the dorm paradox, thanksgiving break

The dorm paradox, thanksgiving camping.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Well, I am here in the tent. It is okay so far, but here is a run down of what happened to me in the past two days.

1. Dogs while taking a pee attacked me.
2. I managed to step in horse manure
3. Figured out how to wipe with a leaf.
4. Managed to make friends with a horse and am now using him as a guard.

Now here is the full recap of what happened.

When I had arrived on a bleary Friday afternoon, I looked at the tent with awe. The tent looked small on the outside, but it seemed to get larger the more you went in. the entrance was an oval shape that opened up into a living room. The tent opened up into what looked like a warm comfortable furnished area. I was fooled however. When I stepped into the place, my feet were instantly cold. The tent was big on the inside and almost like a house. The roof was covered and everything and the air above my knees radiated heat. It did feel nice on me.

After I settle myself into my extremely small room, which was so small that I could even touch both sides with my fingertips when I put my arms out wide. Genny was complaining the whole time.

“Mom why do I have this bed? I want to have the other one. Why do we have to be here? Ugh mom, just stay working and we will have a place to live. Ra right? Life is so unfair.” She then starts to come to my room, and I wish I had an oozy sub machine gun in my pocket.

“Are you happy?” I look at her with a calm smile.

“Well, yes I am.”

“Oh. That's right. You’re the wise one, the mature one. You know, everyone acts like I don’t understand anything. I'm not two, you know!” could have fooled me. I thought as she carried on even worse now.

“The rooms are small, and dogs are out here.”

“We have to make the best with what we have Genny. This is all we have for now. After we get over this hurdle we'll be fine.”

“How the hell can you be so calm about it, don’t you care at all? Oh, no, wait, what am I saying. Your Mr. wise man. You’re okay with this. You’re not scared! See, if you moved in with an apartment with me this wouldn't happen!” I didn't want to point out that I didn't want to move in with her.

“And this is y Genny.”

“You know, why do you do that? I'm not two years old. I understand.”

“Don’t say you do. If you did, you would be more accepting of unfortunate events. Like this.” This sets her off even more. I just look at her stone faced.

“I am accepting! Ugh. Everyone says I don’t get it, I don’t understand, I don’t want to be here. Blah blah blah blah blah! I do. I don’t want to be here though. Its cold, but no we'll be fine here all alone with dogs around us. All dogs are mean. None of them can be trusted at all! I'm cold, hungry, and I don’t want to be here.”

“Genny. Shut up. This is the best that we can do.

You know everyone is laughing at you in school right. Oh, look at Robert, he's in a tent! Ha ha ha.” I sincerely hope not but I wouldn't put it past any of my classmates to be laughing at me. They never did have any hearts. She continues

“Amanda is, Travis is, Tracey is, and Kevin is,”

“Travis graduated.”

“All of them are laughing at me. I can hear it now. You too Robert. All of them. That school sucks. Like this one time,” I stand up and walk immediately outside.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I asked you to shut up, and you didn't, so now I'm leaving. I want to look for the bathroom anyway.”

“Oh. A bathroom! We don’t have one! We will never have one again. Life is so unfair.” I spin on her instantly, and my wise words just come shooting out of my mouth like bullets that she needs to hear but won’t listen to.

“You know what, life isn’t fair Genny, but you can make it fair.” A blank look looks back at me, and I step outside.

“What does that mean? Oh sure just go off and leave me. I can see better than you, you know. You need me.” I did need her, but I didn't want to have her freaking out like this. I wouldn't be able to concentrate at all if she kept babbling on like this,

“I'm not explaining it to you”

“Fine, no one explains anything to me-“

“Shut the hell up and tell me where to go to go into the woods.”

“Ugh. Fine.” We went into the back of the tent where a huge clearing was, and beyond that were patches of thick trees.\ that made up a forest.

“Awesome!” Genny said and bolted leaving me standing there. I looked on either side of me and could see outlines of houses. I thought I heard a growl but I didn't pay any attention to it. The growling gets closer, and that's when I at last take a closer look around me.

“Genny! Stop!”

“No. I have to pee.” She calls and then runs straight into the dog that was hiding behind a tree. When she sees it, she screams so loud the sound echoes off the trees. She runs back in my direction, which is a very stupid move to make. The dog started barking, and started to chase her. He stops and gazes at her, barking quick barks to warn people off. Genny shoots past me waddling at top speed. I grab her and hold her there.

“I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die!”

“Stop, running!” I tell in her ear.” She's not listening to me, and continues past the dogs behind us. I hadn’t seen them, but I see them now, plain as day. I don't know what they look like because they are to far away to see. As Genny runs, the dogs behind us give chase. I hear her screaming, then the screaming stops.

“I'm not going back! I'm not!” the dogs however don’t chase her very far, and they focus on me now. Still angered because of gennys energy, they draw closer to me. I'm afraid of course, but I let calmness and confidence radiate through my body like it's a blood supply. As they draw closer, I can see them now. A Black lab, a boarder coolly, a terrier, and what looks like a German Sheppard mix. They all stop, silent, and gaze at me. I start to move when the boarder collie starts barking at me. I get closer to the woods however, and stand next to a tree just in case I have to climb. Genny is long gone by this point, but in a way, I'm somewhat glad. She did nothing more than just feed the dogs energy. They keep barking as they draw closer to me, but their tales are wagging. Still playing it safe, I climb up a little on the tree just out of the dogs reach. When they get to the tree, they look up at me silently. What are they doing? Suddenly I have a stupid idea. I rip a part of my shirt and toss it down there. If they attack it, they're not curious; the boarder collie slowly steps forward and sniffs the fabric. He gives a quick bark, and I get scared and lose my grip. Picking myself up off the ground, I look at the dogs in front of me. The boarder collie slowly steps forward, and I just stand there like a statue. The boarder collie reaches me, and starts to sniff me. He sniffs my entire lower region before backing away. Next, the terrier sniffs me, and then backs away. After they are all done sniffing me. They back away again. I, being very foolish, come up to the boarder collie, because I know he's the leader, and pet him. He growls but he soon licks my hand once, but then growls when I keep doing it. Its okay, in time he’ll trust me. The others back away as I walk past. The boarder collie actually follows me, and waits as I pee in the woods. He walks with me to the edge of the woods. The collie, who I now name blazer, stops when I reach the clearing. When I take a step towards him, he growls softly, so I stop and turn away again. I want to pet him one more time though. I turn, yet again, and march up to him. Blazer inches away as I approach, but when I stick my hand out he sniffs it, licks it once, then starts growling. Why does he do that? I know he won’t attack me now, but I'm still curious. I place my hand in his head, and he shuts up. I turn and go, with all the dogs watching me. Genny is also watching me, and she's pissed as hell. She marches up to me crying, and mad as hell.

“You’re so mean! I want to have a dog and you’ve made dog friends! You’re so mean!” before I can stop her, she runs to the woods. I try to restrain her but she won’t stay put.

“Genny you’re an idiot!” I scream as she fights me.

“No. you have everything! It's my turn!” all the dogs start barking in attack mode now. She breaks free and races up to them. About 30 feet away she stops and gapes. All the dogs are in a line, growling meanly. They sound pissed and ready to rip heads off.

“I'm here dogs! Come and get me!” what a fucking idiot. She gets mad and stomps past me, and trips. Racing in the tent, she starts to cry.

“And she wants a fucking dog? Hell no. poor dog.” I go inside of the tent now. My dog, blazer is still barking. At whom, I don't know.

That night, after dinner, I want to take something for blazer to eat, so I do. We cooked hot dogs over an open flame, and boy that was good. Almost before dark I walk to the edge if the woods where I first saw him. Some people may call me dumb and others just plain fucking retarded. Perhaps at am, but in those brief moments where we first met each other I believe we had something special going on. Even though I know the way, I still knock into trees and trip over stumps. It's amazing I didn't drop the hot dog. I did however have my cane, but that didn't help at all. Bugs all were buzzing around me. When at last reached the clearing, and the woods. I stood there looking at the now darkening trees. Blazer soon appeared walking slowly towards me. I knelt down and held out the hot dog. He didn't take it. I held it closer. He sniffed it, started to lick it, and then growled at me. I set the dog down on the ground, and only then did he eat it. He ate it bit by bit, as though he had table manors and wanted to show all the women just how sophisticated he could be when the other ones came out they all shared what they could. When some snapped at me, I baked away near a tree. Blazer stepped over to my side, and began eating. He looks back at me often, and he also sniffs in my direction a lot as well. Why is he doing that? When they are all done, and everyone else has left, I walk up to blazer, and pat him on the head as he growls at me.

“Good boy blazer.” He licks my hand once in thanks, and then backs away. I walk home.

When I get there, Mrs. Debbie is hysterical.

“Where in gods name have you been Robert? It's dark outside! What were you doing?”

“I was just going to the bathroom.”

“You never, and I mean never walk around here at night you understand me? There are dogs out here, and they're wild.” This gets Genny going but I don’t listen one little bit.

In my bed that night, I think about the days events. Only I would be dumb enough to give wild dogs food, but hey, that's who I am. Who knows, I could be in serious danger, but I don't know what to do now. Do I continue to see them? Do they have some illness I don't know about? It's very likely, but it didn't seem that way. A dog howls outside my window and I smile as I drift off into sleep.

“Good night to you too blazer.”

Monday, November 23, 2009

Taking a shower sure was a hell of an interesting experience. With my bucket and soap and wagon, I head off into the woods, strip, and wash all my major body parts. I didn't have a huge bucket so I had to improvise with what little water I did have. Screw my body, my pits and hair were the main thing. The cold air slapped my naked body along with something else as well. I never thought that bugs would actually attack me while I was taking a shower, but there's a first time for everything. I sat down in the wagon last and washed my feet then I put my shoes on. I then walked back to the house naked, and with shoes on, I make it back with about 12 bugs hot on my heels. Along the way, I keep an eye out for blazer and his back but they don’t show. That's because they are hiding watching me race to the house. I look down and scream as a large fat bug lands on my pale skin. I squish it in my palm and continue running, but more bugs are after me. What the hell s it with bugs and water? I thought they liked blood. It amazed me that so many annoying creatures could still am living. Didn't they die of starvation? Finally, I race back to the tent. When I arrived, I slammed the door shut on those annoying pests.

“Robby?” oh shit. It was Genny.

“Stay away!” I yelled and raced into my flap. The idiot still comes my way, even when I try to barricade my flap with dirty clothes.

“Genny. I'm naked. Stay out.”

“you are?" no Genny, I thought, I'm completely clothed. I just have invisible array on.

“Man… now your going to keep me from coming in the room? This is my tent too, and I believe I should come in!” the dummy started to push on the flap. I tossed some sheets over there, and I guess it knocked her backward because I heard an “oomph sound”

“Genny!” I nearly shout at her now. “What part of I'm damn naked don’t you understand?”

In short, I managed to keep her out and get dressed.

That night in my very small bed, my feet hanging off the sides, I touch my face. It's laired with hair. I hadn’t shaved nor bathed in days. There is no indoor pluming at all, and I’m cold. I use my pillow and blanket as a week shield against the hard cold slapping at my unshaven face. I drift off to sleep last night worried that I will get sick one of these days out here.

Friday, November 27, 2009

A few days have passed, and they have been interesting. We can't shower at all unless we go to someone else's house, it's been interesting here. This thanksgiving has been okay as well.

Yesterday we were out of the house, tent, whatever, all day visiting people whom barely said about two words to me. They were nice people though, and I didn't want to leave their nice warm houses. I didn't know someone had so many different ways of making pumpkin pie. That was interesting and delicious! I had about four pies all together. That was the bomb! After chatting with me almost all the people gushed about how I was so paitemt, wise, nice, polite, cute, etc, and they all wished for me to come back. Genny grumbed all the way home.

“why isn't I called wise? Huh? I'm wise. I'm wiser than you are! Look, two roads make up life. See, anyone can make up that kind of a dumb sentence like that, and I'm polite! Why does everyone like you so much Robert? They say your funny, nice, and wise, and I just annoy people. Guh!” tuning her out, I listen to music the rest of the way home.

When we got back, I went and saw blazer’s pack against gennies wishes.

“No. I'm not letting you go out there.”

“But Genny, I'll be fine.”

“No. ses, that's the thing! You won’t! You won’t be fine at all! You'll die.”

“Genny. Blazer knows me.”

“Who the hell is blazer?”

“He’s the pack leader.”

“Oh no no no no! He’s nuts, he's insane!” this was getting old very fast, and I had to go pee, so ignoring her, I went outside. Genny followed me yelling at me all the while.

“If you die, I'll laugh and say I told you so. If you die, I won’t even care! Because you didn't listen to me. No one ever in the world listens to me. They know better than I do, right. They know everything about dogs and I don’t… he's a boarder collie, and they snap!”

“Genny, you think that way about every dog we meet. Not all dogs act like the dogs in your fantasies.” This stops her dead cold and she starts yelling again.

“I'm not stupid Robert! Do you think I'm stupid? I'm not! I'm not stupid at all. I know more than you do, and one of these days you’re going to die out there, and,” I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to pee really badly, and this wasn’t helping my bladder any. Ignoring her next hysterical sentence, I trudged into the woods.

Along the way, I come across a dog I didn't know before, and blazer. When be;azer sees me, he barks his usual one short bark meaning hello. The other dog keeps on barking. I don't know what to do so I stop and look at the new dog. He looks Black with white dots on him. His tail isn’t wagging. Oh, shit. Was she right after all? I hold stone still, and blazer walks toward me slowly, sniffing. The new dog is behind him. When blazer reaches me, he sniffs in my pockets.

“Nope. Sorry boy, no food today.” He blows air out of his nose as if he's exasperated with me. After shaking his head, making his ears flap, the Black dog creeps up to me, sniffs me for the longest out of all the dogs, backs off, and sits. I'm thinking he's all done, but when I try to move he growls at me.

“You want to watch me pee?” I say jokingly, knowing the dog won’t understand. I walk forward again slowly, past the dog, and blazer trots along side of me. When the other dog tries and follows, blazer growls at him, then continues. This is so interesting I stop and wait because I want to see what they will do next. The Black dog doesn't mess with me, so blazer and I go to our usual spot. As we walk, I pat his head.

“You’ve got to teach your buddies manners, you know” he blows air out of his nose again, and waits in his usual spot as I go into the trees. When I'm all done, and when we are back at my house, blazer stops at the same exact spot he does every day when we walk together. It's a point just beyond a bush. I think it's some kind of a mark that I can't see but he can, or it's a mark he's made himself. I turn back to him and give him a sly smile.

“Come on blazer.” He barks once in response.

“Come on boy.” I pat my leg and, slowly, he puts one paw forward. He won’t take any more steps though, and I want to know y. does he think I'm the leader, and I won’t get him in my territory?

“Well, okay, then, if you won’t come and visit me, I see how it is. Bye blazer.” I make sure, emphasize the last three words, and wave my hand. I wait for blazer to bark twice, but instead he yips. I say it again.

“Bye blazer.” I wave my hand again and this time he does his two-barked good bye. I turn but then freeze. Genny is standing at the tent entrance holding what looks like a stick! She starts waving it around and yelling!

“Get away from him you mutt!” she starts waving the stick and walking toward me.

“Genny you don’t want to do that! Genny! Stop!” she keeps on coming though and when she reaches my side, she swishes it at blazer. Blazers teeth are showing and he's in attack mode now. Genny won’t stop however, and she keeps swinging the stick. She eventually hits him hard in the head, and he starts to growl even louder. I have to try and warn her to stop before she gets eaten alive, so I shout

“Genny! Stop it! You'll regret it!” sure enough blazer lunges at her arm, instead he grabs the stick and holds on tight. I go behind him and grab his backside, pulling him. He hitches his back legs up intending to scratch me in the face, but I dodge them. Genny by this point is crying like a little kid.

“You didn't listen to me, and look! See? All dogs are bad!” blazer snaps the stick and sends Genny to the ground, where blazer has a chance at her legs. He races forward and clamps down. Genny screams, and tries to kick him. The more she fights the harder he bites down.

“Genny! Stop moving! Don’t move. Don’t fight back!”

“He’s a pit bull! I know it is! He's a pit bull!” I race over and tap blazers nose repeatedly, causing him to let go. I hold his muzzle as Genny backs away. I don't know how but I was completely calm throughout this whole thing. My heart wasn’t even racing. Genny gets up and races in the tent, where she cries so loud I can hear her out here.

“Stupid pit bulls! See this is why I hate dogs! I don’t want to die!” I stayed outside and calmed blazer down, and after he licks me good-bye, just two short licks like his goodbye bark, I check on Genny.

“Let me see your leg.”

“No! No! Mom’s mean! She's mean leaving us here! Why why why why? She's mean! I want to shoot that dog!” I undo her pants leg, both of them.

“See, I'm right, but you know what? No one ever listens to me in the world. See, I'm right! Ha Robert! For once, I'm right! How the fuck can you be so calm?” I didn't know how, to be honest with you

“See Robert, he was going to kill you,, and I saved you. that's what you get for not listening to me! I'm 22 years old, and you act older than I do. Stop it, because your not!” I didn't have the heart to tell her that I was, in fact, older than she was mentally, so instead I looked at her clean leg. There wasn’t even blood. It was just two tiny teeth wholes.

“Oh god I'm bleeding!”

“Calm down. No you’re not!”

“That dog should be shot! That dog should be put down! Shot! Dead!”

After that was all done, we stayed in the tent the rest of the day. That night. Genny literally talked about being attacked by a dog for two hours.

“Oh mommy! I was bleeding and everything! It's not fair! I'm not going out there ever again! Why don’t they attack Robert! Why do they attack me!”

“I don't know gennie. I'll call the pound and have those dogs executed.” I flipped. I dropped my beans on my lap, stood up and shouted “NO! Don’t do that! He was provoked. He wouldn't have attacked. She hit him with a stick!”

“Mommy, that's because the dog was going to kill Robert!”

“No it wasn’t Mrs. Debbie. It wasn’t. Look, I want you to meet him.”

“Robert?” Genny asked. “Are you this stupid on purpose? Just like, I said, but you know what? No one ever listens to me, no one ever ever listens to me.”

“look.” We'll talk about it later. Okay?” Mrs. Debbie says

After dinner, I go and see blazer, and sit with him in the clearing until the sun goes down. When I return Genny is still talking about the dog

“I mean he made me bleed and everything! Oh mom, I could have died!” I went into my flap, and drifted into book world on my bed. Before I go to sleep however, I listen for blazers paws prancing about our area. He stops a few feet from his marker he's made for himself, and tells me good night in his usual way by howling once, and sort of musical.

“Good night to you two.” I say, and he leaves. One night I forgot to say good night, and he wouldn't stop howling. As I get involved with the story, I think about our new life. I don’t want to tell people at school. I want to keep this secret. It does stink, sorry about the pun, to not be able to take a decent shower. I have adapted however, and I'm making the best of it. It's all I can do. Complaining is not going to make our lives change. Why complain about something that can't change? Genny however doesn’t have that message yet, because she won’t shut up.

“I hate it here mom, but Robert won’t move in with me to an apartment! He's so mean! He made me be bit today! Yes so mean!”

“Shh. Genny. I'll talk to him tomorrow about it. Okay? Go to sleep.” I heard mumbled complaints until the land of dreams swept me up for a welcomed ride…

Saturday, November 28, 2009

Nothing interesting happened today. School is tomorrow, and I'm a little bit happy to be going back. Will I tell people? No. the only people I will tell is Mrs. Corey, and possibly Mr. Edwards. I don't know yet. I don’t even think Mr. Edwards wants to hear me tlk about my life. I don’t even know if he even wants to know, because he won’t tell me.

Today my butt hurts from wiping it with leaves, but I will be okay in due time. Overall, I had a great thanks giving! I don't know if I ever said what I was thankful for, but if I were asked, I would say I'm thankful I can be in so many peoples lives, and I'm thankful I'm still alive, and last of all, I'm glad to have the people around me there, meaning all my friends. I'm thankful for the little pleasures I receive, and best of all, I'm thankful that I'm thankful for something. I'm out all. Stay tuned for the next journal entry!

joy ride by Robert kingett.

On the misty morning of September 17, 2024, I lay in bed and cracked open one eye: it was 7:34, according to the clock. Today was a very special day for me: my birthday! I was 18 years old today! I leaped out of bed and onto the floor, making sure my landing was quiet to not disturb my still asleep parents. I was dressed into comfortable clothes and walked outside to the fresh morning air. There sat my dad's car, a 2023 Honda, a sleek black beauty that was our pride and joy. With that car, I had first learned to drive. I drove that car every other day to my job.

Today it was unusually shiny and sleek, considering the mud it had been driven through. Maybe dad had taken it to the car wash yesterday. The tires looked new, too. I guess my dad got tired of the old ones.

Feeling adventurous on my birthday, I climbed into the driver's seat and entered the ignition code into the steering wheel, and the car's hydrogen-electric engine rumbled to life.

"Good morning, Mike," the car's CPU said in a crisp, electronic voice. "Today is Saturday, September 17th, 2024. It is currently 81 degrees Fahrenheit. Today will be sunny with scattered clouds, with a high of 87."

"Thanks," I told the car. "Now, let's go!" I set the car into reverse, pulled out of the driveway, and turned to face the neighborhood. At this time of day, only a few people were out walking or jogging for morning exercise, or else getting their newspapers delivered by the prototype Mail Robot X-1000 series. I pressed my foot to the gas and drove down the neighborhood. The car's driving was perfectly smooth and comfortable, and I enjoyed it utterly. The roof was down, so the morning air ruffled my brown hair. I turned up a bit of music.

Ten minutes later, I was pulling up to my friend Robert's house, and honked the horn. Robert came out of his house and saw me in the car.

"Morning, dude!" he greeted, walking toward me. He was already dressed in a white T-shirt and jean shorts. "What's up?"

"I'm taking a drive today," I answered. "It's my birthday today! Want to join?"

"Count me in," he said enthusiastically, climbing into one of the synth-leather backseats. I drove off, chatting with Robert as I turned up the music. A few minutes later, we found ourselves before Ashley and Kate's house and I honked again. Both girls came out and saw me, and came running forth.
"Happy birthday!" Kate cheered, handing me a small present and kissing my cheek. She was my girlfriend. "Are you taking a birthday drive?"

"Yeah, join us," I smiled, and Ashley climbed into the backseat with Robert while Kate took the passenger seat, and we all drove off, talking loudly. Ashley had sodas on hand, and we all drank them.

After driving around a turn and across the neighborhood, I came up to Matt's rickety house, and honked to get his attention. Unlike the others, he was still in pajamas and had messy hair, but had a lit cigarette in his mouth. He piled into the backseat, stretching out across Robert and Ashley's laps.

"Whoa there, mind the soda!" Robert said as he held his can up to keep Matt from knocking it away. Matt just blew out smoke and said, "What's shakin', my people?"

"Smoking cigarettes is not advisable, passenger," my car's CPU warned him. "Tobacco is a major cause for cancer, death, and birth complications."

"Whatever, rust bucket," Matt grinned. “What are you going to do?”

“This vehicle has as direct link to the city police department,” the car’s voice stated.

“Oh, um, check it out! I’m snuffing my cigarette out!” Matt yelped, pressing the cigarette to the seat and the end sizzled and went out.

“Do not damage the seats,” the car scolded. “This will also be reported If the action is preceded.”

“Argh! It’s bad enough when my parents yell at me without you doing it too!” Matt cried. The rest of us just laughed.

We all had a great time zooming up and down the road with our party car, calling out silly things to other people in other cars as we passed them. I pulled up to a convenience store, and everyone stocked up on bags of chips and candy, plus beers. If I was going to steal, I might as well make our joy ride even more interesting. I had more than my fill and felt my driving get a little crazy.

"Yee-ha! We just missed that one!" Robert whooped as I narrowly avoided a red caravan going the opposite way. My speedometer read over 65. "We ought to play chicken with someone!" I simply laughed, until suddenly, a streetlight far to the side was directly in front of me! I desperately tried to avoid it, but a white pickup truck was blocking my escape. Before I knew it, the car rammed right into the lamppost, crumpling the front and making steam burst out from under the hood. Everyone was thrown forward, and

Matt, who was lying down, flew forward until he was on the dashboard.

Horrified, I managed to get out of the mangled car, along with everyone else. The car was a wreck; the engine was almost cut in half by the post, and the rest of the frame was crumpled. I was forced to call a tow truck and taxis, so everyone could go home. We were certainly sober and shocked quiet by what had happened.

Half an hour later, I was in the passenger seat of the rumbling tow truck that brought the car to my house, and my parents came out worried. Once the car was dropped off and the tow truck was speeding away, I made my apologies.

"I'm so sorry, dad! I'm so sorry I wrecked your car!" I cried to my father. "I was being irresponsible, I had too many people and drank too much and wrecked your car!"

My father, strangely enough, didn't look angry, but with a strange expression on his face. "Son," he said, "you should know that that wasn't my car. It's in the repair station right now. I had bought you a big birthday present: that car. It's just the same as our other one. I had forgotten to change the color in time."

time takes a death by Robert Kingett

time takes a death

by Robert Kingett

I sit with my feet up on the dashboard,
music bursting from the speakers in rhythmic little puffs,
windows rolled down just enough so I can dangle my left hand over the edge.
I can faintly hear the wind pecking at the cracks on the door,
sending the puddles of water on the ground into frantic ripples
and propelling crackled autumn leaves onto my car windshield.
I close my eyes and listen to the storm battering around me,
enjoying the balmy sensation of the car vents breathing hot air,
warming my skin despite the bitter cold outside.
For once I have nowhere to be, no deadlines to meet, no class to rush to,
and so I stay here just a little while longer while the world races on around me.

Rugrats edited Angelica's Worst Nightmare Part 2

for the email people. go here to watch the video online.

 

Rugrats edited Angelica's Worst Nightmare Part 1

for all of the email people viewing this, go to this page to watch the video on YouTube

Thanksgiving Feasting by Robert kingett

IN THE SPIRIT OF thanksgiving i have made you all a poem! enjoy!

Thanksgiving Feasting

by Robert Kingett

When the Halloween pumpkins are gone,
And the leaves have all fallen to ground,
When the air has turned windy and cold,
Then Thanksgiving will soon be around.

Thoughts of loved ones all feasting together,
Pleasant pictures from past times appear
To dwell in each heart and each mind--
Then Thanksgiving is finally here!

The kitchen has scrumptious aromas,
The dining room looks oh, so fine,
Decorations with pilgrims and turkeys,
And now we are ready to dine!

First the napkins are placed on our laps;
Now the prayer for the meal to be blessed,
Then we stuff the good food in our tummies,
And we hope for it all to digest!

No one knows what being a racist is

sorry for the re post.

No one knows what being a racist is.

by Robert Kingett.

Authors note. Yes. This is another rant! Enjoy!

• the prejudice that members of one race are basically superior to members of other races
• discriminatory or abusive behavior towards members of another race

Now what the hell definition was that Robert? All my Black friends and Mexican friends give that response to me.

When I showed that to all my black and Mexican friends they all gave me blank looks. There could be two very good possible reasons why this happened.

1. They are shit headed apes, and do not know how to read, which would explain why they read very slowly. Or,
2. They have no fucking clue what so ever what being a racist actually entails.

If I had to eliminate one, and that is very hard because it is possible that both are dead on the money, I would have to eliminate the first one. The second one is more likely by far.

Now, see if you ass wipes cannot recognize this definition.

A commonly held public belief about specific social groups, or types of individuals.

Now, I know you dip shits get the two definitions confused, but come on. Get your head out of your asses. You can do it! Just a bit further! Oh, wait, what am I saying? You cannot.

The definition above is for the word stereotype.

Many people get this confused. I know what you are going to think when I say the next comment. A lot of black people and Mexicans do this, and yes, I say black people and Mexicans because they, ironically, could not, or cannot, tell racism from their ass cracks. Even white people, though also dip shits, have a better understanding of what racism is because we actually commit it. That is somewhat sad.

Even though many black people and Mexican people do not even know what the fuck racism actually is, they claim they do. When someone stereotypes someone or something, usually to a black person, do they get it right by actually calling it stereotyping? No. they cry racist. Many black people and Mexican people claim that they are well educated, and then they get the two terms confused. You may be well educated, but let me tell you something buddy, your not really that fucking smart, if after all, you dumbasses can't tell the difference between two words. Damn. My dog has more knowledge of words than you do.

This happens all the time at my school, and it is shocking to see how many well-educated dip shits walk about my school campus. A perfect example of a well-educated dick brain would be this kid named Kevin. I call him Kevin the killer because I know that one day he's going to bring an oozy to school and blow off our heads because there were just too many racist pigs living in the same dorm as him. When I was cooking chicken and offered him a piece he promptly asked.

“Now what makes you think I want to have some chicken is it because I'm Black?” I hate it when black people do this. It makes me so mad I want to strangle them with my KKK hood I keep under my bed for my secret meetings.

“Well, shit for brains, I asked for the soul purpose of the fact that you’re black. Fuck if you’re hungry, I don’t give three shits about that at all. I just want to keep the stereotype going, and then nod my head at you eating chicken because I stereotype a hell of a lot more than you actually use You’re fucking brain.” I didn't say that. I did something much better.

“It’s because I thought you were hungry.”

“Get me something else.” He barks at me. I take his plate with a huge smile on my face and say in a sweet voice

“Hang on one moment sir. I'll be right back.” I go back and fix Kevin, who is still waiting on me, something to eat. I bring the plate back to him bouncing with fake happiness. He doesn't notice at all and he grins as I place the plate, covered, in front of him.

“Better not be chicken. Just because I'm black don’t mean I want to eat chicken.”

“Oh, trust me. It’s not. I can definitely tell you though that it's good.” He uncovers the plate and gapes at the empty plate.

“Robert, there's nothing on the plate.”

“Oh. I know, but you said you didn't want to have chicken.”

“You mean there isn't anything else in there?”

“Nope.”

“You got to be kiddin’ me.” I stand up and walk in our kitchen, where my apartment roommates are eating away at the last of the chicken just like I told them to. En-vogue, another black friend of mine, is also sitting there munching away.

“This is damn good chicken Robert!” Kevin's eyes grow huge and he runs over to the pan and looks at the empty pan. He then turns to me with an angry look on his face.

“What the fuck Robert!” he grabbed me by the shirt and sneered in my face. I smiled and looked at him with cocked eyebrows.

“Well Kevin, the only reason I would be giving you the chicken is just because you’re black right? You don’t want to be taking food from a racist do you?” he went to his apartment, went in his room, and slammed the door shut. A few minutes later, I slammed a dictionary on his desk.

“Oh by the way, it's called stereotyping. Look it up.”

If I were indeed as racist as half of you black dumbasses claim I am I would have killed the majority of you by now.

When I make a stereotype comment such as

• Black people love chicken.
• Black people have huge wangs.
• Black people are good athletes
• Black people hate the police.
• Black people are excellent jumpers.
• Here is my favorite. Black people make the most love.

They all cry racist, and I just laugh at all these well-educated dip shits. They are stereotypes. If you really want to see racism, here are some examples.

• You can't shit here. Use the Black toilet.
• Black people are so much better than whites because they don’t do anything.
• You can't eat here nigger. Go over to BQ.
• I only talk to white people.
• I'm going to kill you just because you’re Black.

That, my well-educated fucks, is an example of racism. But wait, I'm just a mere kid who has actually read a dictionary. I have no idea what I'm talking about. People know better than me about having racist acts being done to them because they're Black or Mexican, and I'm white. No dumbass, you’re wrong, and I'm right. Boo yeah bitches!

For every well educated shit head Black or Mexican out there who uses the word racist incorrectly, I will hit them over the head with my large print Webster American dictionary, then when they're past out I would slam the dictionary, face down, on their face.

I'm sick of all these people using the word racist incorrectly. Screw all you well educated dumbasses. If I actually did want to commit racism on you pathetic creatures, I wouldn't even talk to you, nor even let you on, in, above, or even near my house. If you’re going to get it right, at least call me the right fucking term. I'm stereotypical bitches, not racist. Get it straight.

If you stop calling people racist incorrectly, then I, and I'm pretty sure, the rest of the world would stop looking at your intelligence level as being no greater than shit. Don’t you know that we’re laughing our asses off at you people who cry racist in every sentence you spew out of your traps? We, I, am not laughing with you, or I'm not laughing because your right and I'm wrong. I'm laughing because all you well educated dummies out there are showing me just how little brains you have. You can be well educated, and still be a dumbass at the same time. People do this all the time, and it needs to stop. You Black people and Mexicans try to use the racist card to get out of everything. That's so dumb I don’t even know where to begin. The funny thing is half the time it works! What am I the only person earth who actually has a brain? When someone uses the racist card incorrectly around me, I swear to god I will commit racism just for the hell of it, since you can't tell the difference anyway.

All I'm saying is that you people don’t know what the fuck being a racist is. You may think you do, but when it comes down to the Black truth, you don’t. None of you people know. Tell you what. When you learn how to use a dictionary, look up the two terms and learn their actual fucking meanings! If more people did this, and trust me on this one, there would be less “racism” in the world. I guarantee it. Now that you’ve learned that not all whites are racists, and learned what the two terms mean, now you have to do one last thing. Fuck off you racist bastards.

The Dorm Paradox, week 13. cleaning up the dirty grades.

Monday, November 16, 2009

I had the whole house to myself this weekend! It was so awesome I did not even get bored!

Have to go to lunch. I will write in here later. This has possibly been the shortest entry I have done yet.

1:12 PM

Anyways, lunch was super duper awesome! I ate my food all in about three seconds. First, however, I went to the library to see if they offered on the job training for the library. In short, they do not offer on the job training for the library though. Since I'm going to be here next semester anyway, I was planning for classes I wanted to take.

I also checked out marked, house of night, and book one. O. has to go. I have a study guide to do.

1:20 PM.

The thanksgiving dinner is tonight. I have no question weather or not it will be fun. I know for a fact it will, since I'll get the chance to see Mr. Evan and everyone there. It’ll be awesome! I just know it. Oops. Have to go. The period is almost over.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Yesterday afternoon was okay. I he back to the dorm and I instantly help Nick make brownies just because I want to, and because I have nothing better I could be doing. It was fun licking the spoon, and him and me going to town on the brownie mix.

After that, we head over to the thanksgiving festival. Of course, everyone is here, and I loved seeing everyone from my old dorm again. Mr. Evan and I had a few choice joking words for each other, and I introduced him to some of my friends. Nick was the one most afraid of him.
“He seems like he can break legs.”
“Oh he can do more than that! He can break souls!” I shout at Nick, hoping Mr. Evan will hear me.
“Now Robert, I know where you sleep. Be warned. Do you value your life?”
“You don't know which room I'm in.” I snap back at him
“It won’t be hard. Just look for the messy desk.”
“I will smell you coming way before you even get there.” Nick makes an “ohm!” noise and we all laugh.

After chatting with Thomas for some while, and receiving a hug from crystal Doty, I go up and get food. Mrs. Corey helped me with food, and I could hear a small hint of insistence in her voice as she asked, “do you want to have some beans?”
“no.” I couldn't see her to well, but I assume she was giving me a reproachful look.
“What about some casserole?”
“Yes.”
“Ah!” she sounds both shocked and pleased. I beamed showing her that see; even I am eating vegetables tonight.

In short, I had a good time. I chatted with many people, and even received a few hugs from some hot deaf girls who were there. I talked with Thomas ray the most however. Crystal just kind of glanced over me, carried on a brief clipped conversation, and then left me with Briah and Thomas. She was complaining about having a work duty on the night of her curriculum class.
“Hey, I have a suggestion!” I shouted, barely able to be heard over the loud noise. I have a soft voice, so in a loud place like this, I have to use all my lungpower in order to be heard. Heads snapped in my direction, eyes became locked on my face, pleading, wishing I had a good solution.
“Why not just ask Mrs. Nannette to make it up. If you present yourself well enough, and not wining about it, you could possibly have the class another time.” Thomas grins at my response.
“That’s a good idea!”
“Also, you could even take it after…” I stop talking because she doesn't like that suggestion at all. Her face pinches up into a tight pudgy pink frown.
“I don't know. Okay? I don't know.” I can tell that by the way she's acting she doesn't even want to take the class at all. Just to see if my deductions are correct, I ask her this.
“Why don't you want to have the class?” it's funny to see her eyes grow wide and her mouth open in shock.
“How did you know?” I really didn't want to go into body language and all that, so I say jokingly,
“I can read minds!” we all laugh.

After that we head over to see an assembly in the auditorium. No one tells me what it's about, but in a way I'm somewhat glad they didn't. It was about homeless people, and the organization, push, that helps them. It was the saddest thing I ever had to sit through. Nick was beside me looking like he wanted to sleep, that was, until the film came on. Over a nickel back song, images flashed on the screen showing these people, criticisms of the United States, in tents, alone on the streets, wearing baggy cloths, and having missing teeth. There was an image of a beautiful baby boy sitting on the hard pavement. He was barefoot, and his mother was beside him. In the background, a tent lay torn down. The baby was crying, and it looked like he hadn’t eaten in days. There was a picture of a teenaged girl smiling at the camera, her front top teeth missing, but she was holding a book in her hand, and her mom was beside her. It ripped my heart open. Seeing these people, helpless and alone, with no one to turn to, and no one to help them at all. I knew exactly how that felt. I knew, somewhat, what these people had to go through.
“There are homeless people who still go to school. Some of them are very smart, some even smarter than you” I knew, distinctly who she was referring to. Recently a movie was made about the homeless girl who was accepted into Harvard. Homeless to Harvard.
“Now, I have a question for all of you. Who here knows what these terms really mean? Compassion and charity.” Nick looks directly at me now, and he's waiting on me to answer. He whispers in my ear.
“I know you know the answer. Come on old wise one.” He wasn’t being a smart ass either. He raises my hand. I didn't like showing off my wisdom, because people weren’t used to it.
”come on Robert. No one else has their hand up.”
“Yes?” she calls on me. I stand up so my voice can be projected better. I take a deep breath and begin.
“Well ma’am…” I pause, and Nick gently taps me on the back, urging me to go on. I don't know why he's doing this. Why is he making me answer? Is it because I honestly know the answer? Briah jumps in however and cuts me off.
“They both mean the same thing.”
“Not quite. Sorry mss.”
“Excuse me. I know what they mean.”
“Okay sir. Try.” I scoffed inside of my head. I wouldn't have to try.
“Well, in a way, she's right, but she's wrong in the sense that charity means your giving something to an organization, or to someone just because you feel sorry for them.” I was speaking directly from the heart now. I experienced both in my life, so I could easily tell the two apart from each other.
“And compassion is giving something to someone when you care about them deeply. Compassion is giving, not just the item, but giving love, kindness, and friendship along with that. Compassion is giving love, while helping someone out.” I sit down slowly. There is a long silence before a stunned woman answers “correct… couldn't have said it better myself.” A few people clap.
“I knew you would know the answer.” Nick whispers again as she talks about a man who was run over by a train in a suicide attempt due to his homeless life after returning from Iraq.
“Why? How did you know? Just because I'm wise?”
“No. despite all that has happened to you, I think you have a compassionate heart.”

After the meeting is over I have to sweep and mop the floor. As I sweep the floor for the third time I think about what Nick has said. I have a compassionate heart. What does that mean? That I care for people, which I want to see people happy. That I care about what happens to people, and I'm thinking about others more than myself? I do those things, but if I show that to people, they instantly think I'm “gay. Oh, or retarded.”

Nick just asked me the oddest question, and I have no idea why. He's asking me what I think of people, such as Amanda, Mr. Ryan, Mrs. Cory, Kevin, Tracey, and Envogue. It's like he wants me to do psychoanalysis of everyone and report to him. Why? I prefer to keep my gift of people watching to myself, but he would stop.
“Why do you like seeing me psycho analyze people?”
“Because I want to see if this is something you do willingly.” Okay, so he was examining me. Interesting.
“well, I told you about Amanda, Mrs. Corey, Mr. Edwards, Mr. Ryan, Mr. Evan, etc. have anyone else?” I was totally being sarcastic, but he shocks me by saying
“What do you think of Travis? What's he like? I want to know more about him.”
“Then, Nick? Why don't you ask him?”
“I did, but you can read people. I want to know what his personality is like. I don't have that gift or power.”
“I don't want to tell you what I think of him.”
“Why not? You didn't want to tell me what you thought of all the other people either, but you did. Why didn't you want to tell me about anyone I asked?”
“Because then he'll kill me. Not just him, but everyone.”
“Oh yeah? I won’t tell him.”
“Okay. Fine. I'll tell you. I think he's a nice guy. Honestly he is, but he hides it behind some kind of wall that he builds up around himself. I think he doesn't want to show other people how he feels either, like he doesn't want to show his emotions to people because he's afraid of what other people will think…” I pause, stunned I'm telling Nick all this.
“Go on.”
“What if I'm wrong? He'll kill me.”
“You said that about almost every person. I don't think you’re wrong, and no one will kill you, also, that's why I asked him. I want to see how he perceives himself. Your gift is just a comparison. I want to see if he's arrogant.” I don't know if he's right with that one. I sit and think about it. I wouldn't call it a gift; I would just call it an automatic insight into people’s hearts and personality. He continues by asking, “By the way, is he arrogant?” I had to stop and think about this one.
“I don't think he's arrogant. He likes to laugh a lot, and he's very confident in himself,” I continue. “And he's not any dummy either.”
“But you’re smarter than he is.”
“No. I'm not. Don't compare me like that. Anyways, he's very nice and very friendly, but he's closed off except his few closest friends. He honestly connects with those people. I believe he has few ‘friends,” I make quotes with my fingers, “and lots of just average friends. You know. I think he's afraid to show emotion because then people will make advantage of him. Even with me, he's guarded”
“But why? You won’t do something like that.”
“I know I won’t, but he doesn't know that.”
“Wonder what he thinks about you” I glare at him.
“I don't want to know. If you ask him, and that's just stupid anyway, don't tell me. I'm worried it will be negative. Oh, and I think he holds pride modestly. He's very modest.”

“Wow. How do you do that? Read people like that?” I shook my head.
“I don't know Nick. I honestly don't know. Don’t take my word for it though. You decide who he is. Don't let me do it for you”
“I'm not.”
“Good.”

After that, I mop, and sweep four times. My back, by the end, is screaming again. I wish Amanda were here so she could straighten my goddamn back out for me. Ugh. I feel like I'm an old man, and my back paints won’t go away. They ache me, and my thoughts.
Mr. Ryan, You’re trying to kill me.” About the third time he told me that I didn't do it correctly, I started to wonder if he was going to tell me to mop three times too, just to spite me. As he was shooting up aliens my back, I'm sure, was shouting curse words at him. I made it all the way through, and didn't even bitch once.

Now I have to go shower. I'm cooking tonight. Should be fun. Oh god, smite me, all mighty smiter!

10:13 AM

Dude. We are in lock down! I'm not kidding. I'm still in Mrs. Chancey’s class, and I should be in math class now. Tracey and I are eating chips like crazy back here and she's not even noticing. I'm also playing music and I'm shocked that she doesn't even know I'm doing it. Tracey is a loud eater! Dang! He chews chips smacking. Gosh. She's going to hear him, I know she will…

A knock sounds on the door, and Mrs. Chancy actually answers it!
“Who is it? Hang on let me open the door.” Hang on, let me open the door? What is she on? She opens the door, and it's a police officer.
“Uh, excuse me Mrs. Chancy,” I say, “but you shouldn’t do that.”
“You know, Robert has a point.” Kevin said. The whole class laughed.
“The killer could have killed all of us by now!” people laugh at what I said.
“Well actually,” Nick begins, and everyone groans. Nick stops, looks at each of us in turn, then he continues.
“there's about a 89% chance, based on probability, that only three of us would die if killer was supposed to be coming through here under your own steam.” Everyone responded with a loud, chorused “huh?”
“What he means is walking.” I translate. The whole class choruses, oh!

The rest of the time stuck in her class I emailed people, to be honest with you all.

1:08 AM

We had a late lunch. Special needs had a fire drill. I'm cooking meat loaf tonight. What joy? Happy happy joy joy. It's okay though. I can get through it. I've done it before.

I'm reading marked, house of night, book one. It's awesome! Ugh, I have to go.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

I was caught, in the shower this morning.

First… Wow, wow, and more wow!

Therefore, here's a run down of what I had to do yesterday. Cook, clean my mess, clean the cabinets with Mrs. Corey, clean the cabinets with Cody, wash skillet, cook French fries, sweep the whole kitchen floor, about (three times), vacuum, mop, and that's it! Nothing to it, right? I think Mr. Ryan has something against me. He wants to see me dead.

On the cooking I was supposed to cook meat loaf and carrots, but someone stole the meatloaf out of the fridge, so I had to improvise the meal. I made turkey burgers again. Nevertheless, this time I totally doctored them up with cheese inside of the meat and everything! The cooking process went smoothly for the first part because Mrs. Corey was there telling me what I should do and explaining why I should do it. Mr. Ryan I'm sure had a great time watching us. The Xbox wasn't hooked up so I'm guessing that's why he was pretty pissed.

Mrs. Cory and I completely re arranged and cleaned the spices cabinet, then started cooking. I managed to scrape up a recipe online, so my lonely laptop was sitting on the table quite bored I'm sure just displaying that one recipe. Mr. Ryan watched us for a while, and then he disappeared. I managed to get the meat cooking on a skillet and French fries on the pan. She whispered in my ear as I was trying to flip a section of meat,
“Why rent you doing more microwave stuff?” gee! I don't know! That’s a hell of a good question. How was I supposed to tell her that Mr. Ryan banned microwave meals?
“Um, he likes us to cook the food from scratch almost all the time.” I was having issues with a section of the meat. My cerebral palsy wanted to turn the spatula to the right, so I had to pour all my concentration on keeping it level.
“Well, I think you should try for division of blind services or perhaps even congland. You’re not going to learn anything here,”
“Especially the way I'm being taught.” I said. She nodded I think, and we resumed the cooking. I knew she spoke the truth, and it's not because I hate cooking, I don't get anything when I cook. If you asked me how to make something I made with Mr. Ryan I couldn't do it. I couldn't tell you one single thing. I don't know why, but all that stuff flies out of my head because I just want to get it done. Nothing is explained to me, I'm lost half the time, and I mix things in the wrong order sometimes because someone isn’t there to guide me and teach me. I feel like a painter who hasn’t been taught how to draw. A singer who has never had a voice lesson, a writer who doesn't know how to compose a complete sentence. All those things describe me in the kitchen perfectly, but I want to learn something. I'm not, and I'm being dead serious here, I'm not learning anything at all!

6:00 came and rest Corey said the dreaded words.
“Nick you and I have to go.” Oh, shit. Hell no! No no no no! The meal wasn’t even done yet! Shit! Well, it didn't take a genius to figure out what I had to do next. All I would have to do was fly burgers and put them on buns, right?
“Let’s make potatoes.” Mr. Ryan had the balls to tell me. “Do you have the potatoes out? I suggest you do that. That may v helpful.” I was seriously confused by this point. I thought I had French fries in the oven.
“Um, why do I need the potatoes?”
“Uh, for a side you know? You got to have a side with your meal.” I was utterly lost by this point.
“Um, what about the French fries in the oven?” I was clueless.
“o. You have potatoes in the oven?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. What vegetable you going to make with it?” I had honestly no idea. I just said the first one that popped into my head.
“Green beans.”
“Okay. Sounds good.” I didn't want to leave my post, so I stood there ready to flip again since it was time.
“can I make a suggestion?” if you can't see the meat you should use a timer.” That was a good point. I got one out despite the time keeping I was doing in my head. I knew that meat didn't take long to burn on one side, so somehow, my mind deduced the perfect time in order to flip the meat. I got the green beans in the microwave. With no issues at all, and went back to the burgers. The hardest part was getting them, and lifting them on to buns. They were heavy, and my damn cerebral palsy wanted to take control at that time, and twist my wrist to the right. I was concentrating so hard on keeping it level, and getting the meat and stuff on the bun that I didn't even notice the in set table behind me. A lot of the time I couldn't get under the meat, so I had to slide it on the wall of the skillet and use that as advantage, since Mr. Ryan was… wait, what the heck? Where was he? I looked towards the TV, where he and Gabe were talking about the Xbox. I nearly flipped. I continued on my task however, which I'm happy to say was going well. I kept taking 5 minutes to get each meat on the bun but hey, I was rocking! I kept having trouble getting them off the skillet though, and this caused me to want to rush. I was trying to get one burger off the skillet when I felt a hot pain shoot through my hand. I screamed and flung my spatula up in the air, but didn't let go of it. I looked on the back of my hand. It was pink, and it hurt. What did I do to it? Did I burn it? No. I couldn't have. I would have to be over an open flame to do that wouldn't I? By this point I rushed even quicker, panicking that I was going to burn the whole meal. I nearly slid the skillet on the floor, but with my cerebral palsy hand I managed to catch it before it hit the ground. I looked all around for Mr. Ryan, seriously scared I was going to start a fire. I didn't see him at first, and then I looked at the table.
“You should watch your meat.” He suggested. I just did as he told me to do. I couldn't let my apartment mates starve. However, if he “suggested” something again I was going to kill him.

After I finally got everything ready. Everyone raved about how these were the best turkey burgers they ever tasted. I beamed with each compliment I received. I kept telling people to help themselves. I had a plan going on. It was a simple one, but it was a plan all the same. After everyone managed to get seconds, Mr. Ryan approached the stovetop.
“There’s only one burger here.” I made my eyes grow wide in mock shock.
“There is? Oh, dear me. I'm so sorry Mr. Ryan!” it was the smallest one I made, and it was the one I burned myself trying to flip
“It’s okay.” He took it muttering under his breath. I just stood there smiling to myself the whole time looking like a goof ball. When he took a bite of it he nearly died.
“What’s in here? My mouth is burning!”
“Oh my. It is? Hmm, interesting. I followed the recipe correctly sir, just like you wanted.” Mr. Ryan was definitely freaked out now. He went searching for a cup, and then something to drink. I managed to stack the sink up just enough so his cup wouldn't be able to go under the spicket, and I drank just enough coke so that I wouldn't be the last one who drank the coke. Just as I expected, Dan had the last of the coke.
“My mouth is on fire! Woo! He started to pace, and then sweat.
“Excuse me Mr. Ryan, but are you okay?”
“Yes. I'm fine. Is anyone else okay?”
“The burgers rock!” Cody cried.
“They’re a little too hot for me.” I couldn't help but grow wide-eyed again.
“Oh dear! You mean you don't like hot things sir? Oh gosh! I'm so sorry!”
“It’s fine.” He said. he then sat down and ate the rest of the mini burger, while I cleaned up with a huge grin on my face.

I also swept, vacuumed, swept two more times, and vacuumed again, and didn't get very far. Mrs. Cc finally approached me in the kitchen, and suggested something about the vacuum. It actually helped, and didn't even confuse me this time.

When I finally got around to mopping at 12:12 AM, something happened to my back. I wished Amanda fur was here to help me straighten it out. She was awesome at massaging me. Wow!

Anyways on the last row I went t stand up, and a sharp pain stabs me in the back. Instead of going away it slowly creeps up my back. It felt like a Charlie horse, and the pain only intensified. I had to bite my tongue to keep from crying out. The pain became even worse! What was happening to me? I quickly went into the bathroom, locked the door, pressed my back to the sink, and, my eyes producing tears, I tried t make the pain stop. It hurt so much I didn't even want to live. I unlocked the door just in case I passed out. The pain grew even more, and I was about ready to call for help when suddenly, it stopped.
“What the hell?” I called out to the empty dark bathroom. “What the hell happened to me?” the pain was all gone now, and now just my usual back pain took its course. Puzzled, I crawled into bed, and stretched my legs out. This time, I knew it was a charley horse that shot up and down my leg. When it stopped, I was relieved. I fell into a hard sleep.

Now about the shower.

When the fire drill went off, I dashed outside with just my towel on. I nearly tripped in the kitchen while trying to run, and thank god no one saw me yet. I was the last one out of there, but I ran. No one saw me come out of the building and into the parking lot. Mr. Edwards was by the gate, and when I got to him he was smiling. He enjoyed watching me shiver.
“Is it cold?” he asked me. I smiled coyly at him.
“Why. It is. You know, I'm sure you’ve never had a fire drill at your college.”
“Oh I did, I just never got caught in the shower!” he doubled over laughing at me. I wasn’t offended though. When everyone saw me the place became so quiet not even the deaf kids were grunting.
“God damn.” Kevin said. “It’s a ghost.” I do admit my belly and back were even whiter than my face, and that was saying something.”
“Holy fucking shit I didn't know you had muscle.” Envogue says flexing my arm.
“You all can just die. Okay?”
“Now!” Mr. Edwards says behind me. I quickly stepped to the side and turned around to face him.
“That’s not how a stick figure is supposed to behave. Do you eat at all? I can see yo ribs.”

Everyone was laughing it up, and I was freezing. I do admit, I made a few jokes myself.
“I wonder if I go to school like this Mrs. Chancy won’t even notice!” the whole place cracks up except for Mr. Edward who looks puzzled.
“You cold?” he asks again with the same grin on his face.
“Nah man. I'm all hot and stuff. I'm hot stuff. See, those fire ladies are looking at me now.” I pointed to three fire women who arrived here in a fire engine.
“They’re wondering if you need to go to the hospital.” He jokes again.
“Dude. Robert’s fucking ripped!” Envogue says holding up my muscle. “I thought he had none.”

Finally the people said we could go back in the building. I was the first one inside. Laughing in my room, I get dressed. Nothing like standing outside naked to start off your morning. Eh? I'm in high spirits! I don't know why! It could be the new hot girl, Lindsey, saying I'm cute and “fine looking.” Oh wow! She's not bad looking herself. Even though she's a brunet, I can give her a chance. I wonder if she'll ask me out. In a way, I wish she would.

8:20 AM

Speak of the devil! Lenz just entered the room! Whoa! She is in jeans and a t-shirt, but her hair is down and falling lightly over her shoulders. She's hot, she's hot, and she’s hot. Well, Emma is too, but she's crazy, in my opinion. I'm fine with just a friendship, even though everyone else is falling over her feet.

5:27 PM

I love my day off! It's awesome! I'll even have half the night off as well. All I have to do is the counters, my room, and all that stuff and I'm done. I still have to wash my sheets though, I think.

I think I did well on the history test this week, but I am not sure. I hope I did well. When I was studying in my room, literally everyone was in here with me. Envogue, Nick, Dan, and hell, even Mr. Edwards. When I get my test back he wants to see my grade on it.

6:42 PM

Something utterly mirthful, or funny, just happened. I was just putting up my plate, when I realize just how long nick was in the bathroom. Cody is behind me, and Dan is at the table still. Nick finally emerges and comes up to us. I wanted to know where he was, so I ask him.
“Um, Nick? Where the hell were you?”
“Well Robert. I was in a cam call.” I stop and gape t Nick. Cody, Dan, and I, all say at the same time…
“In the bathroom?” we all burr out laughing so loudly the sound echoes all around us. I double over laughing so hard I'm silently laughing. Nick then keeps it going by saying
“Yes Robert. It was fun!” we laugh even harder. He doesn't get it at all.
“Hahahah!” I laugh so hard I'm almost on the floor.
“What? I can't help it if my buddy Cameron calls me in the bathroom.” We all stop laughing, which by the way was is hard to do. I walk up to him, a place a hand on his shoulder, and say one thing.
“Nick. Camera.”
“Oh! Oh! Oh wow! Dude. You have a sick ,mind!”
“Hey, you’re the one having camera calls in the bathroom.” I shoot back, and everyone laughs again
“Dude!” Cody says “we are sick. Rob and I laughed first.” Still laughing about it, we clean up the rest of the kitchen. Cody and I talk for a bit, and when everyone else is a young life, I clean my room. Some. I don't think that joke will ever die down. Mr. Edward would love it.

7:41 PM

I've been thinking about the test I took today. I hope I passed the test this time. Granted, I know my math shot down after that bad math grade I received on but I have time to really bring it up before the term is over. Mid terms I don't give two shits about because I can calculate my grade way before it comes out. I can even calculate what grade I may get if I get a B or higher on every single test from now on in history. I will have a high C. Mrs. Corey and Nick want to have me get an A, but the logical side of me says that that's not even possible with the grade I have in there now. If my calculations are correct this next test will shoot my grade up, oh, I’d say about 20 points or more, so I'll have a low C.

In math I know my grades and I can calculate them at the drop of a hat. I have a 77 now, and my last test grade was a 58. Yes, know it was an If, but I don't do solving two-step equations really well. Next is graphing so I'm good there. By mid term, I'll have a 60 something, but by the end of the nine weeks, I'll have a C again.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

I think Kevin's birthday is today. I'm not sure though. They didn't say it on the announcements. I corrected Mr. Edwards’s college homework this morning. When I went into the office to say good morning because I was feeling extremely cheerful, his head was looking down at something.
“Good morning!”
“Well hello there little one.” I smile, choosing to completely ignore the quote, and step closer and bend over to see what he's doing. He's doing English I look at the computer screen to see a document open with only a paragraph written. I start to look at it. It looks like he's actually comparing metaphors, but for what book I don't know. It also looks like he's doing a descriptive writing of someone. I take a look a bit more and realize that he's doing the Canterbury tales too, except his looks like a letter.
“Sir, you can do better than this.” He gives me raised eyebrows, and his girly voice squeaks out “are you sure?” ha. He’s funny.
“Yeah. I want to try.” He snorts and hands me a piece of paper.
“Here are the directions.” He says opening up another file. I look at the directions with fascination.

Write, revise, and type out a letter to someone you know discussing what has surprised, delighted, intrigued, or challenged you about two (or more) of the assigned literary works—Weave into your letter a quotation from each of the literary works, and include some discussion of what you have learned about yourself by actively reading, thinking about, and imagining these works. Make the letter believable; it should clarify why you are writing about these things to this particular person. (Begin "Dear ," and end with a complimentary closing like "Sincerely." Finish it off with your signature.)

I look at his letter again, and start automatically making corrections, and even adding some stuff in, cutting stuff, and re arranging stuff, like this sentence.

The Reaves beard is a symbol of trickery or slyness; hence, the description adequately depicts him. There was more, but I forgot.

When I'm all done he looks at it shocked.
“You in honors English?”
“Yes.”
“Good. What about AP English?”
“No sir.” He looks at me with tired eyes.
“I believe you just gave me a close to perfect here.”
“Thank you.” I look closely at his face. It looks tired, with eyes slightly down cast, and his smile wilting a little.
“Someone’s tired.”
“Someone’s nosy.” He quips back at me.
“No. just observant.” He leans back, stretches his arms high, and yawns.
“obviously.” I look at the clock again and gasp. It's 7:45! I'm late! I turn, and just about to run out of the door when J Edward stops me.
“Wait! Chill out son. You have plenty of times. He places a hand on my shoulder and coyly looks at me.
“Besides, Robert, we all know you’re very naughty. I have to keep you here and watch you, and have you done my homework.” I laugh at his words.
“You going to pay me?” his eyes grow wide and his mouth falls open in mock shock.
“Well, since you’re such a nice person, and everything. For free?” I shake my head.
“No. I need yo concentrate on my own work. History, to be more specific sir.”
“That’s true.”
“People always think something's all true.” I quote. He grins at me.
“Boy, I'm going to beat you now you’re shooting quotes at me.”
“So, do you know it?”
“Yeah, of course I know it. You have to do better. The Catcher in the Rye”
“Yeah, but what chapter and who says it?”
“He thumps me on the back of the head, and sticks his tongue out at me as he says
“Holden Caulfield in Chapter two”

I laugh as I head out of the door.
“Have a good day.”
“You too sir.” I say, stepping outside into the bright sunshine, patched with happiness radiating from my body and mind. However, before I go, someone is holding on to my bag. I look back and it's J Edward.
“I thought you were going to go.” He's on a roll today. I try twisting my body and pull forward lightly. He still holds on.
“You going to let me go now?”
“Who’s the best dorm staff in the world?” I grin, very nastily, and say one thing.
“Mrs. Corey.”
“Oh! Boy! Just wait until tomorrow. Just wait!” he gently gives me a small shove
“Try it.” I call back.
“Have a nice day Robert.
“You too. See you tomorrow!”

Friday, November 20, 2009

TGIF!

I cleaned like a mad cat yesterday. No huge shock though. Actually it wasn’t tedious cleaning like the mop re cleans. This time we all had a purpose.

I think I'm vacuum challenged. Whenever I try to vacuum, the thing doesn't pick you anything at all, but when other people do it, Mr. Ryan doesn't make them do it over again. I wonder if there is something like a setting on the vacuum or something to change. Hmm, I don't know.

I don't know why but Mr. Ryan wanted me to take all my school papers home. Hello, we’re coming back you know. It’s not as if I'm going to fly to the moon or anything. And if I take them home they will be lost, or forgotten. Same with all my books. I want to leave them here because of the move. I don't see why he wants me to take every single thing home with me, if I'll have to bring everything back again. He even did it with the stereo! I tried to explain that since I'm going to actually return and everything, I’d just bring the stuff back here anyway. It's all going to come back here, and in the same spot as now, and I'm not going to use them at all over the break because I have my victor reader stream with me.

After I packed up my dirty hamper, Nick Dan and I exchanged email addresses, and they actually said something that shocked me.
“Have fun with Adam.”
“Oh yeah! I'll have loads of fun with dick head.” They all laugh.
“Is Ginny like that too?” Nick asks. Before I can even open my mouth to responded, Dan cuts in.
“No. she's worse. She rants.”
“Wow! Fascinating! It would be interesting to study!” we both just stare at Nick.
“From what I could gather from the teachers-“
“Hold up.” I said, “You asked the teachers about her? How did you even know her last me?”
“On your pod cast, but anyway, the teachers all tell me she has a hot head, and a temper to boot. She flips out really easily I'm sure…”
“And she rants.” Dan interrupts. “They’re annoying as fuck.”
“Dan! Excuse me, stop interrupting me please!”
“Okay calm down.” Dan said.
“How the hell do you know she rants?” I ask.
“o. Connie told me all about her.”
“Oh you guys are just going to judge?”
“About 8 people told me she's a hot head, okay? And the ranting is the only thing that logically fits into that equation.”
“You got to be serious.” I said palming my face.
“How do you do it?” Dan asks me. “Connie couldn't even do it.”
“Hmm let’s see, I DO.” They both look at me with raised eyebrows.
“That’s why you read so much!” Nick says pointing a finger at me.
“No. idiot. That's from his mother days.”
“O.”
“Yeah. That's from my mom days. That was when I needed some place to escape when I couldn't escape. My portable TV’s, in a way, could take me so many places and meet so many new people that it became habit to red, plus I find stories better than stories on TV. They're too simple.”
“I agree.” Nick says.
“Although, I do find television educating. When someone, like Adam for example, turns on the set at my house, I go in my room and read a book.” Everyone cracks up, and then we all say good night to each other. When I climb into bed I close my eyes, and I'm glad for the break. I definitely need it. My back agrees with me on this one. We both deserve some down time together, listening to a book.

4:01 AM

Well all, I'm done. It's Friday, no homework, so me going to read all break long! Woo hoot!

I didn't get back the history test yet. If I do I will post it in another blog, but I am posting this because I will not have internet where I am going.

Music speaks louder than words

“When words fail, music speaks.” For every emotion known to man, there seems to be a song that can embody the feelings that go along with that emotion. There are songs about sadness, joy, fear, anger, confusion, and love. There are even songs without words, and even these tunes can have a powerful effect on a person. What is music, exactly? Some may say it is the combination of a tune, notes, rhythms, and maybe even words. But to me, I find that music is much more than a simple melody. Music lives and breathes everywhere—in the soft whisper of a summer breeze, in the crashing and rolling of waves in an ocean, or even in the beating of a baby’s heart. Music is the rhythmic pulse of life, and it gives life to everything.

People often go through life, oblivious to the sweet sounds of music that surround them. They go about their days, walking through busy streets and passing people by without looking anyone in the eye. People forget that simply saying “hello” to another person can be music. I have found, however, that by giving a small part of myself to others each day, I can be an instrument of love. I, too, can create music. Sacrificing time out of my day is a hard task to accomplish, for I become busier and busier each day. But the rewards that come from helping another person are endless, especially when I see how much I can contribute to another person’s happiness. This is a great and powerful gift that we have as human beings. We have the ability to nurture and take care of other people’s joy. By loving and caring for others, we can truly be instruments of God’s love for His people.

Music is more than words put to a tune; it’s the flow of goodness and life that can be found in every situation, good or bad. It’s a helping hand when someone fell down. It’s a loving embrace after not seeing each other for years. It’s a tear that falls down the cheek of a baby. That’s the thing about music—it is different for everyone. Music is there to help us when things are too overwhelming to put into words. Music is a constant that will forever embody emotions of love and life. Music is the rhythm of life.

high school satire

High school satire.

 

Written by Robert Kingett

 

Nothing in the world simultaneously produced such opposite emotions in Ezekiel as East Maple cheerleaders. They were both bringers of shallow liberation and deep conformity; possessors of natural beauty and manufactured artificiality; givers of girlish sweetness and unfeeling ostracism. They twirled weightlessly through the air like lunar ballerinas – scantily clad ballerinas. Their costumes were carefully calculated, following some secret formula crafted to raise male testosterone to levels of euphoria, feistiness, and chauvinism. Just as they had been exploited, they in turn sought to exploit. They were angels. They were demons.

And Ezekiel was a number. He had a student ID number, 514317. A locker number, 7091. And a lunch number, 2689. His textbooks had numbers too, but he couldn’t remember them.

It was a seventh-period pep rally. Pep rallies were marginally better during seventh period. A few rebellious students would sneak out of school just before an afternoon pep rally and skip directly to freedom – if they managed to avoid getting caught during the run to the parking lot. Ezekiel had tried once, unsuccessfully. In addition to Saturday detention, 10 of his five accidentally earned spirit points had been subtracted as punishment, leaving him with a negative total.

This was East Maple High, which prided itself on graduating more students than any other high school on the East Coast – students who then dropped out of college at the highest rate of any high school alumni from the East Coast.

Shouted the cheerleaders: “East! Eager! Maple! Manly! Bobcats! Bomb ’em, Bobcats, bomb ’em! Gooooooo Bobcats!”

Or, as Ezekiel’s friend Rachel Hanson had once written for an English assignment:

“E is for Enmity, A for Alcohol,
Drink some after the game and worries will
dissolve. S – you will Sweat for us! T – you will
Thank us! In the mighty bobcats we trust!
M, Male supremacy, barely disguised
under A, Athletic equality, believe our lies.
P, Parade of conformists, join today!
Love who we command – never betray;
Embarrassment for all who go astray.”

“Love who we command” had been a reference to a new student dating service – Sweetie Service – run by the SGA. All students had filled out one-page questionnaires in their first-period classes. The results were used to find ideal matches among students. ­Students who pledged to select their Sweetie Service match as their homecoming date not only received free tickets, but also a whopping 1,000 spirit points.

“At least in the Soviet Union, the Communist Party never spoiled dating,” Rachel had once remarked privately to Ezekiel.

As for Rachel’s poem, it had received only a C due to its poor meter, awkward word choice, and uneven diction.

When at last the pep rally ended, Ezekiel swam through a sea of loud student factions to escape the gym. Squeezing his body between two unresponsive preps who moved like trees taking a walk, he glanced up and witnessed, for a fleeting moment, the two most opposite people in the universe passing in close proximity to each other.

One was Damien Petito, towering quarterback of East Maple’s varsity football team, a young man so embellished head-to-toe in decorations that he might be mistaken for a German kaiser. His plum purple and gleaming gold varsity jacket – the epitome of East Maple High – was worn so often that it was now part of his very skin, and yet, it never faded. To many, Damien was East Maple’s living, breathing mascot. Hanging from his jacket were countless ­spirit medallions, not to mention three seven-point stars denoting “Student of the Year,” a prize given to the person with the most spirit points. A fourth star was inevitable.

Crossing Damien’s path was Joseph Gilman, one of the notable East Maple intellectuals. Plaid-clad, skinny, and somewhat disheveled, Gilman was the National Merit Finalist whose name had been misspelled in the very back of the East Maple Telegram in six-point type. The administration could hardly stand broadcasting the success of such a heretic. No one knew Gilman’s actual GPA, but rumor had it Joseph was a spectacular underachiever who maintained a 3.4 with almost no effort.

Ezekiel always wanted to talk to Joseph, though he rarely did. He wanted to tell him, “I am like you. I don’t understand them.” But Ezekiel knew he and Joseph had little in common.

When Damien and Joseph crossed paths, they looked beyond each other. Each was invisible to the other. Joseph could walk past Damien burning alive and Damien would never notice – and vice versa.

Still swimming through the mob, Ezekiel escaped into the gym lobby.

“Hey! Bought your ticket to the homecoming dance yet?”

It was a loud, boot-licking SGA girl in a gaudy East Maple T-shirt, a bundle of homecoming tickets in her left hand and wad of dollar bills in her right.

“How much are they?” mumbled Ezekiel in a ­barely audible groan.

“What?”

“How much?” Ezekiel barked.

“Only $10 this week!” she replied perkily.

“No,” said Ezekiel, “I mean how many spirit points.”

“Starting today, we’re dropping our ­requirement from 30 to 15!”

Wordlessly, Ezekiel walked away. Several feet in front of him, Joseph Gilman was squeezing past ­unresponsive students planted in the dead center of gym ­lobby traffic. Ezekiel wondered if Joseph Gilman had even fewer spirit points than he. His curiosity was so ­intense that he decided to ask, even though it might be an awkward question. But as Ezekiel worked his way through the throng, Joseph was diverted by two of his intellectual companions: Ruth Bentsen, a tall girl who worshipped John Lennon, and Mathew McDaniel, a witty boy who worshipped Vladimir Lenin, not to mention himself.

“Watch out,” Mathew warned Joseph, gesturing in Ezekiel’s general direction. “The SGA girls will pounce on you.”

Joseph laughed. “School dances are a joke,” he said dismissively. “The students who go are predominantly simpletons.”

In that moment, Ezekiel realized he was even more alone that he had thought. Joseph had spoken not as a bitter outcast, but as an objective intellectual, critiquing a bad play or dismissing pseudoscience. Joseph did not care about the dance; Ezekiel, how­ever, was not so indifferent. As he trudged through the crowded halls on autopilot he wondered who Rachel was taking – if she were going at all. But his thoughts quickly faded, like snow melting under a disapproving sun.

He trudged on.

“Zeke?”

Focusing on the figure ahead, Ezekiel beheld a surreal revelation, like something out of a Salvador Dali painting: a figure with the face of Rachel Hanson and the costume of an East Maple cheerleader, pompoms and all.

“Rachel?”

“Hi,” she said, smiling bashfully.

Ezekiel felt as if he might choke.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Did you … join?”

“Didn’t you see me at the pep rally?” asked Rachel.

“No, I must not have recognized you.”

Rachel blushed. “I was afraid you wouldn’t understand,” she said. “I got back the results of that Swee­tie Service thing. Guess who they matched me up with?”

“Who?”

“Damien Petito,” she said with a smile, voice shaking with excitement. “He wants to take me to homecoming. Me! Rachel Hanson!” A demented laugh of mania and mastery belched from her mouth. “Can you believe it? Of course, there’s some tradition that football players only take cheerleaders to homecoming. So … I signed up.”

“You – you like him?” asked Ezekiel. A glimmer of irritation arose in Rachel’s blue eyes.

“Every girl likes him,” she said, as if reminding Ezekiel of the Pope’s religion. “Look, I’ve been so disappointed by high school. I’ve grown sick of it. There’s no fun in being bitter, Zeke! Enjoy your life.”

“I can’t.”

Slowly sobering, Rachel studied her old friend. Ezekiel did likewise.

“You don’t think I’m shallow, do you?” she asked after a long silence.

“No,” said Ezekiel, “I never have.”

“Well, I’ll see you around then.”

“See ya.”

***

Monday morning: the concrete classroom walls trapped Ezekiel like an insect in a cup. Dull sunlight seeped in through plastic blinds. All around him, students completed mundane Calculus warm-ups.

The loudspeaker clicked on.

“Saturday night, our school suffered the tragic loss of a beloved student, Rachel Hanson, who died after the car she was riding in struck a bus. The driver, Damien Petito, is being treated for non-life-threatening injuries at White Hill Hospital. Today counselors will be available in the guidance office for students to talk to. We will now pause for a moment of silence in remembrance of Rachel.”

Every sound in the room died. If he shut his eyes, Ezekiel could believe that he was the only living thing in the universe, alone in an infinite void. He felt an icy vacuum growing inside him, so chilling he would jump in a bonfire to end the cold. His ears rang with the song of dying cells.

“Please stand for the Pledge of Allegiance.”

“I pledge allegiance to the flag –”

She was gone.

“of the United States of America –”

Damien had killed her.

“And to the Republic for which it stands –”

He had been drunk.

“One nation, under God, indivisible –”

Why her?

“With liberty and justice for all.”

Sightless hope abridged,

Sightless hope. A memoir about child abuse.
By Robert W. Kingett.
Prologue

It was dark, but something was pushing, and I just let the force push me. Suddenly a gateway opened, and a giant hand grabbed me and pulled me out into the blinding light. I couldn’t open my eyes. It hurt too much. I did the only thing I could do. I cried.
Doctors crowded around me, and nurses stole a peek from time to time. Everyone in that hospital delivery room had their eyeballs on little me, crying my little heart out.

And so a new writer was born.

My mom (Barbara), watching the doctors crowd around this new infant, thought that she had wanted a kid of her own, but not at the age of 21. She’d told her boyfriend she was going to be out of town during the college break. What did it matter that she’d skipped important exams? She’d gotten her bachelor’s degree anyway. She was safe. He would never ever know.

Later, as Barbara watched me struggle to breathe in my incubator, she vowed to never do one thing. Give up. She would figure out how to cope somehow. She wasn’t a prissy city girl. She was a tough redneck, ready to battle all odds and take care of me. What she had no way of knowing was that I would become disabled.

I stayed in the intensive care unit for about eight more months, because I wasn’t breathing right. The doctors performed surgery to force more oxygen into my lungs. But there was too much. The oxygen gave me cerebral palsy, and something else as well--something that would play a huge role in my life—a visual impairment.

I don't know when my mom found out that, I had cerebral palsy or that I was visually impaired, but the doctors did tell her one thing repeatedly, like some broken record: “He won’t be able to walk.”

The Web of Love

But I did walk, and I ended up in my grandparents’ home after my first birthday, where I stayed for 11 years. They were living in North Carolina, where I attended public school. That didn’t last long, since my grandmother soon protested against me being put in the class for mentally retarded kids. When she heard about the deaf and blind school in St. Augustine, they immediately moved to Florida and enrolled me there.

However, I ended up in my grandparents’ home, either by their choice or by my mom’s, there was no question in my mind that they loved me. My grandmother may have loved me a little too much. As I grew older, my grandfather wanted me to try new things, while my grandmother wanted me to be always in her arms, never letting me walk about the earth with wings. She wanted to have them clipped always, so I could not fly away.

In spite of my grandmother’s wishes, my grandfather, whom I always called Rodger, took me for walks to strengthen my legs, to show me to the world, and to show the world to me. If I fell and scraped my knee, he’d ask if I were okay and then tell me to come along and get moving. But my grandmother would kneel down, kiss it, and then swoop me up in her arms and carry me the rest of the way.

I felt as though they did it because they loved me so much. I thought that so adamantly that I boasted about it to any adult who would listen. But they seldom had company over, so I was in solitude most of the time, except for when I went to school.

I already knew how to read, kind of, with the help of my leap frog audio books. As they played, I would hold the book an inch from my nose and try to follow along with the audio. Sometimes I even paused the tape and started it again, so I could listen to how the reader pronounced the sound. Okay, so that symbol makes this sound?
In 1997, when I started at the Florida school, I had to be evaluated, and I was accepted. But instead of putting me in the grade where they thought I should go, my grandmother had me demoted to the first grade to work on my social skills. Even then, I almost never said a word unless I absolutely had to.

I clung to my grandmother as she dragged me into the classroom.
“You will be fine,” she said.

“No!” I screamed.

By the end of that year, I knew how to count, read second-grade books, and paint, although I just liked mixing colors to see what would result.

I was known for having nightmares, even when the light was on. When I’d wake up screaming, Rodger would come rushing in and hold me as I cried. Then he’d sleep with me. I had this habit of waking up at strange hours of the night, wanting to know if he was still there. After I’d patted his sleeping form, I’d go back to sleep. It was the web of love that he unknowingly made for me. My grandparents had their own webs of love for me, which I always fell into, but I liked mine better. Mine would never be torn down.
Nightmare

One memory haunts me to this day. It is the memory of my grandfather’s death. On the day that my grandfather died, the sun was making a bright patch of light on our driveway. And my mood was happy because I was skipping school. It was Rodger who took me to school each day. I thought it was strange that my beloved grandfather didn’t even get up to go to the bathroom, but I also thought that it would pass over like the ‘flu.

My grandmother was already in a rest home, because she had had a stroke, so I was having the time of my life with no one to look after me, eating chocolate, watching movies, reading a new audio book, or playing video games. I didn’t know what my grandfather was going through in the back room, lying in a pool of his own blood.
My mom came in the door at 6 p.m. and raced to his bedroom. Crying, she raced out again and told me that I needed to go to her trailer now and stay there while she called for help. Suddenly remembering that I had a vision issue, she took me to the trailer, which was nearby. I slept on a beanbag chair in the small confines of the trailer. As the sirens filled my ears, I thought in a strange way it sounded like a lullaby, wrapping imperceptible arms around me to calm me into blissful sleep.
The next morning my mom came in.

“Where’s Rodger?” I asked, thinking he was going to walk through that door at any minute with his arms wide open and his smile, as he had always greeted me.

“He’s not here.” She didn’t sound happy.

“But when is he coming? Is he going to come and get me or not?” Tears splashed on my side as my mom looked down at me.
“He's gone. He's dead.”

“He’s what? Dead?” I refused to believe her. He was just sick. He would get better in about a week’s time, and then he would return home to wish me luck each morning before I went to school, be there for me when I was sick and needed someone to look after me, and be there to tell me that he loved me with all his heart. He would. Just wait and see.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “He died last night…”

“Shut up. I don’t ever want to see you again. Don’t talk to me.” I had somehow decided this was all her fault. And I felt angry now at God. He had made grandfather be with Him, when there were people down here who needed him and wanted him more.
After my grandfather died I, of course, had to move in with my mom. I had lived in the same small house since I could remember, and I didn’t want to move away from it. On the last day we packed up, she looked at me standing in the doorway of my grandfather’s room.
“It’s time to go.”
“But I don't want to.”
“You have to come with me. You’re not going to stay by yourself with no one to take care of you.”

“But I want to stay here.”

“I know, but you have to come with me.” I knew she spoke the truth. I just didn’t want to believe it. She walked to the door.
“When you’re ready, come on out to the car.”

Standing there in the doorway to the bedroom, I was remembering all the happy times. I didn’t know why I was walking out of the house and to the car in the driveway and slowly getting in. As many things as I did not know that day, I did know that things were going to be different now. I didn’t know how frightening these unknown events were going to be.
The circle of Hell

Everyone has their own devil that makes a hindrance of their lives and puts fears in their happy hearts. Mine was someone who was supposed to be there for her children, through sickness and in health, through happy times and sad times. My personal devil was my mom.

After my grandfather died, I did go to live with my mom, but I did not like it. From the start, after not even a week there, I got the first taste of abuse. Mom and her husband, Clifford, got into a fight that was so bad they broke the table. Hearing them scream at each other in the kitchen, I started to cry in the back room. They shouted so loud, their voices bounced around inside my head. Hearing them yell and scream and throw things at each other, I opened my mouth and screamed right along with them, the fright taking over. I had never experienced this in the loving home I no longer could go back to.

“I want to go home! I want to go home! I want to go home!” My sister and brother just yelled “Stop!” over and over again, like some broken record. After Clifford left, slamming the door, my mom came in and started yelling at us for being such brats. Looking at me with my mouth wide open and my woeful voice carrying into the night, she slowly walked up to me and raised her hand. I cried harder after the first slap, but after the eighth and ninth slap, I shut up for good that night. She then pulled my sister’s hair and beat up my brother.

I didn’t know why she did that, but about a year later, I made a shocking discovery. She was an alcoholic, and what she drank made her act in this strange way. As the years passed, this wasn’t strange anymore. This was how we lived. Repeatedly, child services were called, and they would leave in the same way they’d come—empty-handed. In our minds, they were the bad people, and our mom would protect us from these strangers.

I didn’t flinch anymore when my mom yelled at me or started saying that I am nothing, that I should go to hell because I can't do anything right, or that I should never have been born. When she got physical, I cried, but I soon stopped. What good would it do to keep wailing into the nights with no one to reach out to for help? Even the night seemed to turn the other cheek when I looked up at the moonlight-filled sky and asked for help.

I started living in a world I could make my own, a world I could escape to whenever I wanted, and a world that I secretly called home. This world came in the form of books. Since I didn’t want to live at home, I would live inside of a book. School also helped, because I could spend all my days there until it was time to go home. Between school and books, I never lived in the real world. As I became older, school and books didn’t just help me get through the day; they became me.

One weekend, when I was older, I visited at the home of a black kid named Envogue. I had thought that all moms were like mine. I was wrong. She was a coal-colored woman with a happy smile and loving arms, as she greeted me off the bus.

“You must be Robert!” she said with a beam that even I could see.
“Yes.” I didn’t have any manners, but I didn’t cuss either. I was never taught table manners or people manners, as I called them.
“Splendid! You’re the one who helped Envogue with his English grade?”

“Yes. That was me.”

“Aw! You’re so sweet!” That weekend I got a sense of what something I had forgotten was like. It was love.

“Can I keep you?” she asked jokingly before I got on the bus on Monday. “You’re just the best!”

“Thanks.” I had grown to love her, even though I would never see her again.

She then placed something in my hand. It was a bag. I got on the bus and looked inside. It was two homemade chocolate chip cookies. Slowly eating one so the bus people wouldn't see me, I started to cry. People say that you can't buy happiness. I think you can. But not with cash. If you give someone a hug, you just bought their happiness with a kind and warm gesture. My mom didn’t ever want to buy my happiness and love, it seemed. She just wanted to buy something out of a bottle. That didn’t buy my happiness, and I wanted so badly for happiness to always be where I would know I didn’t have to look far to find it. I wanted love. As the bus pulled away, I waved goodbye to Envogue’s mom. Waving at her, I said what was dear and true in my heart. “I love you.” Even though she couldn’t hear me, I still felt I had to say it. She had bought my love, and I would keep it in my memory and heart forever.
The end.