​I write because there are certain things in life that I cannot control. I can't control what happens to the people around me, I can't control the world, and I can barely control my life. If I can control anything, I can control what I put on paper. I can control my writing. It place where I can gather all of this chaos and put it somewhere that I can control. Writing keeps the enormous crazy world that I live in sane. If I have a terrible day, a memorable day, or an odd day, i can put it into writing, to remember it, to vent, or bring me back to earth.

This was the fifth time I was here. On the stage where I felt safest, yet again I was paralyzed just as before. With the toughest critics I actually knew, there they were. Waiting, watching.

“Jordan!” Joy whispered from backstage.

Damn! Why did I just get up here? I though to myself.

The audience waited for me to start and seen that something was wrong with me. They knew this was what I loved to do. Perform. Sing, dance, and play the piano. So what was the reason for the delay? The truth was because I was nervous about playing in front of them. Ever since my last performance, it took me a long time to perform in front of them again.

“Jordan, what are you waiting for? The microphone is on and the piano is tuned so start.”

“Okay.”

I turned towards everyone and spoke.

“Today I’m going to be play “Fur Elise” on the piano. Yes I know you wanted me to sing but maybe next time. I said with a brief chuckle.

I turned back to the grand piano with a sudden shock of courage.

Throughout the song I heard comments of appreciation from my class and that made me even more courageous to continue to play. I was happy I was back here and knew that I could not stop my dream just because off the small errors and snickers from people. The opinions that people had of me stopped mattering to me the longer I played. This performance took place in eighth grade and the one that stopped me from playing was in sixth. Two years it took me to come back out of my shell of fear. That will never happen again. I love the things I do too much to stop again. I love music. I love my dream.

 

 

 

"C'mon, your supposed to be the best."

"No, I’m not. Who are you to tell me what I’m supposed to be?" That's what my eyebrow said, arching like a frightened cat. I'd heard it many times before but never in a serious way. It was always in a joking manner, a manner that got old after the six-thousandth or seven-thousandth time- I lost count. It was cold in the counselor’s office, a small room on the second floor of my aging school. It was also unbearably quiet. Usually the sound of my kind, and mild mannered counselor hard at work would restore a comfortable volume. Not now though, as it was only my 5th grade teacher and I facing off about the recent drop in my GPA.

I don’t know where or when my last name came from, but it must have stuck considering no one decided to change it. I can understand why though, I mean it’s and awesome name to have! It never gets old to see the

awkward “really?” face people make when I introduce myself. And on rare occasions, when people assume I misspoke meaning “Beast”, “bet” or my favorite,  “Brest”. And the puns… the endless, puns. Always from older people though, rarely from kids my age. I think we realize how lame it is to make fun of someone’s name especially when it’s not even really all that impressive. I wonder if my ancestors faced the same thing.

         I guess I can’t blame them. They’re just trying to get a quick yuck and maybe cheer me up in the process. Not this time though, I could tell in his eyes that this was for real. He actually expected me to somehow be better then everyone else in my class! As if my name somehow had supernatural powers to affect the universe. What a joke! Does a guy named Miller have to love beer or work a textile? What about a black guy named White, or a white guy named Black? Or a depressed person named Feelgood! I wanted to give him a huge chunk of my mind after a long speech about how “I’m better than how I’m performing” and how he “sees great things in me”. But all that managed to stumble from my lips was a humble

“Okay”.

         I suppose an unrecognized sense of title comes with one’s name. Studies show that a name is automatically considered in a persons natural stereotyping. I’m not saying racism is natural, but what I am saying is that you must be aware of how people see you and of first impressions. Don’t allow yourself to be bottled within your own title, but instead force people to see you for what you do instead of what your called.

 

 

- Anthony Best

Another morning, when I took MY time for getting ready for school to try to wake up my older sister. Giving me attitude and not wanting to get up, I just walked out, I couldn’t be late to school because of her. Another unsuccessful day of her not getting out of bed until the middle of the day and her just not attending school. Every morning I felt like I was repeating my self.

“Julian! Julian! Julian! Get up!” Or “Wakey wakey eggs and bacey!”

She would reply,

“Shut up! Go away.” Or “Yeah, yeah, yeah I am up!”

After that my parents would go in and try to get her out of bed, it never worked. It was always time for me to go to school eventually so I said bye and thought on my way to school, good luck!

Always being one of the smartest people I know. Doing her work, and helping me with homework. She was always the stereotypical idol of an older sister. Getting straight A’s, and just hoping that I would too. Trying her best and just looking at all her projects she did and how I was thinking, I can’t wait to do that. Always known as someone who has great potential. Then high school began. Where was my perfect sister Julian? Thinking oh, it must be a ninth grade thing she will be okay in a week or two. Me being in sixth grade I didn’t know any better. But, she continued not doing her work and not going to school. How could it be someone so smart is now not getting good grades? There is definitely a mistake. Freshman year went by for her, but it felt slow for me. Sophomore year came, Julian is going to do great this year I just know it! All I remember is her not wanting to attend school. Having arguments back and forth with my parents. As if screaming was a normal tone in my house. Shedding tear by tear, if only I collected them all.

Time went on, for a couple months. She was hoping she would get into this program to study in Israel for the rest of her sophomore year. There she went, January 23^rd 2009 off to Israel for school until June. Maybe she will do her work. I guess that was okay, but then junior year was coming. The most important year of high school.  September until November she was still enrolled in public high school. Did she go? Nope. November until June was the most successful months of high school with a new school. I could tell that my mother and father were so happy that this new school was working. So excited not just for a full year ahead of us, but senior year. But then it actually came. The first day was picture day, so she went…but late. From there on it was a couple times here and there but that ended in November. I remember talking to her one time about it because I felt brave that day. I was obviously scared that she would throw something at me other times, but not this time.

As I was stumbling to get my words out, I said, “So why don’t you attend school?”

Her reply, with an attitude coming on and a grunt, “None of your business. AND you don’t even have to go after you 16. BYE!”

Now I wish I could have got in her head, so she could of made the right decisions. Ironically, her essay for her college applications were about, how to make good choices. Unlucky for her, but lucky for me that she had to learn the hard way. From her bad mistakes/decisions I know what to do and what not to do. It has made me want to try more in school and never want to be absent. I was always obsessive about absences and lateness’s but it has recently had a great affect on me. She didn’t even realize she was teaching a lesson to me through all the struggles she went through. Although it is all about how it affected her, it also had an outcome on me.

This was happening to someone who’s room was right above mine. Who was there when I was born. Who has been, and always will be my older sister. So don’t think that just because SHE didn’t do her work, or SHE didn’t wake up for school, or SHE didn’t make great choices at times, it only affected her. The affect on me was not only for me to learn but also for me to know right from wrong. It is somewhere I never want to be in life, and to have to experience again. It motivates me to strive for excellence. In the long run, she ended up learning right from wrong. The ends of her suppose to be senior year she took the G.E.D. testing and did fantastic. She got into all eight colleges she applied to, and is now currently in Israel on a gap year program before college studying at Hebrew University, and then living on a Kibbutz. So sometimes you can’t just pass go, and collect two hundred dollars, some people have to work for it. 

 mom has always been over protective. She has never felt comfortable with me by my self. It might be because I’m her only child or because she thinks I cant handle my self. Whatever the reason is, it still doesn’t change the fact that for the past 14 years she has been trying to shelter me from the real world. It’s suppose to be a kind gesture and I understand her reasoning but I have to discover the world my self and that’s what I’ve been trying to tell her. 

I remember when I was 11 and we were on our first family reunion trip. We were in a cheap but nice hotel. The beds were stiff and cold feeling as if no one had slept in them for year. Virginia is a weird place with weird people but the scenery was nice. I was in a rush to go swimming since the pool was the only nice thing there. My mom was nagging as usual saying, “ don’t go to deep” and “pay attention in the pool”. Of course I wasn’t listening to her but I should have. The pool didn’t look deep from a distance it only went up to 5ft I was somewhat cocky thinking that I could stand up in the water since I had just hit 5 ft. I stepped in to the pool room it was a warm rectangular room 

That was about twenty-five feet long. I stepped into the pool and a shiver went up my spine. I stepped in and tried to stop shivering, after seeing I wasn’t warming up I dunked myself in. I felt my body get comfortable with the water and came out feeling revived. 

When I’m in the water I can stay for hours until I prune up like a raisin. After two hours I decided to go into five ft think there were enough people around to help me if I drowned. 

“Branden, when are you getting out of the pool!!” my mom yelled. 

“In like five minutes” I shouted back even though five meant thirty. My stomach made the same feeling it does when something bad is about to happen. I should have listened to my gut but the cooling water kept calling to me making me go further and further, staying longer and longer. My body couldn’t get out of water I couldn’t get out of the water and I dint want to. I went into five feet hopping from toe to toe in the water trying to keep my head up out of the water. Nothing happened until I got knocked over by a wave into the water. I wasn’t ready for the water to hit and when it did I was gasping for air down in the pool. I saw black dots and my survival instincts started to kick in I had never swam in my life but all of a sudden I had this burst of energy to pop out of the water and swim to the ledge. 

After that day I’ve tried to listen to my mom more but we butt heads a lot so that makes it difficult to always to appreciate what she’s trying to do for me. I think she try’s too hard to keep me safe which can get annoying but I understand that she’s trying in her own creepy way to parent. Nothing is done without question nothing is done without an answer my mom is constantly paranoid the she’ll be left alone in this world to raise fat cats. She needs to know that I’m not going to leave her by herself. The point of life is to live and do what ever you want because you only get one life. I learned that life is to short to just sit around hoping that something will happen and that is what my mom has to learn. I learned this around 6 months ago coming home from school. 

The air was cold, the sky was gray and I was tired. It was April and I was ready to get out of school. The bus came around the corner slowly and I see the numbers 33 I knew this was my bus because it had been my bus for the past year. When the bus came I walled into it and looked around it was full as usual but I found a seat in the front. The bus ride was slow and the bus driver looked as if he were slowly dying. I felt like dozing off but I didn’t want to miss my stop. I told my self I could stay up 25 minutes because that’s how long it takes the bus to get to my stop. I saw my stop and a thought hit me realizing if I could make to my house I could take a nap. 

“THIS IS MY STOP!!” I said not wanting to walk back a block more than I had to. He pulled up to my stop were my corner store is. There’s always a group hanging around on the corner when I get off waiting to see some action. I get off and see the light says green, I figured that since the bus had stopped nobody would go past it. I was wrong. I stepped into the street and tried to speed walk home that’s when I heard a horn, a few quick curses and I saw the car in front of me. BANG!!!!!!!!!!! I had been hit and in that quick instant fear and adrenaline took over my body without even knowing it I rolled with the hit jumping back as soon as it hit me. I fell and my left lag hurt. The driver pulled of zigzagging as if there were other people in the streets. In the end the crowd had gotten a show that day, the bus dirver had gotten a show that day and I got yelled at by my mom for not listening to her as a kid about looking both ways. 

In conclusion me and my mother will always butt heads because of our differences. She wants me to stay safe with her but I want to explore the world. I have realized that yes I have to listen to my mom but I also have to explore the world by myself. If I don’t live my own life then I wont be living at all.  

“We back here again!” The two sliding doors flew open. The lights were bright. People everywhere. I think to myself, “It must be my baby cousin with the bad case of the runs.” I call him Poo Poo Kazoo. Sounds coming from everywhere. Coughs, sneezes, ambulances, and babies crying. The smell was awful; it smelled like vomit, cafeteria food, and sick people. I stayed close to my aunt and my brother stayed close to me. We were walking like we were in a scary movie about to get murdered. My aunt asked, “Where is room 436?” to a man that looks like cookie monster. He had on a bright blue uniform on with a badge that said “Front Desk Security.” The guy said “4^th floor then a left.” We got on the elevator and went up, which seemed like forever. Finally the fourth floor. We went down this long hallway, the light got dimmer and dimmer. Then there was the room, room 436, the numbers made me nauseous and nervous. I was scared. There were old men with their hairy, wrinkly butts dangling out the back of dotted pajamas that looked like sheets. The door too room 436 was cracked. We walked into the dark room with a television playing, and the news was on at a very low volume. Then I slid back the blank white curtains and I couldn’t believe who it was.

 

I was eleven years old, being scared and nervous was occasional, but this point in time tiny red ants were running every where in my tummy more than usual. Sometimes strange things happen and time freezes. I either want to run away and dismiss it or face it. Being eleven I couldn’t face the issue that punched me right in my red ant filled tummy and quiet frankly I didn’t understand. Sickness is part of life, but a cold was the worst I ever got sick. I coughed, I sneezed, and my throat hurts. But never was I put in a hospital bed.

When I slid the curtains back and seen my Father, all the red ants fell out my butt. The horror in my eyes, as they burned before the lava fell from them, I was just so distraught. My mother sitting there, with a pale sick look on her face. She didn’t even say “Hi babies”, like everyday when we come from school. I studied my father like I had a test the next morning on a big black man in a bed. He had snakes shooting venom in his arms. Something breathing for him, and one half of his body moving and the other half practically dead. As I stood back for a while, I felt like a sponge; I was absorbing all that just happened. But I got the courage to walk, to the man I didn’t even notice. I slowly grabbed his hand; my hand was shaking it has never done that before. His hand was rough and fragile, his eyes popped open, and I whispered, “Dad why did you have a stroke?”

Being 15 now, I understand seeing someone you love at a young age on the edge of life or death is difficult. So many questions that need to be asked but at that point in time, you cant even regurgitate the questions you would like to ask. This day I grew up and moments like this in life you don’t want to take it for granted. I looked at life in a whole different view, because someone can be gone today or tomorrow and not saying I love you can hold on to you forever. Being 11 I got a clearer understand of death and what causes death, but honestly we are born to die.

 A gentle tear trickled down my face as I said “I would do anything you ask, are you in here because I spilled all of your cologne?” He grabbed my hand tight, tight enough to lose circulation and chuckled.

He kissed me and said, “I love you young lady, and no matter what happens life changes.”

“I love you too dad”, and I let go of the sand paper hand and left room 436.

 

Joseph tartaglia

 

“Oh, wanna go to South Street?”

 

“Naw, that’s not a good idea. We do that all the time.”

 

I was walking down the street with my friends, all of us board.

 

All of the sudden I had a bright Idea.

 

“Hey there’s a ware house on front and Washington we should go and explore it and see what’s up.”

 

My friends give me a weird face

 

Alex responded with “I don’t know man, it don’t seem like a good idea”

 

I responded to “Come on guys we should go do this it might be gone someday and we

will never get a chance, come on we only live once.”

 

Alex agreed “your right we do only have one life to live let take it to the limit”

We headed down to the warehouse to see that the door and windows where covered with wood panels so we tried to pull the off but it was no use. So we went home and decided to try tomorrow. We went back and tried again and we knocked the board down, and walked up the stairs, but all there was up there, was a broken window, and open walls that were broken down.

 

“Wanna go to the basement?” Moe asked

“Sure, up here is boring me.” I said

 

we made our way to the basement and found ourselves a set of stairs that lead to another basement that had a twisty staircase that went to the basement, and had no lights that lead us down so we decided to get fireworks, and a flashlight at the corner store. To buy such things and it got too dark out so we decided to do it next weekend because we had school the next day and it wasn’t worth getting in trouble over skipping school, so we were talking in school all week about what we thought was in the basement

“yo, dude if there is a dead body I’ma jet outta there” said Moe

“moe you can’t run if there was a Twinkie across the street” replied Alex

we couldn’t wait any long we decided to skip school on Wednesday and went to the ware house we where all nervous about if the teacher would find out or if we get caught, and get arrested 1000 things was going through my head and I couldn’t think straight and I was getting to the point of just not going into the basement at all I was at the erg of giving up and going to school, but I went through with going into the warehouse. Even though they won’t admit it my friends were as nervous as me.

we made our way to the basement and there was a man with a 2 by 4 ready to hit us with it, so we ran and right before we ran out the door i stepped on a nail