off toward the lobby.

     She should've just let the fumes kill me, I thought to myself as I sat sullenly in the middle of the small beauty parlor, arms folded across my chest, my legs sticking to the cheap vinyl seat like an off-brand adhesive bandage.  All I wanted was just to go home, break open a pint of Cherry Garcia and a new box of tissues, and eat and cry and listen to sappy love songs before finally drifting off to sleep, my broken sobs muffled by the soft hug of my ever-faithful pillow.

     But no, there I sat with my head covered in aluminum foil, feeling like I'd just been hit by a bus, trampled by a professional football team, pushed off a 50-foot cliff, and then slapped across the face.  But how was I supposed to feel?  Hutton, my boyfriend of seven months, my best friend, whom I'd loved and trusted with everything in me, had broken things off that morning, supposedly needing some time to "find himself."

     Yeah, right.

     What kind of idiot did he take me for?

     I'd seen those flirty posts on his Facebook Wall, the ones with the "winky" faces.  I'd watched them make eyes at school as he held my hand, walked me to class.  I had seen it coming, so why was I so blindsided when it actually happened?  Why hadn't my knowledge of the situation softened the final blow?

     Sure, my tears would dry at times and I'd start to pull myself together, but then another one of those beautiful, awful memories would make its way back to the surface and I would begin to fall apart all over again.  There was just no way I could forget those piercing green eyes, that adorable crooked smile, the way that he used to crack me up with his dead-on impersonation of our steroid-enhanced, ex-Marine gym teacher, and those sweet kisses we'd shared underneath a sea of summer stars.  I couldn't even begin to fathom the idea of never riding around our one-horse town in his little blue Ford Ranger again, or cuddling with him in the dark while watching horror movies.  I was lost, and the thought of being replaced, of him making new memories with a new girl, was unbearable.

     My eyes welled up again as I stared intently at the floor, tracing over the faint designs in the black-and-white checkerboard tile with the toe of my Ugg boot.  As I sulked, I saw two pairs of feet walk by.  I immediately recognized Dee's navy blue Crocs, but the black Vans walking behind her piqued my curiosity.  I looked up from my pity party just long enough to see a tall, lanky boy in dark wash, straight-leg, Hollister jeans and a red, buffalo plaid button-down, taking a seat in the chair across the room.  I quickly averted my eyes -- I couldn't let a cute guy see me like this!  I shouldn't even be looking at cute guys!  I was supposed to be crushed, right?

     But as soon as I heard Dee pick up her scissors, I decided to take just one more quick glance.  I slowly lifted my head and took in his shaggy, black hair, which fell into his face just ever-so-slightly as he looked down at his phone, probably texting who I could only assume was his girlfriend.  Before I had the chance to look away, his eyes met mine, sparkling as the flourescent lighting danced off of them.  They were a deep, cool shade of blue, the color of forget-me-nots in in the early morning sunlight.  The corners of his lips turned upward into a half-smile.

     I quickly dropped my head and went back to studying the floor.  Had he just smiled at me? 

     Only one way to find out.

     I took a deep breath and looked up again, only to find Forget-Me-Not still staring, only this time his shy grin had widened into a full-blown smile, revealing perfectly-aligned, gleaming white teeth.  For the first time all day, I felt myself smile as I looked back at him, and for a moment in time, forgot what I'd been so upset about in the first place. 

     I was actually a bit disappointed when Dee turned his chair away from me and started snipping, but we had just shared a small, intimate moment that left something -- butterflies? -- in the pit of my stomach. 

     Just a few minutes later, as he rose to leave, I took one last look, assuming that I would never see him again.  But as he passed by my seat, he dropped a tiny piece of paper onto my lap.  I looked into his unforgettable, forget-me-not eyes one more time as he grinned and winked at me, saying not a word as he walked out the door, climbed into his black Camry, and drove away.

     I slowly unfolded the paper -- a Juicy Fruit wrapper -- to find his name and number scribbled down in sloppy handwriting.  I quietly dropped it in my purse, knowing exactly who I would be texting later.  Suddenly, I remembered why I'd been so sad to begin with, but it oddly didn't seem to matter so much anymore.  I would be okay, and I would find someone who actually deserved me.  After that day, I didn't shed another tear for Hutton (and also saved myself the calories of a pint of Cherry Garcia).  I had other interests.