Ashton

In the other room I can effortlessly hear the cling and clatter of my four year old nephew playing with his toys. It sounds as though he's talking to himself, but instead he is being the voice of his action figures as they live out heroic tales in his mind. As I peek inside his room, I can see the contentment, on him, a much different disposition from 10 minutes earlier when he became angry and threw a fit as I changed the channel from Sponge Bob to something unanimated. He is sporting his "Happy Smiles, Happy Kids" T-shirt that is much too long and baggy for him as he is in between sizes and difficult to fit into clothes properly. He has stamps covering both his hands, rewards for being good at school and he is quick to show them off at any given moment. I briefly run my hands through his sandy brown hair and instantly smell the sweat from hours spent on the playground at daycare.
Each time I look at him, I see an array of colors, a rainbow of moods and attitudes, and my favorite is that I consider of baby blue, a soft sweet color that I connect to his infancy and his baby charm. That is the only shade I see in him when he comes up to me and wraps his arms around me, squeezing so tight as though he'll never let go. Or when he sneaks in my room in-between play time just to tell me that he loves me "this much", with his arms extended out as far as they can reach. He has a way of melting my sometimes cold heart with innocent expressions, forcing me to surrender and nearly forget every ounce of anger that I feel when he misbehaves.
I wander on into his bedroom to soften the spirit between us and give him a hug. His living space is humble in size, being the smallest room in the house. It is the closest to the front door and is ideally used as an office, which was it's function before Ashton moved in. Although it is now filled with his toys and belongings, there is a sense of loneliness lurking throughout it. It's vacant of all sounds aside from his television. There's a slight chill in the temperature and you can breathe freely as the room smells of fresh air drifting from the vents in the ceiling. My nephew is sluggishly sitting in his tiny, sphere, Lightning McQueen chair, his arms hanging off the sides as though he's a middle aged man with a cold beer in one hand. He's paying close to attention to the movie that is playing on the almost obsolete television I gave him the day I received a new one. The movie on the screen is Aladdin, an old VHS classic from my childhood and one that he watches often, as he has learned the words to "A Whole New World" and has established that he has a fear of Jafar because he's a "bad man".
It takes me a few seconds to get his attention due to his one track mind and his capability of ignoring all his surroundings when his interest is engulfed in a single thing. He peers up at me with his big blue eyes that, like presently, sometimes appear grayer. His cheeks are flushed because of his sensitive complexion and the result of falling asleep in the car with the sun shining directly upon him. His mouth is stained with red sauce from a pizza lunch at school. Not surprising, since he can't seem to eat anything without leaving a trace of it on his face.
I ask him if he's hungry and without replying with a simple "yes" or "no", he gives me a nonchalant response that renders my question nearly non existent. "I am hungry", he states. He should be, considering he didn't take but half a bite of his bean and cheese burrito from Taco Bell that was supposed to be his dinner. He made a point to say he didn't like it before it was ordered for him, but it's so easy to count his opinions as spoiled behavior, finickiness, as if he doesn't know what he wants or likes. After all, he is only 4. Sometimes though, when I talk with him, there are moments when he is not a child, but a little person. He is absolute in his opinions and is irate when he is left out of conversations, even if he hasn't a clue what they are about. He joins in on his own whim, responding to familiar words or topics that he can offer input to.
I stare at him and space out for a moment, thinking of earlier in the car when he was singing along to the radio. He knew every word to "How To Save A Life" and could even sing it on key. It was then that I realized not only are songs entirely over played, but that children are far more receptive and acquiring than we think. I nearly melted as I heard his pronunciation of "bitterness" and noticed how his voice became louder as he reached parts that he knew better than others. I try to remember those sweet, pure moments of overwhelming admiration and fondness I feel for him when he starts to "get on my last nerve", a phrase that he has now picked up and has no reservation on shooting right back.
He roughly pulls at my arm, as if literally trying to wake me up, and interrupts my daze, reminding me again that he is still hungry. I ask what he wants and suggest Apple Jacks. His eyes light up by the sound of that name and he softly repeats it out loud, as though he likes the way it sounds as it rolls off his tongue. He quickly tells me "No milk", a preference of his I am already familiar with. He is quite demanding these days, forgetting manners that he used to be delighted and proud to put to use. I come back with his cereal in an Elmo bowl and hold it over his head until he proves he is grateful by giving me a "Thank You". He smiles up at me, snatches the bowl from my hands and directs his attention back to the movie.
He continues to sit there with a big smile on his face, the same ridiculously happy grin he displays when he seems something that he is particularly enamored with. I presume that he is going to be a big movie buff as he grows older as he will watch multiple films in one sitting. As hyperactive and restless as one might consider him at first impression, he can make himself as quiet as a mouse with the right distraction. Taking note of his now peaceful nature, I head toward the door and as I reach the frame, he stops me in my tracks with his voice and his warm unexpectancy that he always seems to offer me when I need it the most. "Brittany, I love you" he tells me, so affectionately and sincere in it's simplicity. He has a grandeur in the way he abruptly expresses his feelings. He then blows me a kiss, a goodbye gesture we now share, before reaching for another handful of cereal and drifting off into the remainder of another happy ending.

April 2, 2007.



I was out late last night and it wasn't my fault. I say that matter of factly because even though I had created a self designed curfew for myself based on how many late nights I had recently, there was literally something outside of myself that kept me carried away on a Monday night. Sure, there were deadlines that weighed on my mind for school assignments that I played a little procrastination with. Yes, I told myself I was going to be in my door by 10 and over the hours began to slowly throw that promise out the window. But I say that it was blown out the window on it's own, completely out of my control, because anyone who felt this breeze, in these after hours, would understand. The process of Spring to Summer leaves the nights with this nearly
indescribable feeling of being young, wild, free, and completely lost in time. There I was with Trevor, in his parked royal blue Subaru, on a back street near my neighborhood, surrounded by sporadically built houses and still empty land lots ready to be sold. All was silent as it was around 11 PM. The streetlights, few and far between, were all dim. There was no perfect view, no vast beauty to capture our eyes, but the transferring of the seasons manifested a glorious evening that was indulging to all the senses. We lay in the back seat, legs sprawled out, over the cup holders and over each other, bare feet propped up on the passenger seat and Trevor's head resting in my lap, giving him this childlike vulnerability. The sunroof was wide open and there
was a perfect glimpse of a nearly full moon through that rectangle in the ceiling of his car. It was like looking through a telescope, the way it it directed my eyes right toward it. The clouds would cascade over the moon, shadowing it and sometimes leaving no evidence of it even existing. Their ongoing stratus movement would almost play tricks on my eyes, then my mind, allowing me to feel like I was the one who was moving in continuous motion, not the atmosphere. With all four windows cracked, It was the cool currents that caressed my skin as my left arm hung out the window, my hand attempting to catch the wind, as if it were some tangible keepsake. The fresh air kept me breathing in deep, so that I couldn't stop inhaling because I swore it was the
aroma of life, of a moment I would never forget. I look down at Trevor as he fights to keep his eyes open and all I can see is the side of his face that the moonlight is shining upon. For the present, there was nothing cluttering my mind, just a sense of serenity that I could feel throughout my entire body. It was like a peaceful moment that I'd earned, like months of worrying and working were then considered paid in full. The transcending cliche of
"The best things in life are free" danced across my mind and I finally saw, smelt, heard, and felt the true meaning of it.

something for school...


In "Some Don't Like Their Blues At All", Karyn M. Lewis expresses her reaction to a magazine ad for Fila Jeans. In her opinion, the concept gives a stereotypical view of men and women, treating them as complete opposites. As a two page spread, the left side showcases a black man appearing tough and rugged with a football game shadowing in the background. It declares "Some like their blues hard". On the opposite page is, well, the opposite. A white woman appearing sweet and delicate, relaxing in a chair with a seemingly similar background of her in a bikini. Her page, predictively, says "Some like their blues soft". It's obvious now where Lewis gets her title and why she chose it. She connects every redundant, narrow minded notion of the inequality of the sexes with this ad, as it insinuates that each gender possesses inborn dynamics that eternally separate them. Completely displeased by this worn out, systematic logic and the sexual innuendoes that play throughout the ad, Lewis boldly concludes by stating "It feels me with a deep-rooted disgust that we perpetuate the myth that men are unyielding creatures of iron and women are silly bits of fluff". Well said. How trendy could their denim be when their perception is so last century?

Dawson's Last Days


When I used to think of goodbyes, I wouldn't even shiver. I felt that they were such a part of life that I could always rationalize them. Whether it was a temporary goodbye or an eternal one, I knew that everything had it's time and that all good things do in fact come to an end. It was a very unattached theory I had toward parting because I was lucky to had never experienced an intense goodbye. It wasn't until it hit home that I finally understood the pain of saying goodbye, letting go, and trying to move on with life in the wake of heartbreak.

My kitty and best friend, Dawson, was diagnosed with kidney failure last summer and it was a very quick, downward spiral for him. He was about 6 years old at the time, an age that I still considered young. Also, he had a kitten charm about him that he had never really outgrown and it kept me babying him relentlessly. He must have been the runt of his litter because he had a petite frame, some might call him scrawny. He was extremely immaculate about his appearance as he was always grooming himself or splashing around in the bathtub, so when his fur became nappy and he developed an unpleasant stench to him, I knew that something wasn't right. Over the next few months he began losing excessive weight, stopped eating and drinking, and almost seemed barely conscious toward the end of the battle. He was never alert anymore and began hiding under the bed, a place that he never cared much for. He just wasn't the lively, charismatic kitty that I always knew. I understood the sickness was irreversible and that all we could offer him was IV treatment, to buy him time, because there was no cure for the disease. However, it never really occurred to me that he was actually going to die. I was really stressed out with alot of my own issues, thus I wasn't devoting the majority of my thoughts and time to him. It sounds terrible now that I think about it, but at the time I really believed he was going to pull through and that I would rejoice with him when that time came. But what I should have done was been with him through the process and savor all those moments with him, whether they were his last or not. They were his last.

Early November came, we'd just moved into a new house, and Dawson was at his worst. I tried so hard to deny it, but everyday he looked like he wouldn't make it through. About the fifth night in our new house, my mom told me that it was for the best that we take him in to be put to sleep the next day. She didn't want to see his suffer anymore, and I knew that I was being selfish by trying to keep him alive. It was for me, not for him. The whole situation was unfathomable and I still didn't believe what was happening because it felt like it came crashing into me at full speed. I was oblivious and ignorant to everything, it seemed. That night Dawson slept on the edge of my bed, all curled up, skin and bones, and slowly breathing. My room felt empty and depressing, or maybe it was just me. I became repetitive in telling Dawson how much I loved him from day one and that he had always been there for me. I had many other pets over the years and not one compared. Not one could even have come close because I never considered Dawson just a pet. He truly had been my best friend since I was 13. I had gone through many changes, but he was a constant in my life. I felt so self-centered and petty that a few days earlier I was crying over leaving my cell phone at a coffee shop and almost missing a deadline for a history paper. It was like reality set in.

The car ride to the vet was very solemn and quiet. Everything was different. My nephew was silent, the car rode rougher, the scenery appeared duller, except for the sky-it was in a beautiful state. It resembled the focus of a Monet painting. There I sat, in the back seat of the car, holding Dawson wrapped in a white cotton towel. My parents didn't say a word and the radio played lightly. Though I felt my heart was in an earthquake, Dawson seemed at peace. His body was very cold and his eyes distant and squinty. There wasn't any part of him that resonated life. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes, and I had to close them tightly every few moments in order to keep my composure. I just didn't want him to see me weeping in his final moments. I wanted him to remember me in the emotion that he had always evoked in me, joy. I continued to sweetly talk to him in a whispering tone. I told him how I hoped I'd given him a wonderful life because he had kept me smiling from the day I brought him home from the Pet store.

When we arrived at the office, I cradled him inside, staring at the ground as I walked. I wouldn't even look anyone in the eyes. I just gently laid Dawson on the table and unwrapped him slowly, trying my best to prolong the inevitable. We all began saying our goodbyes, but I felt that it was too rushed for comfort. I figured the veterinarian had been through this a thousand times and I wondered if he was desensitized by it. But when he began to tell me how this is the hard part about having pets, l I completely lost it. I told myself I wouldn't cry there, but my heart was still in the process of breaking, more as each second passed. It all feels like a blur to me now because I just remember kissing Dawson next to his bent whiskers, feeling breathless, and running out the door for some fresh air. I didn't want to be in there when they actually put him to sleep but I didn't want him to be alone either, so my mom told me she would stay with him. I waited in the car for it all to be over and memories flooded my mind. I thought about how Dawson would never be in another memory with me again. As we were leaving, my 4 year old nephew pointed out to us that the sun was setting. It felt like such a metaphor to what was happening and I recall it being one of the most beautiful sunsets I had ever seen, all shades of pink, purple, orange, and yellow. I believed that it was dedicated to Dawson because of all the color he brought into me and my family's life.

That night was the hardest night of my life, so far. I hardly talked to anyone and I don't think I got a wink of sleep. I told myself if I could just get through the first week, then I would be okay and things would get better from there on out. It sure didn't feel like that though. I cried non stop that whole week. Pictures of him were scattered throughout my bedroom and I would stare at them as I laid on my bed in a fetal position, bawling my eyes out, and wondering if the tears would ever stop flowing. Everything reminded me of Dawson. My nephew watched the Fox and The Hound and Todd reminded me of him because I always thought that Dawson had the essence of a fox. I would find little black hairs in my carpet and in the bathtub, where he spent most of his time. I would hear him crying outside my door in the middle of the night, like he used to, but it was only in my head. I tried my hardest to focus on all the life surrounding me, searching for upliftment in anything. My mom tried to solace me by reflecting on Dawson's life or telling stories of pets she had lost. About halfway through every conversation, I would break down, causing her to do the same.

I don't think my family had ever seen me so torn up about anything before but that was because I never had been. This was the first time my heart had ever been broken, and it wasn't the result of a boyfriend, the way most first heartbreaks are. I still don't think anyone knows the full extent to which it affected me. At times I felt guilty and selfish for making such a big deal out of this and treating his death like it was the end of the world. But to me it was. It was like the world stopped for me, why didn't it stop for everyone else, too? But I think that's how everyone feels when they lose someone they love, whether it's a death, a fall out, or a break up. My mother told me something very encouraging and truthful--you can't compare your pain to another's pain. Everyone reacts to things differently and everyone feels deeply for different things, so there's no comparison. She told me that Dawson had been a best friend to me and I had more history with him than I had with so many people in my life, so it was natural to take his loss at the same level. She couldn't have been more right.

Now when I hear certain songs, Dawson instantly comes to my mind. That last week with him, I kept the Counting Crow's album "August & Everything After" on repeat. Sometimes it is hard to listen to it now, as it rushes me back to that period, but I try to enjoy the fact that I have these reminders that promise me that Dawson will never be forgotten. I now have a far better understanding for saying goodbye than I ever had before. I know the pain of it and I can offer sympathy and compassion now when someone I know enters a similar situation. My experience has left me wondering about a lot, but mostly, where is the good in goodbye?

something for school...


Throughout reading "Beauty and Violence", I countlessly rolled my eyes. While I don't disagree that violence has become more casual and acceptable in today's standards, I don't think that anyone sane considers it beautiful. Since I haven't seen this video advertisement, I can't comment on that or receive the full impact, but my guess is that it's all for shock factor. Based on some of the names for Tigi's products, their entire line seems almost tongue in cheek. Maybe it's just my personality and sense of humor, but I really want to tell Adam to lighten up. Call me biased, but I am a fan of this line of products (albeit not as much as I used to be), and all the product's names are meant to be more witty than aggressive, such as "Manipulator" hair wax, "Mastermind" hairspray, and "Dumb Blonde" after highlighting shampoo. It's an obvious sarcasm and based on it's popularity, girls seem to not only be accepting of it, but also eat it up (or I guess, use it up). So what I'm really concerned about is why Adam Forest is playing a feminist role and trying to showcase a negativity that isn't apprehensive or even real to women at all. If he's trying to look out for us, there are better places to start than by bashing beauty products.

My experience as a writer began when I was very young. I received a diary as a gift when I was a little girl and once I put pen to that paper, I was hooked. I wrote about anything and everything, most of which I can't read now without laughing hysterically! That's freedom writing to me and I enjoy it greatly because I like to create a chronicle of my life and capture periods and sentiments that I can reminisce about later. To this day I still keep a journal and have accumulated quite a volume of them over the years.

I never consider myself an exceptional writer, and I'm not just being modest either, but I like to think that I'm decent at it and can write fairly well if I'm presented with a topic that sparks my interest. When I was in middle school I reveled in writing essays and papers because Language Arts was the one subject I noticed I grasped easily and excelled in. I'm not sure if I liked the process of writing compositions as much as the end result and the sense of accomplishment and fulfillment that I received from it. Although I don't condone this, I even wrote a lot of my friends' papers for them when they asked me to. They received high grades as a result and I justified the act by telling myself I was only trying to be a good friend!

I also developed a flirtation with poetry when I hit my teenage years. I partially blame my heightened emotions and rebellious phases for those writings. It wasn't all angst though, I had a sweetness commixed in my writing, too. Like, I would write my Mama poetry for her birthday or mother's day and slip into her room in the middle of the night and place it on her bedside table so that she would wake to it in the morning. It always made her cry, in the good way. I can't go wrong writing for my Mama because there isn't a critical bone in her body and she still treasures poems that I wrote for her in early grade school.

I can't say that I even have a "worst experience" with writing except when I am forced to write about a subject that I don't fully comprehend such as politics, but I recognize that writing out of my comfort zone challenges me and helps me progress as a writer.

Presently, I don't write much aside from school assignments, but from time to time I feel inspired and look to writing as a release. I'm not sure if I have any natural talent for writing, but I am certain that I have a natural passion for it. I always say that if I could write my way through life, I would.

deep brown eyes. 052107.

she's pretty in her own messed up way
lose hair wound so tight everyday
pass the powder, give some color to her face
her brown eyes are looking at you
her brown eyes are deep, lookin' deep in you
this girl is sending solace to herself
by saying this is a problem no one can help
its life, don't let it be a hard hit
in 6 months you'll start to laugh about it
he was crazy about you, but he's just a crazy one
for knowing this is real, but not knowing what he wants
pull the sheets back in place
and straighten up where he spent the night
cause chances are he won't be back
but you'd never see that in his eyes
it's not the end, its the beginning that hurts
always check the water before diving in head first
it was cold, it was shallow, but it smelled like summer
this time the rain came before lightning or thunder
so don't pretend that it didn't affect you
don't lie to anyone involved
let it sink in real deep, let it sting
resist the urge to make that call
wait it out, get through the heat
remember other things in life are sweet
come fall, you'll blow away from this like leaves
don't expect a new entrance of something great
because it only happens when you turn your head
but when it does, you'll soon forget
how you could have ever felt like this
you'll say it's different this time and maybe it is
but remember that love isn't always on its best behavior
and the cards are not always dealt in your favor
be careful, girl, be careful, the world is full of danger
love freely, but also let go freely
because hurting too long and holding on too tight
will wear down that angel face and empty those eyes
those deep brown eyes, that are so full of life
brittany, you don't feel often
but when you do, it's deep
and that's your greatest quality

trevor. 41407

you've just gotta believe
that these bonds weren't built for nothing
yeah you've gotta believe
thats the key
it could be our crash course
it what love should be like
but its something we're not ready for
so its a cruel trick from time
just tell me that every so often
that you'll come over
and it can be the way it began
that you'll still lay on my bed
and that you'll still feel permanent
who gave you permission
to come into my life?
the twist and the turns
with all the distraction
and all that passion
maybe its the swift retreat
that makes me shiver
its getting the taste of something sweet
that leaves everything else bitter
and i can be rational
and i can understand
but i can't just be your friend
you said all the things
that made me feel second to none
then i learn that you say them to everyone
i must not be something once in a lifetime
if you can let me go in 2 weeks
but between it all, i still believe
that you meant every little thing
you can't fake that kind of affection
and you can't take back sincerity
yeah i still believe
that his bond wasn't built for nothing
its the key
and maybe it really is all for the best
but who wants to hear that yet?
if everything happens for a reason
then help me find one i can believe in

i had to tell someone
so i told my cousin the next day
about how i didnt feel good, i didn't feel bad
i just felt strange.
how i never saw this one coming
and i'm not sure where to go from here
because we crossed a couple of lines
that i didn't even know needed to exist for us
now i know that i'm not tied to you in any way
but i just can't figure out if i'm relieved or dismayed

ordinary people. 070607

sunsets on the hood of your car
mcdonalds at 1 am
left for college last fall
but you know thats not when life began
17 years ago you were creating plans
you grew up around this atmosphere
all the while plotting your escape
what else could possibly be out there
that could make you feel this way?
outside the city limits, stars over the fields
except for the 4th of july
that day brought more than independence
when you saw fireworks lighting up that sky
there's alot to reach for, alot to grab
but its gonna hit you thats its overrated
when you come back for christmas
and youre so happy, you missed so badly
all the traditions you once hated
and you realize you love these ordinary people
even though they did nothing "great"
you love these ordinary people
cause they share your name
you love these ordinary people
no one will love you ever the same
you love them
because they always stay