Tag Archives: family

the arctic hotel

22 Aug

“static silhouette somehow.”

– “Rome”- Phoenix

I am currently sitting in a room with textured white walls, boring paintings of roses in vases and outdated 90’s light fixtures. You guessed it; I’m in a hotel room. My mother has blasted the air conditioning to the “Alaska” setting, because Ohio weather does this weird thing where it stays hot at night. As this rather scatterbrained and unclear intro may have indicated, I am not home in my bedroom with the slight slant, surrounded by a wall of mountains in cold Upstate New York. I have traveled down to the flat (yes, the rumors are true. It’s flat, but then again, I live in a mountainous state) and warm, if a little stuffy, state of Ohio.

My parents and I hopped in the car and drove the seven hours to visit family and look at colleges for me. We just got back from having dinner at my father’s cousin’s house, and it was one of the most relaxing and laid back evenings I’ve ever had at a distant relative’s house. They spoiled us with yummy appetizers and sandwiches, and there were kids running around and everyone was just interesting and lively and down-to-earth. Once sufficiently full, we caught up about our respective crazy family members, i.e, my favorite uncle and favorite uncle’s crazy ex-wife. I was thrilled to see these people, and even more thrilled to hear that when they last saw me, at age 10 (blonde and blue-eyed), I was writing. I thought my writing phase began much later, and when I was told that I had been writing since then, even if it was just rhymes and stories about haunted houses… I don’t know. I feel like it renewed my faith in myself and my writing. I’m not going to keep exhausting myself with the “I’m a WRITER, I need to WRITE all the time” mantra.

Whoops, little rambly again, but you must be used to that by now. I lied on twitter, saying there was no blog today, I am working DILIGENTLY on a blog that will be well-written (in my opinion, and hopefully others’) and read through by several other people, considering the piece is rather… delicate. I am expressing an opinion I don’t think many will agree with, nor support, and I really hope that the negativity in the entry doesn’t cost me any friends. And if you would like to read it and give constructive criticism, or even your straight up opinion, say so in the comments or reply to me on twitter. I’m off to read The Hunger Games because it’s positively brilliant.

WHERETHEDUCKSGO

BONUS FEATURE

Here’s a short cheesy story.

“Something is wrong with me,” she said softly, her voice calculating and her eyes dull. Blonde hair swinging in her face as the fire crackled and cast a warm glow over her tanned skin.

“What?” I asked, trying for the life of me to figure out what could possibly be wrong with her.

“I’m hurting. It feels like my entire body hurts like it’s burning, as if fire is pulsing through my veins. I feel like I’m being electrocuted over and over, like sparks are flying everywhere. It’s as if I’m alive and the only reason I feel it is because I’m in pain.” Her shoulders were lit a hazy brown-orange, the yellow lace strap of her tank top tangled in the mess of her long locks, turned golden and shimmery in the light of the fire.

“It’s the drugs, Sara,” I said, taking a long drag from my cigarette. “You’ll feel normal once you sleep it off.”

“But I don’t want to sleep it off,” she said, standing up. Her legs were dirty from sitting on the grass and there were goosebumps scattered across her skin. “I want to feel this pain forever… because it makes me think that if I hurt this much, nothing can ever hurt me like it again.”

“Things will always hurt you, Sara. No matter how much pain you’ve felt, things will always end up hurting you.” She came over to me and sat down close, and we were almost touching.

“You see, it’s not painful, really. It’s just a nagging ache that feels good. Like… like I’m stretching in the morning after the perfect sleep. You know?” She said, her eyelids were dropping down, the high was obviously setting in. I laughed.

“You’re so baked.”

“Mhm. But… this is the best feeling ever! Michael, I… I want to feel this way forever.”

“You’re going to go broke buying that much weed, babe.”

“Michael!” she said, but she whined my name in that way of hers.

“What?! I’m just saying, this is nothing but a high. No good feeling is free my dear. A fact of life, a fact I want you to learn.”
She looked at me, I knew because I saw her hair fall off her shoulder and I could smell her perfume and shampoo hit me with the faint smell of smoke from the fire and cigarettes. I looked at her, her brown eyes were glossy and had spider-web like crimson lines, the faint freckles across her nose were a little more obvious and her small, young face looked at me with an expression I had never seen before. She was serious, in her own Sara-way, but she looked older, and I realized now she’d caught up to me. We were on the same page, and staring down the same road. The fire popped and smoke came at us. I put my cigarette out, any excuse to look away, and I felt her hand rest on my leg. 
Her hand crept up to my own, and she slowly and gently laced her fingers through mine. Her hand was lightly there, not pressing into me, not squeezing my hand. I squeezed her hand tighter, letting my warmth flow through her and then she leaned her head on my shoulder. She shifted over closer to me, pressing into me, our body heat flowing through each other and I felt the pain, the ache, the burning fire that she felt. It seemed as if hours, days, weeks had passed since I spoke, but it was only seconds. Sara sighed and looked at me, then she smiled slightly. Her dark pink lips parted slightly, as flames dancing around, their silhouettes shimmying across her cheeks.

“Michael,” she whispered, and my name had never sounded so good. “you’ve taught me a lot, but this feeling is freer than anything.”

“How so?”

“This ache… I love it. My heart seems like it beats a hundred times faster, my mind won’t stop turning… you know what that feeling is? I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“It’s love.” I said, without even thinking, and I knew I couldn’t take it back. I squeezed her hand tighter, hoping she wouldn’t let go. She smiled again, and turned to look at me.

“Why are you always right?”

“Because I am.” And then she kissed me.

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countdown (a letter to your best friend)

13 Jun

** the only person who might understand this letter is who it is for. Sorry.

Day 1- write a letter to your best friend

Dear Kerri,

This letter will be filled with ooey, gooey cheese, for which I apologize. When I think of our friendship (or psychotic episode), numbers come to mind. Specifically 1, 2 and 3. Three, because that is how many years we have known each other. In these three years, you have lost your mother, along with so much else. You have grown up, but still stayed young somehow. I’ve watched you fall in love… several times. I’ve watched you get your heart broken… even more times. I’ve watched you try to get what you want, and try harder than anyone I’ve ever known. I’ve spent nights in the clubhouse with you, discussing whatever boy you were interested in at the time, losing our minds (in a literal sense) and crying and laughing and joking and talking and talking and never getting sick of it. Those nights will last forever in my heart , and they will never end between us. Even if we light the damn place on fire.
Two, because that is how many people we are. We are both two very different people. You prefer metal, where I prefer soft rock; you prefer tougher, harder (bader) boys, where I prefer nerdy, dorky boys. You are blonde, I’m (kinda) a brunette; you’re stunning, I’m average (with unnaturally large boobs). But we are also two very similar people. I find myself listening to Diecast sometimes, because I still like it, and I’ll catch you listening to Jason Mraz on occasion. We both have the same sick sense of humor, we both have the same taste in movies and we usually can read each other’s mind and know exactly what the other one wants to do. Sure, we argue and we can be bitches, but we are stuck with each other, like it or not.
One, because that is how many souls I feel like we are. I feel like we both have the same unwavering strength, until it comes to our asshole parents or even more asshole boys we get infatuated with. We both have the ability to be complete and utter bitches if necessary, we both can hold our own, even if you sometimes do it better than me. We both can laugh something off, even if we don’t want to and we both can tolerate each other’s (along with everyone else’s) crap. The qualities I’ve listed are probably hazy, 1-. A. M bull, but we are two different people, two different minds, two different hearts, and one great soul.
This past year, we drifted apart a little as you and your boyfriend got closer, but we never left each other. I wanted to, a shitload of times (like during the laptop incident), but I was still there, and so were you. No matter how annoying and pathetic and lap-dog like I was, you stuck by me. You’ve been the only one this year to really sympathize about my dad, and how bad everything with him has been, and you’ve been the only one to calm me down whenever my parents and I would fight. You were the one that kept me going so I could get that boy I like. If it hadn’t been for you, so much would be different in my life. My home life, my love life, my mental state, my emotional state and my general state of being. You, more than anyone in the world, have changed my life.

3

2

1.

Caitlyn