Wednesday, December 5, 2012

For those not in my group but still want to read my story, here it is...

CHRISTMAS CAROLS

It was Decmeber 2nd and the holiday season was officially in full swing. The air was biting yet worth enduring given the time of year. The skies were greying with potential snowfall. The sides of roads all over were dusted with the past tense of such snowfall. Travelling down one of these roads was the Hutchinson family, on their way to the yearly tradition of picking out the biggest darn tree they could find. It was the same farm every year, Freddy's Family Firs. Scott, the head of the clan by any measure, was less than a fan of the farm for a few reasons. Probably the most prevalent of all the reasons was that the faux Santa seated in the front offices by the checkout counter stunk of cigarettes and draft beer. During several visits, Scott was almost certain parts of the man's lunch had fallen and gotten tangled in his dollar store costume beard. Still, Scott returned to the farm every year with his family because it was a tradition that, believe it or not, predated even him. Scott was his wife Renee's second husband. Her first husband Chad had abandoned Renee and their three year old son Mikey to run off with a "professional dancer" he had met at a friend's bachelor party. Scott and Renee met and eventually married when Mikey was 7. Not long after, Renee became pregnant and shortly after gave birth to a daughter, Rosie. In a span of 2 1/2 years, Mikey had gotten a new stepdad and a baby sister, neither of which he was too happy about. Through their first seven years of marriage, Mikey's relationship with Scott had been less than cordial and borderline contentious. It was Renee's job to play peacemaker between the two, something she did with remarkable ease. She didn't have such trouble refereeing Scott and Rosie, after all it's hard to stop fights that don't happen. rosie was the apple of Scott and Renee's eyes. She was intelligent, independent, and fiesty when appropriate. The ride to the farm every year had normally been filled with eager anticiption and cheer. This year was different. Everyone was quiet, not with said anticipation, but with indiifference. It had been a difficult year. Mikey was becoming a teenager and developing the "rebellious prick" attitude that comes with every drop of hormone that begins to flow through the body at that age. The best gift Scott and Renee had given Mikey came the Christmas before--an MP3 player. Scott and Renee may have gotten it for him more for their sake than his, because at least when Mikey was listening to music, he would shut the hell up. Unfortunately, even though sound was no longer coming out of his mouth, he still had found a way to make some somehow. Mikey had been beating beating his palms on his knees, the window next to him, and on Scott's headrest to the rhythm of the drums in his ears. Scott had never had the urge to leave one of his and Renee's kids on the side of the road, but damn was he ever close in that moment. In an effort to drown out Mikey's air-drumming, Scott asked his daughter to turn on the toy she had with her. It was her favorite, especially during that time of year. It was nothing new, expensive, or high-tech. It was an old cassette player. Not an i-anything, not a doll, not even a CD player. It was an old cassette player that had been given to her by her mother. It contained one tape of Renee and her parents singing Christmas carols on the way to get their tree during her childhood. Rosie liked to sing along as the tape played, despite mispronouncing or getting most of the words wrong. After some clicking and clacking, Rosie replied in frustration, "Daddy, it's not working." Rosie then slammed the recorder down and began to pout. "Sweetie, be careful with that. It's very old and will break if you don't treat it right," Renee advised as she began coughing uncontrollably into her clinched fist. "You're still sick? Sweetheart, I told you to go to the doctor and get that checked out," Scott reminded her. Renee shot back a dismissive roll of the eyes before clearing her throat and looking out the window. She had never been trusting of doctors or medical personnel, dating backk to the troubles of her parents. Her father died at 38 of an undiagnosed brain tumor, despite going to several doctors in order to remedy the severe headaches he had been having. Her mother, on the other hand, died of a massive heart attack at 45, just days after her latest monthly appointment with her physician. Scott always encouraged her to go to the doctor regularly, but Renee was stubborn. Scott didn't like it, but that was the thing about the people you love. You take the good and the bad, pass by both of them, and marry the one halfway between. As they pulled into the parking lot of Freddy's Family Firs, 3 of the 4 people in the car verbally celebrated. "Yay!" said Rosie. "Alright!" said Renee through a few weaker coughs. "About time..." Scott grumbled. The 4th member, Mikey, was a little less enthused. "Shit!" he burst as he ripped his earbuds from his head. "Hey! Not around your sister!" Renee admonished. "What the hell's your problem?" Scott asked as he glared into the rearview mirror. "My battery's dead!" Mikey complained as he tossed last year's gift aside and opened his door to get out. "Can you believe that?" Scott whispered to his wife. "I know, that damn thing was a fortune and he just threw it across the car," Renee vented. "No, that's not what I mean. His battery died. That means no more drumming! It's a friggin Christmas miracle!" Scott said with a laugh. "Yeah, but now we have to deal with his mouth," Renee pointed out. "That's all right," Scott optimized, "if he starts mouthing off, we'll leave his ass with that fat slob they call Santa in the front office." With that one magic word, "Santa," Scott had lit his little daughter's Christmas fuse. "Santa!? I wanna see him! Santa! Santa! Santa!" Rosie chanted as she unbucked her seat belt and dashed out Mikey's open door. "Wait, honey! Don't go near him until we have at least a background check and possibly an arrest record!" Scott called as he hurried after her. "Hey, wait!" Renee called as she reached into the bacck seat to retrieve Mikey's discarded music player. In the process, she also got her hands on the cassette player she had given her daughter, which she had thrown to the ground when it wouldn't turn on. As Renee stepped out of the car with both items in hand, she began pressing the many buttons, hoping one of them was "Play." "Rosie, are you sure you hit the right button?" Renee called out as she looked ahead and saw Mikey trying to "white wash" his little sister with Scott trying to intervene. Between fumbling with the cassette player's buttons, the car ride, and the dysfunction, Renee was growing tired of the day. All she wanted out of the day was a nice, peaceful family outing. That was it. And that was exactly what she asked for. "Hey guys, can't we all just get along? It's Christmas after all!" she called as she caught up to her family as they ventured into the coniferous wilderness that awaited them. After an hour or so of searching, the Hutchinsons had found their tree. It was tall, full, and healthy. It was the perfect tree. Scott then dropped to the ground to begin cutting the tree's trunk with his handsaw, but not before he heard some singing. Scott always forced the kids, moreso Mikey, to carol as he cut down the tree every year. Rosie would happily oblige, but Mikey would go rogue and belt out his "Rudolph" parody, complete with his favorite line about Santa asking Rudolph to guide his sleigh in his underwear. "I think that's the Santa in the office!" Scott shouted as the song came to that line, drawing a smile from all, even a reluctant Mikey. What seemed to be a joyous occasion, however, would soon take an unexpected turn. Between the Hutchinson family harmony and Scott's sawing, the sounds of Renee's continued coughing was causing concern. It was getting more violent and Renee was having more and more trouble drawing a breath. "Honey, are you okay?" Scott asked as he stopped sawing, as did the kids with their singing. Renee then held up one finger as if to say "One minute..." However, it wouldn't even take that long. Just after she held up her finger, Renee vomited into the snow as she fell to a knee. Scott, sensing something was wrong, ran to her side. "Don't let her look!" he said to Mikey as he passed by. Mikey offered no resistance as he hugged his oblivious sister with her face to his chest. Scott knew it was bad before he got to his wife, but he never could have expected would he found. In the snow directly in front of Renee was a dark red patch where she had regurgitated a sizable amount of blood into the snow. "Oh my god..." Scott whispered as he helped Renee back to her feet. As she stood up, the cassette player she had been trying to fix for her daughter dropped to the ground. "Guys, we need to go! Now!" Scott ordered as he rushed his wife through the trees on the way back to the car and eventually on the way to the hospital. As he walked by, Scott did his best to kick some snow over the red patch on the ground so as to not alarm the kids as they passed by. It was too late, however, as Mikey was well aware of what had happened. "Come on, mom's sick!" Mikey pleaded as he pulled Rosie through the trees. As much as Scott wanted to growl at Mikey for his phrasing, he couldn't. Scott didn't know much at that point, but he did know one thing: Mikey was right. Renee was sick. The question was how sick was she. "Come on, Rosie!" Mikey continued as he tugged his sister through the snow as she resisted. "Wait! Stop!" she said as she ripped free of her stepbrother's grasp. "Why? For what?" Mikey asked as Rosie dashed back into the trees. She returned within seconds with the cassette recorder Renee had dropped during her episode. "That's why? That piece of crap?" Mikey scoffed as Rosie grabbed his hand and began to walk again. Insulted, Rosie quickly shot back "It's not crap!" After some moments of urgent silence, Rosie whispered to herself "....it's Christmas..."

 

 

ONE YEAR LATER



It was December 5th, the day the Hutchinsons had picked out several weeks earlier to get their Christmas tree. The family had to settle for a fake one the year before because of what had happened the day they went tree hunting and in the subsequent weeks. Scott and the kids rushed Renee to the ER straight from the tree farm with tempered hopes. He hoped it was a bug, an infection, or even pneumonia. Scott could've hoped as much as he wanted to, but it wasn't going to change his wife's diagnosis. Despite never having touched an ounce of tobacco or drugs for that matter, Renee was now facing Stage 4 lung cancer, and it was progressing aggressively. Her distrust of doctors had come back to haunt her. Renee was scheduled to begin chemo early the next year in hopes of hindering the disease in some way, but her prospects were less than optimistic. Instead of allowing her shoulder length red hair to be taken by her fight, she opted to have it shaved off in Late January. Obviously, when dealing with such a situation, seeing your mother cut off all her hair would be hard for a kid to take. So, Renee opted to turn the nightmare into a memory, something that would become more and more precious over the ensuing months. To commemorate the moment, Renee handed a stylist her phone with which she took a picture of Renee sitting in the barber chair. Despite the circumstances that had brought about her newly shaved head, Renee still had her smile, bright as ever. On each side were her son and daughter, holding strands of her hair over their upper lips, making comically large "Yosemite Sam" moustaches. It would be one of few occasions in that time frame the family would share a collective smile. Unfortunately, it would also be one of their last. On April 18, Renee Hutchinson succumbed to lung cancer at her family's home. She was only 36. After her death, Scott was awarded full custody of both Rosie and Mikey. The coming months would be the most trying the family had ever endured. Scott's rapport with Mikey continued to devolve, although it had never been much anyway. What Scott was most concerned with was his young daughter, who had become completely introverted. She infrequently spoke, and locked eyes even less. Despite the divides between the family, the traditions had to live on. And so, almost 8 months after Renee's death, Scott tried return the family dynamic to its previous state. Mikey was not going to make it any easier. Much like his sister, Mikey also cut off the majority of communication with Scott, while also adding the slamming of almost every door he passed through. That included the car door after he hopped out into the parking lot of Freddy's Family Firs. "Hey, easy!" Scott yelled as Mikey walked away from the car. "Bite me!" Mikey yelled back. Just as he had done the year before, Scott looked at his daughter in the rearview mirror. Rosie was still belted in. She was sitting in her seat, grasping her favorite holiday toy: the cassette player Renee had given her. "You ever get that thing to work?" Scott asked. Rosie just slowly shook her head "no." "You want to see Santa this year?" Scott whispered. Rosie just quietly shook her head "no." Scott was desperate to get through to his daughter. "Sweetie, I know it's been tough, but let's just try to find a nice tree and have some fun, huh?" Scott asked. Rosie looked out the window and thought for a moment before smiling gently and replying with a soft "Okay." Scott exited the car slowly, only to stop and shiver quickly. That winter had been much harsher and colder than the one before, or maybe it just seemed that way, given the difference in the family in that year. "I'm glad I told your brother to get you that extra jacket," Scott said as he opened Rosie's door to find that she was dressed in nothing but a hooded sweatshirt, sweatpants and sneakers. She had no gloves or scarf. "Didn't he tell you to put more on?" Scott wondered with frustration. Just as she now did so often, Rosie replied with a shake of the head "no." Scott then looked at his phone and saw that the outside temperature was a mere 19 degrees. "I guess we'll just have to make this quick," Scott said as he grabbed his daughter by the arm and escorted her into the office. "It's about time..." Mikey quipped as the rest of his family had finally caught up. Scott couldn't help but notice the extent of his stepson's clothes. He had a thick jacket, snowpants, gloves, earmuffs, a wool hat and snowboots. Mikey had all the things he hadn't cared to get for his younger sister. "Dude, really? You couldn't dress your sister but you look like you're going to Alaska for a month!" Scott complained. "Since when is she my responsibility?" Mikey snapped back. "That doesn't matter! You're her older brother. She should be your responsibility becuase she's family. It's no different than me looking out for you," Scott argued. Mikey rolled his eyes before replying, "If the court wouldn't have given you custody after Mom died, then you wouldn't have a damn thing to do with me. You know it and I know it!" Scott then stepped closer to Mikey and said in a hished voice, "Shh! Don't talk like that around your sister!" Scott then turned to comfort his undoubtedly inconsollable daughter. However, as Scott would quickly realize, the only thing worse than an inconsollable child was a missing one. Scott and eventually Mikey looked everywhere, but could find no sign of Rosie. Scott then ran over to the front desk and asked for help. "Have you seen a little girl in a hooded sweatshirt and sweatpants around here?" he asked the man at the front desk. "Yeah, she walked out back a couple of minutes ago while you and the kid were going at it," the man said. "You let a little girl walk out there all alone? Are you insane?" Scott berated. "Hey, since when did she become my responsibility?" the man snapped. "That's what I said!" Mikey yelled from the other side of the room. "Shut up and let's go!" Scott yelled as he dragged Mikey by the collar of his jacket into the trees outside. "You go that way, I'll go this way! Yell if you find her!" Scott ordered as he and his stepson parted ways and ventured deep into the trees.

Rosie had grown tired of her father and brother's fighting. She just wanted things to be like they used to, before her Mom got sick. The last time she remembered things being like they used to was right before her Mom got sick, when they were cutting down what was to be their Christmas tree out on the farm. As far as she was concerned, if she wanted things to go back to the way they were, she had to go there herself. With that, she snuck out the back door of the office while nobody was looking. With her favorite cassette player in hand, she found herself back in the place where she last was happy. After walking a while, Rosie found herself beginning to shiver. She was also beginning to get tired, yawning almost constantly. After a few more steps, Rosie decided to pick a tree to sit under and rest. Against the cold and her sleepiness, Rosie did her best to enjoy the moment she had longed for the entire year prior. The moment when things were normal again. With her mind at peace and her body good and ready, Rosie layed down in the snow. She then placed her cassette player next to her and drifted off to sleep.

"Rosie! Rosie! Where are you baby girl?!" Scott shouted as he shouldered through tree after tree as he stomped into the night. He felt so ashamed that he had lost his only daughter. "What kind of father am I?" he said to himself as he continued to walk. "Rosie!" he called out again as he felt tears beginning to well up in his eyes. Scott then fell to his knees in the snow as his strength and hope both continued to dwindle. Scott began to ask questions. However, his questions were not to himself, nor were they to anyone around him...at least not physically. "Renee...why'd you do this to me? Why'd you leave me with this...all of this?" Scott asked as he began to weep. "Mikey hates me and now Rosie's missing. What the hell am I going to do?" Scott then wiped his eyes, rose to his feet, and continued to search for Rosie.

"This is bullshit..." Mikey whispered to himself through his chattering teeth. "Of course he found a way to blame this on me, too," he muttered. It was getting dark and Mikey knew that time was running out for not only Rosie, but also for him and Scott to find her. "Rosie!" Mikey shouted, although much more softly and less frequently than Scott was. Mikey's bitterness towards Scott was preventing him from putting a proper effort towards finding his sister. Though Mikey wasn't contributing a full effort, it didn't mean that he wanted to find Rosie any less. As opposed to outward appearances, Mikey loved Rosie very much. She was his baby sister. She was the closest thing he had left to him Mom. And, with that thought, Mikey also began to ask his own questions. "This isn't right and you know it!" Mikey said as his voice cracked with emotion. "As if it wasn't enough that Dad walked out on me, then you had to leave me, too. That's not right. What the hell did I do to deserve this?!" Mikey then threw a jab into the trunk of the closest tree as a release for what he was feeling. His feelings of lonelisness and anger were then immediately replaced by the sensation of searing pain as his hand began to throb and swell. Mikey's hand was probably broken, but he couldn't care less. He had to keep looking for his sister, and he would...right after he took a break to relieve some stress. And he knew a great way how.

Rosie awoke to find that the sun had set and it was now colder out than ever. She was so so cold that it had become painful to move, even the slightest inch. "He-...He-...Hel-" she called out, trying to form the word "help" through her freezing breaths. As innocent and naive as she was, Rosie was quickly realize if she didn't get somewhere warm soon, she was going to be in trouble. The kind of trouble that many adults have failed to make it out of, let alone an 8 year old girl. Rosie realized that the only way she would find help is if she stayed awake. In order to do that, she began to think and then speak. However, unlike her father and stepbrother, she didn't ask questions. She had a conversation. "I know you didn't want to leave. I think Mikey misses you more than I do. He thinks you're gone, but I know you're not. I still have Daddy. I know they don't get along, but I know he loves Mikey just as much as he does me. I just wish they would quit fighting so much. I miss you, but you know that. I love you, Mommy." After that, Rosie fell silent again. She could feel herself falling asleep again. She was too weak and cold to keep talking to herself. She needed something else to keep her awake. Some kind of noise...a sound...or a song. Rosie then remembered that lying right next to her was her cassette player. It hadn't worked in so long, but in that moment of desperation, anything seemed possible.

About an hour and a half had passed since Scott had started looking for his missing daughter. It was now pitch black and he could barely see his own hand in front of his face. He had found no sign of his daughter, and he had yet to hear from his stepson. Scott was getting desperate. He needed something, anything. Anything would be a step-up from where he was. He was exhausted as he slowed to a stop to catch his breath. As he looked off into the darkness, Scott was met with something he hadn't seen in over an hour. IT wasn't his daughter and it wasn't his stepson. It was light. A small orange flicker popped up out of the darkness three rows away from where Scott was standing. It wasn't much, but it was something. As he proceeded toward the light, Scott called out to his daughter one last time. "Rosie!" he shouted as he came around the tree and right into the back of Mikey's jacket. "Oh shit, it's just you..." Scott muttered as he came to a stop. "Good to see you, too..." Mikey said with a sneer before taking a long draw from the cigarette between his pointer and middle finger. "Dude, are you kidding me?" Scott said in disbelief of what he was seeing. "Does it look like it?" Mikey replied as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. Scott then angrily slapped the cigarette from Mikey's hand. "So, it's going to be like that, huh?" Mikey asked rhetorically as he aggressively approached Scott. "Your Mom just died of lung cancer and so you decide to take up smoking? Are you serious?" Scott questioned. "What the hell do you expect, Scott? This whole year has been total bullshit! With all the shit that has gone wrong, smoking is the last damn thing I'm worried aboout right now. The same thing goes for you. After all, it's your daughter that's missing," Mikey shouted. "My daughter is your sister! How you ccan even say something like that about your own family is beyond me. What would your mother think if she heard you say that?" Scott asked. "Don't even bring her into this! You have no right!" Mikey burst. "What do you mean I have no right. Your mother was my wife, and whether you like it or believe it or not, I loved her until the day she died. Hell, I still love her now. Just like I love Rosie...and just like I love you," Scott responded, catching Mikey offguard. "That's a load of crap and you know it!" Mikey said as he threw his finger into Scott's face. "Why is it a load of crap? Mikey, I've known you since you were 5. I've done my best to treat you like a son since day one. For whatever reason, you never recognized it. If I didn't do a good enough job, then I'm sorry, alright? I give everything I have for you two. I know it hasn't been the same since your Mom died but I'm trying as hard as I can. If that doesn't show you....if that doesn't make it completely clear, then I don't know what will," Scott explained. Mikey still had an attitudinal sneer on his face, but it had begun to slowly crack. Ultimately, Mikey crumbled into a complete and total sob. "Why, man? Why her? Why us?" Mikey asked as he proceeded to cry uncontrollably. Instinctively, Scott went in for a hug, and Mikey reciprocated. "I don't know, bud, but we'll find a way. I promise..." It was the first and truest connection Scott and Mikey had shared in a decade, and it couldn't have come at a better time.

Rosie pulled the cassette player towards her and began pressing every button she could. The first two wouldn't budge, likely due to being out in the cold for so long. The third button she pressed had much more give, but did nothing after it was pressed. "No...come on, come on!" Rosie whispered to herself as she pressed the fourth button. Finally, something happened. Rosie could see the reels of tape inside the cassette turning forward over and over again, but there was no sound coming out. For Rosie, that was the last straw. She was exhausted. She then quietly layed her head down in the snow and fell asleep once more. Just then, Rosie heard something that called her back to consciousness. It waasn't a sound or a noise. It was Jingle Bells. Not the instrument, but the Carol. "Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle All the Way..." a deep voice bellowed from the cassette player's speaker. Slowly and lightly, Rosie then began singing along. She was breathless, and her version was little more than humming and following along with the song. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep Rosie awake. It was enough to keep Rosie conscious. It was enough to keep Rosie alive.

As Scott and Mikey released each other from their embrace. All was quiet in every direction. "Come on, there's still time. We can find her if we stay together. They began walking together through the trees and began calling in unsion. "Rosie! Rosie!" they called out in alteration. Suddenly, Mikey stopped dead in his tracks. Scott, thinking Mikey was giving up, began to lay into his stepson. "Already? We've been looking for 10 minutes and you're giving up already? Jesus..." Scott lambasted. Mikey didn't respond, but instead just stood in silence. Slowly, a smile came across Mikey's face. "What the hell are you smiling for?" Scott asked. "Do you hear that? Tell me you hear that..." Mikey whispered before putting the finger he had pointed in Scott's face just moments before over his pursed lips, signaling for quiet. Scott then took a moment to listen. He tried to hear what Mikey was. And after taking a moment to focus, he did. Off in the distance, Scott could hear a very distinctive Baritone voice. It boomed like a bass drum. Scott focused more intently, and quickly began to decipher what the voice was saying. "Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle All the Way..." Scott didn't see the significance in someone singing Christmas Carols on a tree farm on December 5th. "So what? It's just somebody singing Jingle Bells," Scott said. It wasn't just anybody though. Scott didn't realize that. Mikey did. "That's not just somebody...that's my Grandpa Gene!" Mikey exclaimed as he dashed furhter into the trees. "Mikey, come back!" Scott called out as he chased after his stepson. In those ensuing moments, Scott and Mikey probably covered twice as much area as they had in the previous hour and a half. That was becuase in that previous hour and a half, Scott and Mikey didn't have a guide. They didn't have clue. In a lot of ways, they didn't have a hope. But now, in those few minutes, they had that and much more. Now, they had "Jingle Bells." And now, they had Grandpa Gene.

Finally, after seemingly an eternity of searching, Scott looked ahead and could see his daughter's legs and sneakers lying beneath a Douglas Fir only feet ahead. "Rosie!" he shouted as he shoved his stepson aside and sat into a baseball slide through the snow before arriving under the tree, where he cradled his daughter in his arms, hoping she was still breathing. "Rosie, say something! Anything!" Scott shouted as tears once again began to fall down his cheeks. Rosie was ice cold and her cheeks were a rosy pink. Scott feared the worst, but not for long. Slowly and lightly, Rosie's lips began to move and she began to form words. They were faint, borderline non existent. Mikey then walked over and picked up the cassette player that was on the ground, still playing Grandpa Gene's rendition of "Jingle Bells." Mikey then looked at his siter's mouth as she lipsynched the Carol she had fallen asleep. "She's singing along! She's singing along!" Mikey celebrated. "Come on, we have to get her somwhere warm!" Mikey urged as he began dashing back through the trees. After a few steps, Mikey had something to say to Scott. "Scott, this is all my fault. I should've dressed her warmer and watched her while we were in the office. I'm sorry," Mikey confessed. "No, it's my fault. You can only do so much. I'm the Dad and it was my responsibility. Like you said, she wasn't your responsibility," Scott said. "No, you were right. She's my sister , which makes her my responsibility," Mikey replied as the argument continued to get heated. "It's fine, Mikey, I should've known better than to trust Rosie to a 14 year old." "I'll be 15 in a month!" "Like I said, a 14 year old!" As Mikey and Scott found themselves falling into one of their infamous verbal brawls, the cassette continued to play. The music player that may have just saved one member of the family's life was now serving as little more than a soundtrack to the action movie-like spar of back and forth insults and attacks. Suddenly, "Jingle Bells" ended, and the tape went silent. This went unnoticed by both Scott and Mikey, but another sound from the tape would quickly get the attention of both of them.

After a brief silence, a woman's raspy voice came over the cassette player's speaker. It was a familiar voice to both Scott and Mikey. It was a voice that both of them had longed to hear just one more time. "Hey guys, can't we all just get along? It's Christmas after all!" After staring in amazement at the cassette player for a moment, Scott and Mikey looked at each other. "Did you hear that?" Mikey asked. "Was that who I think it was?" Scott wondered, already knowing the answer. Somehow, his wife's voice had been recorded on the cassette sometime before she died. Neither Scott or Mikey could explain it, but it didn't need explaining. Some things just need to be taken as they were. Kind of like your family. Those two sentences were two of those things. After a moment of letting his late wife's words settle into his and his stepson's subconscious, Scott suggested that they just call it a day. "Come on, we need to get her warm. We'll come back for a tree another day," he said as he lifted sleeping daughter into his arms and began walking toward the front of the farm.

After making it back to the car and about 20 minutes into the ride home, Rosie began to awaken. "Daddy?" she said as she began to rub her eyes. "Hey, Sweetie? How are you feeling?" Scott happily asked. "That depends..." Rosie stipulated. "On what?" Mikey asked from the front passenger seat. "Are you two done fighting?" Rosie sweetly asked. Scott and Mikey, somewhat shocked by Rosie's question, stared at each other for a moment. As they were looking at each other, not only were they reflecting on the way they acted around each other, but they also regretted the way they had acted around Rosie. It was their fighting that had driven Rosie out into the tree farm in the first place. In that moment, they both silently acknowledged that they both needed to change. Then, speaking on both his and Mikey's behalf, Scott replied "No, Rosie, not anymore." "Good..." Rosie said as she continued to rest in the backseat. "Do you want to stop and get some hot chocolate? Maybe it will help you warm up a bit..." Scott suggested. "No, I'm okay," Rosie replied, "but you can do something else." "You name it," Scott answered eagerly. "Can you turn "Jingle Bells" back on?" the little girl asked. "You got it. Mikey, see if you can get that thing working again," Scott said as he handed the cassette player over. After tinkering with it for a bit, Mikey announced with futility, "No dice." "She just had it working a little while ago. You heard it. See if the batteries need to be changed..." Scott suggested. Mikey then flipped the cassette player over and opened the compartment that normally held the batteries. A stunned look of disbelief came across Mikey's face, which caught Scott's attention. "What? Are the batteries dead?" Scott asked. "No..." Mikey whispered. "How do you know?" Scott asked further. Mikey then showed the back of the cassette player and the battery compartment to Scott as he said, "There weren't any to begin with."

It took more than a year, but it finally happened. Not even cancer and eventual death could stop Renee from getting what she wanted.

"Hey guys, can't we all just get along? It's Christmas after all!"

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

I have a story for class, but it doesnt follow the guidelines and its a little long, so here's my attempt at the first fiction exercise

Its altitude is the very essence of its attraction. The ability to feel the superiority it gives you over others is what keeps you coming back. The land that surrounds you is plush with the color of health and life. You can hear the laughter and unbridled joyous scream of children, the soundtrack to a warm spring day. In front of you sprawls the dirt covered battleground that a game for boys in played upon. Above you is the serenity of the baby blue unknown, almost asking you to try to understand its wonders. Beneath you is the rugged yet accepting ground that you have come to know and love upon each visit. In a moment otherwise filled with peace, a baseball is launched off the bat below and lands within arm's reach. You take it in your hand for a moment to study it, if nothing else. The seemingly tattoed-on grass stains testify to its durability. Its plain white backdrop color allude to the purity of the game that revolves around it; in intention, method, and result. Its bleeding stitches signify how deep its tradition runs in the veins of the American subconscious. After making your appreciative observations, you set the ball down, with a tempered grin. And as you take your hand away, it begins to roll away, taking with it nothing but your hopes of ever seeing it again.

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Fiction packet 3 was by far the most frustrating and confusing packet we have been given. The story that best exemplifies my point was "When It Rains It Rains A River." Two accepted and often used literary devices are repetition and dialect. Writers typically sprinkle these devices throughout their work for effect, added emphasis, and realism. This story, however, is not just sprinkled with these devices. It is totally and completely covered by a mound of them. To illustrate, in my opinion, the use of repetition and dialect in this story is like that old prank when someone unscrews the lid on the salt shaker when you're not looking and laughs when enough salt to clog the arteries of a herd of elephants contaminates your food. I would say 20-30% of the already short story is repetition of the words "boys" and "brothers." I thought it detracted from the story greatly, and made it borderline indecipherable as a whole. Also, on a side note, is "Girl" a real person or imaginary or some sort of delusion? That wasn't really all that clear to me either.

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

After reading the passage by Burroway, I honestly believe that it is one of the more insightful commentary on the purposes for art, including writing, that I have read. Over the years, I have heard many descriptions, speculation, and comparisons of what death must be like. However, Burroway's take ("The final absence of feeling is death") has resonated with me far deeper than any other description I have heard. The absolute fear of no longer being able to feel is a fascinating explanation for the focus on death in the many cultutres and societies in the world today and in the past. All of us dread that moment, that time, that feeling, or lackthereof. It is this fear that forces so many of us to hover over concerns such as health and mortality so closely. Of all the things you fear losing in death (family, life, money), I for one would have never thought to list the one thing that we all fear losing, just as Burroway said: feeling.

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

I wasn't sure what to write about or to put on here this week, so...here's another poem:

SEVENTY FIVE PERCENT

I sit here, thirty minutes shy of the twentieth occurrence
Of the anniversary of my birth, my initial insertion
Into this world we live in and the society that inhabits it
According to the numbers, I’m almost a quarter of the way through the transit
That will take me from my first crib to my death bed
As a matter of fact, with that being said
I look back now and wonder whether I am appreciating enough
Where I am going and where I am from
There is a long way to go before I reach half time
Between now and then, as long as I stay between the lines
That constitute "out of bounds" and "on the right path"
I will be around long enough to have a last laugh
Life is like pro sports, certain things they share ring true
As everyone comes to know, there is no mercy rule
Once in a while, you are going to get beat pretty bad, if not pelted
But if you decide to fold your hand, you satisfy whoever dealt it
As the second half begins, you start running on empty
And begin feeling the oncoming antonym of entry
But as I sit here on the verge of the bewitching hour
My gut feeling about my future has yet to begin to sour
Twenty years down, who knows how many more to go
I just have to pace myself, and soon I will know
Until then, I just need to live it how I like, avoid holding out for perfect
Take every challenge as it comes, and enjoy the next seventy five percent



Wednesday, October 10, 2012

20 poetry projects

I hope this is what we were supposed to put on here this week...

The air's temperature is a savage beast

In fact, I've heard that it draws blood upon contact with every and any life form's skin

red blood, thick as oil, smelling of brutality and tasting salty as the sea

the sound it makes as it leaks from the body fills the mouth with the taste of vile medicine

Despite the consensus, Santa Claus hates the frigid North Pole, but lives there by default

After all, if he lived in this wonderful weather, he'd be mauled by young and old alike

Speaking of which, now that I think about it, I'm still waiting on that signed Lebron basketball

Then again, I did rip and shred a couple years back when i got that kickass mountain bike

They say; "When you fall off your bike, get up and dust off...and toss it in the scrap heap"

Y'all will never guess what i did with that bike instead

The antsy anxiety of the curiosity is killing y'all, right? Tonight, try to sleep...

Be careful, don't hurt yourself. Then again, it saved the feline in the end

Back to Santa, who is probably snorkeling in Hawaii with a couple of elves

Craigory's kind of jealous. Honestly, he wishes he was there with them

When I get back, Santa and I will be cool, and that ball will get taken off his shelf

And this December will be the ballin'est Christmas that has ever been

I'll be the starting guard on the Heat this season after Wade realizes that I'm better

"C'est la vie!" is what he'll say as he walks off the court and hangs up his jersey and Jordans

"Please, no more" the hoop will say as my shots keep floating down and in like a feather

Everyone will wish they're out in the savage beast that is the air rather than get scored on

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

As I have said before, I am very persnickety about poetry. I am not a fan of free verse poetry and I'm not ashamed of that. It is very hard for that kind of poetry to hold my interest. In "Blood Dazzler," the majority, if not entirety, of the book is free verse. However, the draw to this book by Patricia Smith isn't only the structure of the works inside, but their themes. The book is inspired by and based around arguably the most destructive and fatal storm in U.S. History: Hurricane Katrina. I remember when the storm hit in August 2005.  I was in Washington D.C. for a family wedding. I remember seeing live shots of the devastation on the national news channels. I remember how unexpected the strength of the storm was. I remember having a deep conflict between the jubilance of the event my family and I were there to celebrate and the concern and sympathy I had for those in New Orleans. However, any sadness or similar feelings I had at that time couldn't, and to this day doesn't, compare to what those people felt who were experiencing it personally. Their homes were being destroyed. Their friends and families were being killed. Their lives were crumbling before them. "Blood Dazzler" will by no means allow us to completely understand those experiences fully, but it will be a start.