T Blog :-)

            My boyfriend, Michael, walks up and wraps his arms around me.  We have been dating for two years, and I feel completely comfortable with him.  I know this sounds gross, but I feel so comfortable with him, that I can burp and know that he won’t be grossed out.  “Finally, last quarter of ninth grade”, he says with a smile.  That smile, that voice, is so comforting and so heart-warming.  My mom pulls up infront of the school, so we are forced to depart.  We say our goodbyes as I jump into my mom’s car.  “Sorry honey, we have to hurry, you are late for your orthodontists appointment.”  I make a soft groan as I change the radio station.  The way to my appointment seemed longer and more boring than usual.  I just sit there and look out of the window, not knowing what lay ahead.  As I walk into the office, the orthodontist greets me with an empty smile.  He seems nervous and flushed.  He sits me down and calmy explains there is something wrong with my jaw.  He tells me the joint is disintegrating and they would have to operate very soon.  I leave the appointment in tears.  Not because I fear the surgery, but more because I am confused and shocked.  The surgery is scheduled for the day after.  I call my boyfriend right away.  He is so soothing and tells me everything will be okay.  The next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital bed with a severe pain in my jaw.  I try to open my mouth to talk, but they manually shut it and tell me it is wired shut and will remain that way for 6 months.  I start to cry.  I really don’t know why, but I just did.  I stay one week in the hospital.  That day, Michael comes to visit me.  I take one look at him, and I can tell he is uncomfortable.  He come and kisses me on the cheek.  It hurts, but I don’t tell him.  He says he missed me at school.  I feel so self concious, is this creeping him out?  There is a brief silence, and then we both start to cry.  Will he still love me, even though I cannot talk to him?  He looks at me as though he read my mind, “I love you”, he said.  “I can’t bear to look at you in this pain”.  I lean over and kiss him, I feel comfortable with him, and always will, no matter the situation.

Watching TV, I look up at my mother who is pacing around the room talking on the phone with someone I don’t know. She hangs up the phone, and fear is written all over her face. Her eyes are dazed and teary. I know there is something wrong. She told me a fire started almost 2 miles away from our home, and it was spreading our way. “What did that mean?” I thought, “what would we do?” She gave me instructions to go and get every one of my important belongings. I did this without questioning and gathered all of my favorite clothes and toys. She told me we were going to have to leave. When she said that, that information slapped me across the face. “I don’t want to leave”, I said. She started to cry and told me we had to. “Where will we go?” She shrugged and hurried me outside. The first thing I saw when I went outside were the growing flames. They were reaching out like the greasy, grimey hands of a kindergardener reaching for candy. House by house collapsed and we stood their in awe of the scene. In a way, it was beautiful, the sun gazing over the beautiful colorful flames. However, overall, I was scared and confused. The sweat, penetrating from my face as I pace through the smoke to get to my car. I cough constantly trying to get the dark, evil air out from my system. We finally get all of our luggage into the back of the car. We drive away from the flames, soon enough so we weren’t affected. We enter this large building full of hundreds of evacuees that read “Evacuation Center”. I carefully place my blankets where we are assigned to go. This is not my home, I do not feel comfortable. I lay my head down, trying to go to sleep. I dont’ know what will happen. Where will I go? All I can do, is wait.

Walking into the gigantic tent of oranges, greens, and blues. It is all a blurr to me. “I am too old for this”, I told my grandmother annoyed. She kissed me and said, “you are never too old for anything”. I rolled my eyes and continued searching the room. I always wondered the amount of strength people have to be in the circus. I watch them in complete awe. I turn to my grandmother and say, “can I go get some peanuts, I’m starving”. My grandmother just handed me twenty dollars without taking her eyes off the flying trapeze artists. As I walk down to get my snack, the clowns walk up to me. I am so scared of clowns, I must admit, they creep the hell out of me. One of them grabbed me from behind and the other two grabbed my butt. I knew something was wrong as they pulled me away from the crowd. As I started to scream they covered my mouth. That scared me the most, having nobody around to hear me scream. They took me into a crowded little room and started ripping the clothes off of me. I screamed and kicked and pushed, but I wasn’t strong enough. As they started taking their clothes off, I froze. I dazed off into a world of complete darkness and fear. They finally stopped. My body lay motionless and cold with no energy left. I thought they were finished torturing me. I was wrong. They held the gun up. At that moment, I remembered all of the good things in my life. I stuttered a small prayer for my friends and family. BOOM! Just like that, I was gone, lifted up to the sky. Looking down at my grandmother, still watching the trapeze artists, not knowing what happened. I took her for granted, she tried to do everything for me. I didn’t appreciate everything. Now, I am being lifted up, being punished for hurting this woman.

Keep Going, just keep going. Day after day, I am chased. My body is wearing down, and I can’t hardly breathe. Step after step. What is the goal? When does this stop? My bones, slowly breaking down, soon to be nothing but a pile of dust. Dust- can be lost and blown away with the slightest stroke of the breeze, gone and lost forever. So, I keep going, just keep going. At times, I collapse, but then it catches me. Holds me tightly in it’s grasp and envelopes me. I use three times as much effort getting me out of it. Sometimes, I think it is too much and wonder how I can keep running. At these times, I look at all of the other faces surrounding me. They are running too, they must also keep going. My body drags along the rough ground and I pray to just stop, to have a break. However, I can never stop, I must keep running. As I get older, the speed of my run decreases tremendously. My final days of living and running. My body cannot take this anymore. I try, to keep going, just keep going. I stop, look back, it is catching up to me. Time slowly creeps up on me and grasps me. I am never to be released.