eedwritingportfolio-blog

[eedwritingportfolio-blog]

Snapshot #1

WHY: This is a fiction piece but it is based off of actual feelings that I have felt. I used thoughts and ideas that I have felt when stressed and wrote them down, embellishing them and adding specific details to make it more towards my character that I was creating. I would use this piece in the future to capture how someone can take imagery and emotions from a personal experience and make them relatable and personal for a fictional character. I can show my students how they can use actual feelings and emotions and just word-vomit in a way, then later use this piece when having a character go through something that may capture these feelings.

[eedwritingportfolio-blog]

Snapshot #2

WHY: I took this poem off of an image of the droplets. I heard rain splattering outside and thought of the rains as droplets of blood. Then I created this piece. At first, I was just imagining people being rounded up and being sent away. Then I thought of the Holocaust. Later, I begin to work with math. The reason I wanted to include this piece was because I feel like it would be helpful to use to show my students how to get inspiration and hone it into a complete poem.

[eedwritingportfolio-blog]

CHOICE PIECE EXPLICATION: 

I wanted to include this piece because I felt like explicating my own piece is necessary. A lot of the time I don’t go back and revise and that is a bad thing. I want this to be a model example of how you can revise your own pieces and work on bettering them. 

My strategies here are not as strong as my final draft, so when I show this to my classroom I would also include my final draft. The reason I liked this piece was also because I gave myself direct strategies to make this piece better and commented on what I liked that I did.

 This could also be a model for peer review in my classroom. It also includes brainstorming at the top which is another example I could show my students.

[eedwritingportfolio-blog]

CHOICE PIECE EXPLICATION: 

The reason I am including this piece is because it shows how to approach a persuasive text and note all of the positive things that are done. Often times, students view persuasive texts as boring or impersonal. This text, in contrast, is an editorial and uses first person. 

The writer took a topic that is important to her and wrote about it in an argument, calling readers to action as one of her strategies as well as debunking common myths and approaching the other argument’s point of view so that she could point out its flaws.

I would use this to show my students how to write a persuasive argument that is personal to them but also well-written.

[eedwritingportfolio-blog]

This I Believe

When I was younger, I was too much. Too much yelling, too much drama, too much crying, too much me. I talked too much, laughed too much, questioned too much--my teachers couldn’t take it and my parents read probably every parenting book ever written. School felt like a small suitcase that was trying to pack me in much too tightly. I was oozing out the sides, brimming over with emotions and thoughts and ideas that I couldn’t articulate but would shout and scream incoherently, wondering why no one could understand me. When I was in fourth grade, Mrs. Pearson sat me down in front of a computer and told me to write. When I asked what about, she didn’t answer, only walked away. And so I wrote.

For me, writing has always been the place to be too much. I can detail every moment of my day, throw myself into my emotions and rip my heart out of my chest onto a piece of paper and have people finally hear the words that have been echoing in my head for as long as I can remember. I’ve always been a writer. It was the only time where too much became a good thing. I wrote down ideas for books I’d never write, started and finished excerpts of scenes that came to me like a raindrop but then splattered before I could turn it into a full novel. I never wanted to be a teacher. I wanted to be a writer. Until I saw what writing did for other people.

I know people who hate writing. I can think of people who get frustrated staring at a blank screen, who can tell me exactly what they want to say but when they have to write it down they are filled with confusion. I’ve seen people write things like “you know what I’m saying?” in their academic essays, have read fiction pieces that made me feel uncomfortable. But it is in these uncomfortable pieces that I have learned about what I do not like, what I consider to be bad writing.

My philosophy is that writing is closely linked to reading. When you read something you do not like, you begin to develop a sense of good writing. The same goes for something that you do like. I loved to read and therefore I began to devour texts of all genres, with different messages and meanings. Not all were considered good writing, and it took time and rereading for me to realize which books had flat characters, which books revolved around a boring romance, which books were not what I would want to base my own writing off of in the future.

Writing is cathartic. It is a means to express. I use it first and foremost to sort out my feelings, experiences, ideas, and all of the whirring and churning that goes on in my mind on the daily. It is my too much. And it should be everyone else’s too. It is the place where you can be most unabashedly yourself, where you can slap on words that you just learned, that you like the sound of, that don’t seem to fit together but you’ll make it so they do. It is your home; you build the walls with your click clacks on the keyboard, set them in stone with your punctuation, and place the furniture inside with your imagery, emotions, figurative language and most of all your voice.

Writing is best taught through inspiration. Whether it is from an image that sparks an idea, from personal experiences, from working out some obscure idea that you’ve never told anyone, or from a song that hits a specific chord. My best writing has always been done around 1 AM. My worst writing has been completely awake, sitting upright in my kitchen, in total silence and completely alone. Inspiration is what catches your attention and ignites your writing.

Lastly, writing is meant to be read aloud. The voice is in your head is not enough. You need to hear how you want it to be read, with pain in your voice when it comes to the bad parts, with happiness and chuckling at the back of your throat when you’ve gotten to the good part. You need to say it aloud to hear how the words flow, or how they don’t. We read aloud to share, to confer, to feel.

[eedwritingportfolio-blog]

Personal Choice 1

Play

Shakespeare’s Encore

ACT I

SCENE I

The six characters sit in separate, plastic chairs. The room resembles a doctor’s office waiting room. Inexpensive, tacky paintings are placed haphazardly on the peeling walls. ROMEO and JULIET sit close together, whispering lovingly and exchanging kisses. HAMLET sits with his head in his hands between his knees. REGAN sits cross-legged, a compact mirror in her hand as she dabs at her makeup. DESDEMONA sits quietly, staring anxiously at the hideous paintings, avoiding all eye contact. KING LEAR is asleep. A receptionist sits at a desk nearby, typing on her computer. There is no change in their actions for a minute. Then, a bell rings and POLONIUS appears from the back door.

POLONIUS: I really think you should reconsider, my good sir, I promise I can-

RECEPTIONIST: You know the rules. Leave.

POLONIUS: I just think if he would reconsider- I mean- I know I’m good for the part. I could easily-

RECEPTIONIST: Enough.

Polonious stops, his mouth open. He rolls his eyes and turns towards the audience, grumbling. Words like “sell-out” and “he probably doesn’t even write his own plays” can be heard between mumbles. Regan stands up, her mirror back in her purse.

REGAN: How did it go? Did you get the part?

POLONIUS: No, I did not get the part. APPARENTLY I’m not ‘worthy’ of the part.

REGAN: (smirks) Figures.

POLONIUS: What is that supposed to mean?

REGAN: He must be waiting for me. Obviously no one is as deserving as I am.

JULIET: (starts laughing) Yeah, okay.

REGAN: What did you say, Suicide-Girl?

ROMEO: Don’t speak to her that way!

REGAN: Oh my apologies to the happy couple. Unlike you two lovesick puppy dogs, my life was worth something. And I died always staying true to that.

JULIET: Oh yes, because staying true to the love of your life and your love for money is soooooo the same thing.

REGAN: Not for money, Psycho Sister. For power. There’s a difference.

JULIET: Enlighten me.

REGAN: When my father, that lazy sack of potatoes over there, came to my two sisters and I with the promise of money, I was quick to tell him what he wanted to hear. It wasn’t my fault that it came with strings attached. Next thing I know, my sister is trying to steal MY man. And yeah, along the way I may have gouged an eye out or two, but Edmund was mine and Gonoril needed to know it. So I died trying to gain complete control over all that my sister tried to take from me.

JULIET: You died for greed; we died for love.

REGAN: You call that love?

JULIET: Our families didn’t want us to be together. I was betrothed to a man I did not love and I knew that I would lose the love of my life if I didn’t act on it quickly. I devised a plan so we could escape and live together without our families’ knowledge; however, due to-er-miscommunication, Romeo was misled to his death. It was an act of passion, really. And so I stabbed myself. All for him. (Smiles up at him and flutters her eyelashes flirtatiously).

ROMEO: And I would do it all over again for you. (They kiss).

REGAN: Ugh, please. I’m sure Anxiety-Girl over there has a better story than that.

DESDEMONA: Who, me?

REGAN: What are you? An owl?

DESDEMONA: No I-I died for…for nothing. She looks at the ground, a frown appearing on her face.

HAMLET: I’m-I’m sure that’s not true.  He moves to a seat closer to her. You seem like a gr-gr-great person.

DESDEMONA: Thank you. It was awful, really. I guess you could say I died for love. Or really, love killed me.

HAMLET: How so?

DESDEMONA: I was in love with a man.

HAMLET: Did he not love you?

DESDEMONA: He did. I mean he did at first, then one day he just accused me of being something I most certainly was not. I was always faithful to him.

HAMLET: Why didn’t you tell him?

DESDEMONA: I tried to but I just never knew what to say so in the end I just let it happen.

HAMLET: Let what happen?

DESDEMONA: I let him kill me.

HAMLET: I-I’m so sorry. That sounds awful.

DESDEMONA: Thank you. If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to you?

HAMLET: One night a phantom came to me. It was my father. He told me of my destiny; I had to kill my uncle for revenge so that his spirit could finally rest. It seemed so simple to me; however, I found I was so lost in the planning, in the decision making, that when I finally seized the moment; it was the wrong man.

DESDEMONA: What did you do?

HAMLET: I took so long thinking about what to do and not doing it that I ended up giving my enemies just enough time to figure out my plan and concoct one to kill me as well. I was murdered by my uncle and his pawn.

DESDEMONA: Oh!

REGAN: Alright, enough with the pity party. If this heart-to-heart has told me anything, it’s that you losers have a LOT to learn. And definitely will not get the part in this new play.

They all begin to yell at once. Words like “love”, “I’m the star”, and “die” are heard. KING LEAR begins to stir, then awakens with a start. He looks at the screaming characters in horror. Then clears his throat.

KING LEAR: Enough! What is this foolishness? The characters fall silent. REGAN rolls her eyes.

REGAN: Oh, great, now we’re waking up the dead.

KING LEAR: Very funny, daughter. Now what was this ruckus all about?

REGAN: We’re trading death stories, Daddy-o. Wanna turn?

KING LEAR: Ah, well in that case, you’re all in for a treat. All my life, I believed that I Had raised three beautiful, devoted daughters. So when two of them were willing to proclaim their undying love for me but the other refused, I was quick to banish her. But that was my mistake. I couldn’t see clearly enough to realize that the one who refused to speak was the one most devoted of all. I gave my fortune to my other daughters who in turn used it against me—leaving me out in a storm and leading me into psychosis. But I didn’t lose it completely until I saw Cordelia- my only faithful daughter-dead. The grief consumed me, and eventually I died. I only wish I had opened my eyes sooner and saw what was right in front of me all along. REGAN sits back in her chair, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. The other characters look at the walls, the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but at each other as they think about this in silence. A bell dings.

RECEPTIONIST: Regan? Mr. Shakespeare will see you now.

Regan: Well, while you dimwits are sitting there, mourning your pathetic lives, I will be getting the part that I was destined for! She jumps up and exits the room. Blackout.

SCENE TWO

A well-furnished office. A dark maple desk sits in the center, in front of a fully-stocked bookshelf. The door opens, and REGAN enters, mid sentence, facing whomever is coming in behind her.

REGAN: I expect at least twelve ten minute breaks a day, as well as my own dressing room and personal stylist. I do not drink anything besides Fiji Water, and I do not get up at any time before 9 AM. Am I being clear? WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE walks in behind her, his eyes squinting and his lips pursed.

SHAKESPEARE: As understandable as your demands are, I do not believe I have granted you the part yet…

REGAN: (pats him on the shoulder) Come on, Willy. We both know I’m your best option.

SHAKESPEARE: I’m afraid not, Regan. It seems you have one tragic flaw.

REGAN: Ex-squeeze me? I am FLAWLESS.

SHAKESPEARE: I’m sure you think that’s true. But for this new play that I am writing, I need my characters to be utter perfection. I have written many plays, as you know. However, I always had to kill off so many of my characters, due to their tendency to develop tragic flaws. I just don’t know what happened!

REGAN: Yeah. I wonder what the common thread is…

SHAKESPEARE: (continuing as if he did not hear her) So now that I am developing this new play, I have all of you actors here to audition for the parts.

REGAN: Okay. So where are the lines at? Aren’t I here to do a reading?

SHAKESPEARE: Actually, no. I have decided that the characters in this new play must be without flaws. So if you want a part in this play, you must conquer your one flaw that led to your downfall.

REGAN: What does that mean? What do I have to do?

SHAKESPEARE: Your greed led to your downfall. You wanted power and control and were selfish and cruel. To get a part in my play, you must spend a day feeding the poor and hungry to prove you have overcome your vanity and greed.

REGAN: Is this a joke?

SHAKESPEARE: You have twenty-four hours. BLACKOUT.

SCENE THREE

Same setting as the scene before, only now papers are scattered across the desk. HAMLET enters.

HAMLET: So as you can see, my resume is v-v-very impressive. I am a thoughtful, considerate actor. I take my time with my actions and consider every option before I act. SHAKESPEARE enters behind him, mid eye roll.

SHAKESPEARE: Yes, I have noticed that. Well you see, you’re a fine actor, I’ll give you that. However, you must fix one thing before I give you a part in my new play.

HAMLET: Wha-what would that be?

SHAKESPEARE: First of all, fix the stutter. I know I didn’t give you that. Second, you need to fix your tragic flaw. I gave you lines, I spelled out exactly what you had to do, and what did you do instead? You wandered around, ‘to be or not to be’ all that mumbo jumbo and your indecisiveness, or as you so eloquently put it, ‘consideration’ led to your demise. So to fix this, I need you to make a decision.

HAMLET: O-okay. Yes. I decide yes.

SHAKESPEARE: That was not your decision, but great start! Alas, you must make one of mankind’s toughest decisions.  You must complete a task that requires the shrewdest thinking. It is a task that many men have failed to complete and will continue to fail to complete until the end of time. This is a tough decision to make. But it must be done.

HAMLET: By God! Wha-what could you be asking of me?

SHAKESPEARE: You must make a decision…on what to order at a restaurant. BLACKOUT.

SCENE FOUR

Same office, however the previously scattered papers have been picked up and are in a stack. An open book is laid out on the desk, and papers are placed haphazardly in it. DESDEMONA is seated across the desk, her hands clasped as she nervously rocks back and forth on her chair. SHAKESPEARE is seated on the other side of the desk, his hands folded underneath his chin, his glasses perched on his nose.

SHAKESPEARE: Well?

DESDEMONA: I’m not sure what you’re asking me to do.

SHAKESPEARE: Your tragic flaw was your lack of assertiveness. You allowed the men around you to define you. This is what ultimately led to your downfall. You need to stand up for yourself.

DESDEMONA: You make it sound so easy.

SHAKESPEARE: It is.

DESDEMONA: How would you know? Are you a female living in a male-dominated society? How can you tell me that it is ‘so easy’ for a woman to stand up to a man when all my life I’ve been told to sit down and listen to the man?

SHAKESPEARE: Times are changing, my fair Desdemona. There is this new thing called ‘feminism’ arising. But alas, that is for another time, another play. I myself am not too fond of the idea, however, I do know that you allowed yourself to be murdered due to your inability to stand up for yourself.

DESDEMONA: So to get the part, I have to stand up for myself?

SHAKESPEARE: You must show assertiveness to a male. You have twenty-four hours.

SCENE FIVE

ROMEO is sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the chair, an eager smile on his face. JULIET sits next to him, her hands clutching his, a grin on her face as well. SHAKESPEARE sits across from them, his eyes on their hands, his face void of any sort of amusement. He sighs.

SHAKESPEARE: You two know that you’re very young…right?

JULIET: Very young and very in love.

ROMEO:  Forever and always. They kiss passionately. Shakespeare shudders, appearing to be close to vomiting. He swallows, hard. Then he speaks.

SHAKESPEARE: You two died because of your love. You fell for each other before you had any sort of worldly experience. Therefore, to fix your mistakes and earn parts in my play, you must perform specific tasks.

ROMEO: We’ll do anything!

JULIET: Yes! As long as we end up together!

SHAKESPEARE: To be in my play, you two must get jobs.

JULIET: Motherhood is the ultimate job.

SHAKESPEARE: First of all, ew. Second of all, I will assign you two jobs. Complete it once and you shall both be in my play. (Pause). Together.

JULIET: We’ll do it!

ROMEO: Anything to be with my true love!

SHAKESPEARE: Wonderful. I’m glad you’re both so agreeable. Romeo, a boy your age should be out mowing lawns. Therefore, I assign you landscaping. Juliet, if motherhood is what you desire, I am willing to give you a firsthand look at what you desire. You will babysit. I’ll see you both tomorrow after you have finished your jobs. Then we shall see who is chosen for my new play. He exits.

ROMEO: Juliet, what if we don’t both make it? In the play, I mean?

JULIET: (taking his face in her hands) My love, don’t even say such silly things. No matter what happens, we will be together. If one of us does not make it, neither of us will make it. We must stay together, okay?

ROMEO: We will. (They passionately kiss. The light fades to darkness)

SCENE SIX

The same office. KING LEAR and SHAKESPEARE sit across from one another, both in the exact same position, with their chin in their hands, their eyes trained on one another. It appears as if the two are in a staring competition.

KING LEAR: Sir, with all due respect…you blinded me. So I’m not sure how you expect me to…expect me to…

SHAKESPEARE: Your blindness was present long before you lost your vision. You failed to see what was right in front of you. That was what led to your foolish actions and mistakes.

KING LEAR: So how do I fix that?

SHAKESPEARE: I would suggest laser eye surgery, but I’m pretty sure that hasn’t been discovered yet. So I want you to go to the glasses store and buy yourself the perfect pair of spectacles.

KING LEAR: Spectacles? What will that do for me?

SHAKESPEARE: When you find the perfect pair of glasses, you shall finally be able to see clearly.

KING LEAR: So I must enter this so-called ‘glasses store’ and try on glasses until I find the perfect pair!

SHAKESPEARE: Exactly!

ACT TWO

SCENE ONE

The setting is a homeless shelter, the common grounds in particular, doubling as a soup kitchen. Throughout the room are homeless individuals seated on fold out chairs, in front of them bowls of soul on small end tables. To the right of the tables is a line filled with homeless people waiting to be served. Behind the table holding the pot of soup is REGAN dressed in attire inappropriate for the occasion, a fancy cocktail dress and heels, other than an apron that shows no signs of previous use. REGAN is complaining about her presence in the shelter more than helping serve the people in front of her. An older woman, presumably another volunteer, stands to the right of her, wearing an apron and hair net. She is serving food to homeless people and visibly ignoring REGAN.

REGAN: (holding a hair net) You can’t be serious...I am not going to wear this! Are we almost done? We’ve been here forever.

WOMAN: We’ve been here for less than thirty minutes. Please put your hair net on.

REGAN: (putting on hair net and muttering under her breath) Stupid play...homeless people...Shakespeare...sell out...probably didn’t even write his own plays…(REGAN takes a spoonful of pasta and slaps it onto a person’s plate. She continues this for three plates)

HOMELESS WOMAN: Bless your soul! (Reaches out and takes REGAN’s hand)

REGAN: Ew! Don’t touch me! (She lunges back in disgust and drops the spoon)

WOMAN: Regan! Go get another spoon!

REGAN: No way! Did you see how she touched me? I’m too pretty for this.

The scene freezes. REGAN looks around, confused. SHAKESPEARE enters.

SHAKESPEARE: Tsk, tsk, Regan. I really thought you could do it.

REGAN: You gave me the most ridiculous task. People actually do this willingly?

SHAKESPEARE: Alas, your vanity and self-absorption once again prevails. I’m sorry, Regan, but you will not be cast in my new play.

REGAN: Whatever! I didn’t want to be in it anyways!

SCENE TWO

A dark-lit restaurant with posters and objects hanging on the walls. Red booths align the walls. HAMLET sits at a table in the center, holding a thick menu. He is flipping through it, visibly anxious. A tall brunette waitress appears, wearing all black and holding a notepad in her hand.

WAITRESS: Hi, my name’s Ella. I’ll be taking care of you. What can I get you to drink?

HAMLET: Hello, E-ella. That’s a beautiful name.

ELLA: Thank you. Something to drink?

HAMLET: What would you suggest?

ELLA: Well, we have fountain drinks, milkshakes, wines, teas, coffee...whatever you’re in the mood for.

HAMLET: I...I don’t know what I’m in the m-mood for…

ELLA: I can start you off with water?

HAMLET: Y-yes...that would be lovely...

Ella exits

HAMLET: Okay...I need to order a meal. So let’s see here. Hamburgers, cheeseburgers, salads, chicken, steak...so many items.(His voice grows more panicked with each option) I could get breakfast...lunch...dinner...How is this even possible?

Ella enters

ELLA: Here’s your water. Have you made a decision?

HAMLET: Er...no…

ELLA: That’s okay, I can come back.

Ella exits

HAMLET: Okay, I need to decide. There’s pasta, sandwiches, pancakes...and sides? So many sides! Two sides for every meal? Why would they do this?

Ella enters

ELLA: Are you ready to order?

HAMLET: NO! How could a-anyone order off of this textbook you call a menu? What k-k-kind of torture is this? LEAVE ME!

The scene freezes. HAMLET is taking deep, jagged breaths. SHAKESPEARE enters.

SHAKESPEARE: Really, Hamlet? You couldn’t decide on a meal?

HAMLET: You are the d-d-devil.

SHAKESPEARE: Well, your indecisiveness cost you your life and more importantly, a part in my new play. Sorry, buddy. Maybe enroll in some speech therapy?

SCENE THREE

Inside a restaurant DESDEMONA and a man sit in a booth looking through the menu. A waitress approaches the table to take the couple's order.

WAITRESS: Are you ready to order?

MAN: Yes we are. I would like the New York strip steak, rare please.

WAITRESS: Alright. And for you Miss? (the waitress looks to DESDEMONA. DESDEMONA opens her mouth to respond).

MAN: (interrupting) She’ll have a salad. (gives her a sideways look) Dressing on the side.

DESDEMONA: Um?

WAITRESS: Alright, anything else?

MAN: No, I think we’re good.

WAITRESS begins to walk away.

DESDEMONA: I don’t...uh…

WAITRESS: (turning back) I’m sorry?

MAN: Nothing, she’s fine.

WAITRESS: Oh, okay.

DESDEMONA: No! I am not fine!

WAITRESS: Excuse me?

DESDEMONA: I don’t want a salad. And I definitely don’t want you. (Turns to waitress) I’d like a cheeseburger and fries, please. And a new table. (Gets up) Goodbye! (As she walks away, SHAKESPEARE appears and grabs her arm. She jerks it away from him, thinking it is her date)

SHAKESPEARE: Ah, you’ve done well! (She turns around, surprised, then pleased) You stood up for yourself and your desires and proved to be assertive. I would be honored if you played a role in my latest play.

SCENE FOUR

Outside of a house a truck pulls up and from inside ROMEO and an older man come out. The man watches as ROMEO unloads the lawn mowing equipment from the back of the truck and laughs as he struggles to mount the lawnmower.

MAN: Young man, we have three lawns to mow in just this neighbor. Do you think you can hurry up and start mowing already?

ROMEO: Oh, sure. (MAN exists) How does one even work this strange thing?

Finding the ignition, he climbs into the lawn mower and begins mowing the lawn. He looks up at the sky and the lawn mower begins to swerve. He does not notice.

ROMEO: But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the… (ROMEO sighs and crashes the lawnmower into a house. He gasps and jumps out, running his hands through his hair in shock)

The scene freezes. SHAKESPEARE enters.

SHAKESPEARE: Love is too distracting for someone of such a young age, Romeo. Someone who cannot perform such a simple adolescent job like lawn mowing is not old enough to experience love. Youth is the problem. You are not old enough for the part.

SCENE FIVE

A tall woman dressed in a sparkling blue dress is leading JULIET down a marble hallway. Expensive paintings align the walls.

MS. WOODS: So this is my home. I have three boys, Tommy, Frank and Alex. Tommy is eight, Frank is five, and Alex is four. My husband and I will be home around midnight. Any questions?

JULIET: None at all, madam. Have a wonderful night!

MS. WOODS practically races out of the house, not looking back once. Three boys enter. One is half Juliet’s height, with a backwards red baseball cap on his head. He is TOMMY. The second boy, FRANK, who is shorter, is holding a toy airplane. The toddler, ALEX, is holding TOMMY’s hand.

JULIET: Hello, boys! My, my, what are we up to?

FRANK: Will you play with us?

JULIET: Oh, of course! Would you like to play cards? Or perhaps some board games?

ALEX: Cars!

TOMMY: Will you play with the cars with us? (FRANK and ALEX wander off)

JULIET: Surely! Where can I find them? (There is a crash)

TOMMY: (smiling devilishly) Looks like they just did.

SCENE SIX

A carpeted room. JULIET is tied to a chair in the middle with a jumprope. ALEX is playing with a car by her feet. FRANK and TOMMY are crashing their monster truck toys into each other.

JULIET: Boys! This is not acceptable! Untie me!

FRANK: (zooming his car around the room) Vroom! Vroom!

TOMMY: (lunges for Frank, smashing his truck into his and also tackling him to the ground)

FRANK: Ow! That hurt!

JULIET: Boys! Now!

TOMMY: Oh, be quiet.

FRANK: Tommy, that really hurt! (Alex begins to cry. Tommy begins to zoom his monster truck around the room, making car noises while Frank keeps repeating, “ow, that hurt!”)

JULIET: ENOUGH! (The boys fall silent). I have had enough! Untie me right now, Thomas.

TOMMY: (unties JULIET quickly)

JULIET: Thank you. Now boys, your behavior has been unacceptable. All three of you will sit in time out for a few minutes to make up for it. Am I clear?

TOMMY: Yes…

FRANK: Sorry.

ALEX: Sorry.

(The scene freezes. JULIET rolls her eyes and begins to clean up the mess of toys that the boys have made. SHAKESPEARE appears.)

SHAKESPEARE: I have to say, I am impressed. You really pulled that off.

JULIET: They’re lovely boys. They just needed a firmer hand.

SHAKESPEARE: And you were able to do that. You really have shown me that you are able to overcome your foolishness to get a job done.  I would be honored if you would take a part in my new play.

JULIET: Oh, thank you!

(Blackout)

SCENE SEVEN

KING LEAR is walking around a room filled with glasses and mirrors. He is wandering about, looking frightened as he takes in the scenery. He stops at a table and picks up a pair of glasses. Upon taking them, he gasps and drops them to the floor. A sales associate appears almost immediately, a pair of glasses perched on her nose and a stern face.

SALES ASSOCIATE: Can I help you?

KING LEAR: Erm…I need a pair of these spectacles.

SALES ASSOCIATE: Well, alright. What kind of frame would you like?

KING LEAR: Frame? For pictures?

SALES ASSOCIATE: No, the shape of your lense. There’s square, rectangle, circle, oval…

KING LEAR: Oh, I don’t know! (He begins to sway, as if about to faint) I think I’m seeing stars…

SALES ASSOCIATE: Sorry, our glasses don’t come in that shape. (Pause) Have a seat. I’ll get you some glasses to try on. (He sits)

KING LEAR: How will I know which is the right pair?

SALES ASSOCIATE enters, holding three pairs of glasses.

SALES ASSOCIATE: Here, try this.

She hands him a pair of rectangle glasses. He tries them on, and exaggeratedly blinks. He looks up at her and gasps.

KING LEAR: I CAN’T SEE ANYTHING! IT’S ALL A BLUR!

SALES ASSOCIATE: That’s fine, take them off. They’re clearly not for you. (He takes them off and sighs happily. She hands him another pair.) Try this.

KING LEAR: (Putting on the new pair) Everything seems clear… (Turns to look at her) Oh my! You’re green!

SALES ASSOCIATE: They’re tinted. It’s all the rage with teens nowadays.

KING LEAR: I can’t wear green glasses! Everyone looks like an ogre! (Lowers voice and fakes a Scottish accent) Get out of my swamp!

SALES ASSOCIATE: Okay, Shrek. Give them here. (He hands her the glasses) Hm..alright. Try these ones. (She hands him a circle-framed pair)

KING LEAR: (Putting them on) Hm… (He gets up and looks around, exaggeratedly blinking) These seem...okay…

REGAN enters, stomping on the ground, her hair a mess and her face red with anger.

REGAN:(yelling) Daddy! I need you to take care of Shakespeare for me! That sell-out said I wasn’t good enough to be in his play! You need to do something!

KING LEAR leaps back in fear and points at her, his hand shaking.

KING LEAR: Evil! Evil! I can see it clearly now! EVIL!

REGAN: What are you even saying? Ugh, whatever. I’m going to have to take care of him myself. (Begins to exit, mumbling to herself) I’ll just tell everyone he didn’t write his own plays...that should do it!

KING LEAR: My...I can see! I see her for what she truly is!

SHAKESPEARE enters.

SHAKESPEARE: Yes, you have found the perfect pair. Not the most attractive, but nonetheless, the perfect pair. Now that you can see everything as it is for what it truly is, I have a part in my play just for you.

KING LEAR: I would love to be in it.

SCENE EIGHT

The seven characters, REGAN, HAMLET, DESDEMONA, JULIET, ROMEO, KING LEAR, and POLONIUS, are standing behind a curtain. They are all standing quietly, looking nervous and frightened. REGAN is staring at herself in her compact mirror. HAMLET is tapping his foot. DESDEMONA is biting her nails. JULIET and ROMEO are holding hands. KING LEAR is wearing his new glasses and glancing about the room in awe, and POLONIUS is nervously stroking the curtain.

POLONIUS: This curtain seems rather...familiar. I’m getting a bad feeling from it.

REGAN: Quiet, Grandpa.

There is a loud drumming noise. The curtain lifts and the seven characters walk out onto a stage. SHAKESPEARE is standing in the center, a smile on his face.

SHAKESPEARE: Welcome to my theatre! It’s called the Globe. Here, only the best performers act in the best shows for only the most worthy of audiences!

REGAN: (Feigning a whisper but actually very loud) It smells awful in here!

SHAKESPEARE: (pretending he did not hear her but a look of annoyance has crossed his face) And now, I will read you your fate!

HAMLET: F-f-fate?

SHAKESPEARE: I gave all of you tasks to complete to fix your fatal flaws. If you were able to, you have a part in my play written specifically for you. But if you didn’t, you will leave here, and never come back. (Long dramatic pause. It lasts for a whole minute, and the characters begin to shift uncomfortably)

DESDEMONA: So did we-

SHAKESPEARE: Shush! (Pause. He sighs) I was pausing for dramatic effect. Gosh. (He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as he sucks in air. His eyes open, and the devilish grin has appeared once again on his face) Here we go. (His voice takes on the tone very similar to a game show host) You’ve all worked up to this moment. But only a select few of you will be chosen. This is it, everyone. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for. (Pause) Desdemona, step forward. (She steps forward) Now, Desdemona, step backward. (She steps backward). Now, step forward. (She steps forward)

REGAN: What, is she doing the cha cha? (All the other characters laugh.)

SHAKESPEARE: (rolling his eyes) I’m just trying to keep you all on your toes. (Turns to DESDEMONA) Okay, stay in the front line. Juliet, take a step forward. (She steps forward) Good. King Lear, take a step forward. (KING LEAR steps forward) Okay. Those of you in the front...you are all… (Pause) In my next play! Congratulations! Back row, I’m sorry, but this is the end of the road for you.

HAMLET: What? No!

REGAN: Sell out!

POLONIUS: I knew this would happen! HAMLET, REGAN and POLONIUS begin to argue while DESDEMONA and KING LEAR hug and chatter excitedly. SHAKESPEARE stands proudly, his hands on his hips, a smug grin on his face.

ROMEO: (runs over to JULIET, taking her hands.) I’m so sorry I couldn’t get in the play, Juliet. But I promise you, we will get into the next one. (Begins to lead her away)

JULIET: What are you doing?

ROMEO: I didn’t get into the play. If one of us didn’t make it, neither of us would make it, remember?

JULIET: (Pulling her hand away) Yeah… I changed my mind.

ROMEO: (recoils back in shock, his eyes wide) Changed your-changed your mind? Why that’s-that’s preposterous! You can’t change your mind! Not when it comes to love!

JULIET: See, that’s what I’m saying. Everything with you is about love. It’s all serious and sappy, like (mimics a male voice) oh, Juliet, I love you so much, I’d die without you, uhhh… (voice returns to normal) Babysitting those boys made me realize the responsibilities that I’ll have to take when I have children. And honestly, I am so not ready for that. And neither are you. I’m sorry, Romeo, but I’m taking this part. Without you.

ROMEO: (sputtering) But-but, Juliet...You can’t-you can’t-

JULIET: What are you? Hamlet? (She spins around and walks away, hugging DESDEMONA then KING LEAR, leaving ROMEO alone)

SHAKESPEARE approaches him and pats him on the back.

SHAKESPEARE: It’s okay, lad. All’s well that ends well! (Blackout)

[eedwritingportfolio-blog]

Personal Choice Piece 2

Book Review

Game of Thrones is the most iconic series written since Harry Potter. With dragons, white walkers, wildfire and wargs mixed in with the cutthroat competition and betrayals to reach the Iron Throne, the story encompasses the most epic battles and journeys. Characters such as Jon Stark and Daenyrs Targaryen are created to be loyal, brave and likable as one watches the way they grow and change based on their interactions, while other characters such as Cersei and Jaime Lannister, who embody all that is evil and wrong until one delves deeper into the novel, while George r.r Martin intertwines emotions with secrets and your favorite characters become your least favorite and vice versa. Using imagery, minute details and flowing dialogue, George r.r Martin creates a world you will want to stay in forever.

When Robert Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, known to some as the Usurper, dies in mysterious circumstances, the successor seems clear. But Ned Stark, an honorable man and close friend, reveals that the line of succession is far from what they originally thought. As news of incest, bastards, brothers and murder circle the kingdom, kings and queens emerge from every corner of the world in order to claim the Iron Throne.

Joffrey Baratheon. A golden-haired, green-eyed boy who was meant to be king all along. But when whispers of how he doesn’t have a wisp of his father’s dark curls surface, his legitimacy is questioned. When his secret fetishes and love for torture and cruelty come to light, murmurs of monstrous incest surface as he and his mother, Cersei, attempt to debunk them. But how much truth is in the lie?

Daenyrs Targaryen. A silver-haired, purple-eyed girl of fourteen who aims to take back the crown that was ripped away from her family. She escaped a full out slaughter of her entire family, a dynasty that ruled the Iron Throne for centuries before the Usurper sliced open her brother’s throat over a woman. But how can she rule when she is worlds away?

Robb Stark. The oldest of five, not counting his bastard brother. In the North, he follows in his father’s footsteps to learn how to rule honorably once he becomes Lord of Winterfell. But when unprecedented tragedy strikes his family, he must fight against the Iron Throne to gain back the North and his family’s honor.

Stannis Baratheon. The eldest of the surviving Baratheons. If the rumors are true, he should be the next king. But his stone-cold demeanor and strict rules, as well as the mysterious Red Woman who follows him around like a sickness, has caused the people to ignore his claim, push back on his cause and look to others. But he won’t give up, as he finds himself immersed in the magic the Red Woman spins, defying his old gods in order to accept her new, and hoping that she can help him win his crown no matter the price.

Renly Baratheon. The younger of the surviving Baratheons. His claim is not strong but his personality is. With a charming smile and enough wit to win over nearly every maiden in the kingdom, he’s the people’s choice. But it isn’t fair maidens he wants, as his secrets beneath the sheets come to light and his illegitimate claim to the throne must stand trial. But as long as the people love him, he can win the crown, right?

Though it may be hard to pick up at first, the book slowly becomes an essential to your everyday life. The characters all swell together at first; George r.r. Martin throws in names with family sigils and places all around like you have already entered Westeros. But then, with a little bit of backtracking and sometimes even notetaking, soon enough you are able to rattle off quotes like they are your own, list characters’ distant cousins without flinching, and have already decided which sigil is best. The book encapsulates ideas that evoke your imagination, make you wonder and dream, but also has points about humanity that are everlasting and true, no matter the stark differences between the characters and people today. The thirst for power and domination rings true throughout the series, as the novel defies gender roles, exhibits strength and compassion in the most shocking of characters, and using literary merit and incredible prose to pull in readers and reveal to them, stealthily of course, the darkness that is hidden in all of us and the light that can be found beneath that.

[eedwritingportfolio-blog]

Personal Choice Piece 3

Memoir

Jon

I don’t know how I got him, but I did. I was a mess before. No, really. My last relationship had been a nightmare, yet in my mind it had been the biggest love I could have asked for, with real rainbows and sunshine. I had deluded myself, thinking I had lost my only chance at love. When I first met him, I was just getting over being rejected by someone else. Since I had gotten to college, I had fallen into the arms (and beds) of boys who didn’t even know my middle name. I hadn’t noticed. I was under the impression that love was a word you threw around when someone was leaving for a while, it was the ambiguous term used for more than like. It had nothing to do with emotions, no not really, but rather the way you described wanting to get someone to hang out with you. I thought I loved myself, too. But I was wrong. Until I met him.

“Do I really have to go?” I moaned again, more to myself than anyone else.

“It’ll fly by,” my new sorority sister, Maddie said to me. “It’s just a meet and greet,”.

When I first joined Sigma Kappa, I had no idea how many events I was required to go to, and as a lazy college freshman, this mandatory meet and greet was really messing with my nap time. When we were separated into groups of strangers from different Greek organizations, I immediately found myself chatting with people I already knew, hoping the hour long event would end quickly.

It’s funny to think about how we first met. One second I’m chatting with Bobby about the next party we have, the next I’m checking out a hot boy walking nearby, and suddenly I notice him sitting across from me.

“He’s cute,” I whispered to my friend Bobby.

“Talk to him,” he said with a shrug. I glanced at his name tag.

“Jon!” I called out. He didn’t look up from his phone. Bobby chuckled to himself, and raised his eyebrows.

“Are you going to try again?” he asked.

“No he didn’t hear--”

“JON!” Bobby bellowed at the top of his lungs. Jon, the boy with the dirty blonde hair, looked up surprisingly and directly at me. Fuck.

“Greek Week!” I grinned as charmingly as I could muster and threw up my hands in some sort of drinking motion. He looked confused, recovered quickly, and smiled.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding slowly.

I could rehash the entire conversation for you. You could giggle to yourself from secondhand embarrassment, wonder how the hell I got any guy to ever like me. Or I could tell you what was truly going on in my mind and how the conversation actually went for him. In my mind, I was charming and funny. He was interested in what I had to say, and I would definitely hook up with him in the future. In his mind, some girl was chatting him up and he had a lot of homework to do afterwards. Yeah, that’s it.

“I’m also excited for some chicken nuggets!” I had shouted obnoxiously. It took him a moment to remember that our organizations had made up a fun competition to see who could raise more money for a college event. Loser made the other organization chicken nuggets. Our first conversation was literally about chicken nuggets. When the event ended, as did our conversation, he went off to his dorm thinking about his homework while I went to mine thinking about the next party I had and who I could talk to there.

I was pretty boy-crazy. Still am, in fact. So this wasn’t a mind-blowing event for me. I joking texted my sorority sisters about it, telling them I had found the love of my life, due to the fact that our conversation had consisted of nothing but small breaded chicken delectables. I had no idea that chicken nuggets were apparently going to determine the future of my love life. I continued on my merry way, flirting with strangers, trying to figure out who I was under the false guise that I was a pillar of confidence, forgetting about him and our short conversation.

The next time I saw him, he was sober while I was drunk. Romantic, right? He was standing in the kitchen, leaning against one of the counters. With a form-fitting black t-shirt, blue jeans and his eyes on his phone, he seemed out of place. I strutted over and began to chat him up, my mind on his lips and my heart far off, tucked away somewhere for safety.

We began to talk, about nothing at first, then about everything. He was from New York, he was an engineering major, he was sober monitor, he was 19. All of these facts I heard but let slip to the back of my mind, convinced this would never go anywhere. I was Julia freakin’ Pugliese. I was hot and having fun. I had only been in a sorority for a month. I was going to live it up, go crazy, be independent, find the self that had disappeared long ago.

“So you’re driving everyone tonight?” I asked. He nodded in reply. I felt liquid confidence slithering in my veins. “You should take me to get chicken nuggets. That’d be great.” I leaned close until I could smell a bit of his cologne, mixed with sweat and cigarette smoke.

“Really? Won’t you get in trouble?” he asked. Hell yeah, I would.

“No, I think it’s okay,” I lied, flashing my charming smile and twirling a strand of hair in circles. When I wanted something, I wanted something. And right now I wanted this boy from New Whatever to kiss me like I was his breath supply.

“Okay. Let me just give one more ride, and then we can go.” He said with a smile. Yes! That was SO easy! I nearly leapt for joy as he walked away, giving me a knowing look. I felt pride in myself, knowing I still had it after everything I had been through. For a while, I forgot about the ex boyfriend who had told me I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t thinking about the boy from September who had moved on without so much as a backward glance. I wasn’t staring at my phone trying to remember the last time I had spoken to my parents. In that moment, all that mattered was getting this boy to kiss me so I could feel like I accomplished something.

When he came back, he was holding a box of chicken nuggets. His blue eyes sparkled with mischief as he came up to me, handing them to me like a precious heart.

“I got these for you,” he explained sheepishly. I stared at the chicken nuggets like they were a bomb waiting to go off.

“But I thought--”

“I didn’t want you to get in trouble. I know you said you wouldn’t but, I don’t know, I just didn’t want that to happen. The guys I was driving wanted some Wendy’s anyways, so it worked out. Is that okay?” He looked troubled, like I was angry with him. In reality, I was more confused than I’d ever been. Guys I had hooked up with didn’t even give me my shirt back, while this stranger I had no intention of remembering anything about had gone through the trouble of buying me a snack simply because I had said I wanted some. He owed me nothing, yet he gave me something.

“Thanks,” I stammered out, surprised, pleased, confused and slightly alarmed. What the f--- was going on?

Over a year later and I can laugh about it. I am a different person now. I remember the first time we kissed and I cringe a little. It was days later, in a dark-lit fraternity basement. The music was blasting, the alcohol was flowing and he pulled me in and I was so focused on not spilling my beer that I was a statue the entire time. The first time he asked me to be his girlfriend, I had said no. I had told him I wanted to be independent, that I wasn’t ready for a relationship. I had stared into his hurt eyes and continued to lie, saying I wasn’t sure of my feelings and that I wanted to wait until I got to know him better. The first time he told me he loved me we were fighting, tears and anger and I thought I wanted to break up with him. I had been so surprised and angry that I had shouted out “You what? You what?!” before I began to scream about something else, my mind so filled with craziness and defensiveness that I had forgotten who I was, who I had been, who I wanted to be. The first time I met his parents, I got my period and thought I was going to die of pain and anxiety. I had woken up in the middle of the night shaking and sweat-covered. I had texted him asking if he was awake. He had shown up in the doorway, concern and love so apparent in his face that I began to cry, not from the physical pain but from the pain of knowing that I loved him so much it would hurt so bad to lose him.

I had sworn I would never fall for someone again. The ex, the person I had thought would be my everything, had told me I was nothing. I didn’t love myself and I couldn’t love someone else. I had told myself I was unworthy of love, told myself I was happier without it. Jon was patient and kind, he was happy all the time while I brooded over the smallest hiccups of my days. He asked me how I felt and I lied, over and over again, downplaying my feelings, breaking his heart too many times to count as I pretended I wanted to be single, pretended I wanted other people, pretended like I didn’t want him in a way I felt I shouldn’t.

I can’t give you one exact moment that I realized I loved him and wanted to open myself up to him. Perhaps it was when he threw me my first ever surprise party for my 19th birthday. It could’ve been when my parents told me that they liked him. Maybe I fell for him in between laying together cuddling talking about nothing, or going on car rides blasting Shrek music and singing our hearts out. But I can tell you the moments where I knew he loved me. When he took my hand at the grocery store and squeezed it. When he cooked me my favorite meal, as I laid in his bed and watched the way he would glance over every so often to check up on me, then smile when he was caught in the act. When he apologized first every single time we fought, even when I knew it was my fault. When he asked me for the fiftieth time if I really did love him, because it was so hard to tell.

I’m not a bad person and I don’t think I ever was. But being with him makes me want to be better. Love became more than just a word, it became an action. I would not ignore his calls, pretend I was away, act like I was uninterested, not because I loved him or because he loved me but because it hurt him and that was not what I wanted. If he had a bad day, I didn’t avoid him or try to invalidate his feelings, instead I held him and heard his stories and gave my best advice because I wanted better for him. Loving someone isn’t just a feeling, it is a commitment. For me, it had seemed like too much. Even now, sometimes I find myself wondering if being single would be easier. I wouldn’t have to dedicate time to seeing him. I could get as drunk as humanly possible, I would have no one to answer to, no one to tell me I had hurt them. Sometimes, especially when we fight, I think it would be easier to be alone.

But then I remember the times I was sick and he stayed home with me and rubbed my stomach. I remember how he went to get my medicine with me when he had piles of homework to do, how he didn’t complain the entire time. I remember going to the gym together, having him try to motivate me and me telling him to shut up and leave me alone, and him smiling, always smiling. I remember him hugging me out of nowhere, telling me how special I am, how much I matter, when he didn’t know the times I had been told otherwise. I think about how he would go out and buy me coffee just because I said I wanted it, even though he was just as tired as me and I was just as able to go as he was.

I don’t love him because he loves me. I love him because he is everything I want to be in a person: giving, honest, loyal, patient, kind, forgiving, thoughtful and everything in between. I am still finding myself (isn’t everyone?) but I’ve stopped doubting myself, stopped telling myself I’ll never get there. He’s made me realize that I’ll get there when I get there, but he will love me through the entire journey.

[eedwritingportfolio-blog]

Personal Choice Piece 4

Fiction Piece

Untitled

We meet tentatively, our hands unsure as we explore foreign lands. We talk, getting to know one another, and it is as though we are dancing, spinning around, twirling, beautiful motions that swirl from one spot to another, our thoughts never landing in just the same step, never in sync. (I should’ve known then). Your favorite color is bright red while mine is dark blue. You tell me to stop you when you’ve gone too far. I never do.

It is then that we meet, every night, like clockwork. The clock hand ticks and lands on the hour and your hands are in mine, your voice seeping into the pores of my skin until every cell in my body is spiraling out of control, and I feel my emotions crashing against the muscles, bones, veins of my body as if there isn’t enough room, will never be enough room.  Your favorite song is a rap song, with fast lyrics and a harsh beat. I love soft country, with sweet guitar and a soothing voice. But the way you look at me, the way you bite your lip and yank me up to you, it fills me with a satisfaction I’ve never felt, as no one’s looked at me ever, and especially not like that. You consume me and I succumb, allow myself to teeter and totter, until I’ve tipped off the edge and am falling.

You tell me about your life. Not a worry lines your face when you detail that time you snuck out to go to a party, when you fought the school bully in sixth grade, when you asked your high school girlfriend to prom in front of the entire school. When you mention you scored the winning goal in the championship soccer game, how everyone screamed your name and lifted you up, your eyes are shining and you’ve forgotten all about me as you relive your fame, your bubbling accomplishments that read off like a grocery list with all the memories of excitement and adrenaline, as you retell conversations with teachers who didn’t realize the grade you truly deserved; so you argued with them using words I wouldn’t be able to utter, never faltering from speaking how you truly feel. You spent your years trying new things, things I could only dream of, sky-diving for your birthday and skiing with strangers and sneaking alcohol into banquet halls celebrating your father’s company, who is your father? Why do you never speak of him?

I want to connect with you, want to press the subject but you’re laughing, chuckling about jokes I don’t understand like how that one time your friend didn’t realize his pants were unzipped and he asked a girl on a date with his “jingle my balls” boxers out for her to see and she said yes, he still went on a date with her that night, he got laid and the whole time he was wearing these pink boxers with the words “jingle my balls” sketched across them and you’re laughing and sighing and you miss your friends and you miss the glory and I can see without you saying that you’re ready to chase that glory once again. You are everything I am not and I crave to change this. You tell me about your life while I pray you stay in mine.

You have a poster in your room of a movie I’ve never seen. You say it’s your favorite; I’ve never heard of it. “That’s too bad,” you say as you unbutton my shirt. I know it’s a bad idea; you’ve made it clear this isn’t going anywhere. But when you kiss my neck, when you tug at my hair, I feel wanted, desired. I forget that my parents don’t call me anymore, that the last boy who said he wanted me had betrayed me with a strange girl at a party, that my friend’s sitting up waiting for me, that I’ve got an early class tomorrow and I need to get to bed. I forget it all and I kiss you back, falling into your bed. Our hands wander but our bodies stay separate.

It is the next night when you kiss her. I ignore the quaking of my hands, the contorting of my stomach as I tell everyone that I don’t care. You come back to me to remind me of our friendship, telling me “it’s just college” and that’s what college is about. “You’re great,” you say, twirling one of my curls around your finger as you gaze at my newly painted red toenails. “You’re great, but I think we’re better off as friends. We don’t have that much in common, you know?” My smile is tight as I agree. I cry at night. My bed smells like you.

But then you stumble over, drunk, and it’s late at night and we’ve both been out at different parties but you still came, you still came to see me. I’m drunk but sober enough to know that this is not a good idea. But when your hand reaches out and runs through my hair, when your eyes glaze over and stare into mine like I’m it, like I’m the one, and you grip me like I’m your prize, you clutch my sides so tight I couldn’t leave, you kiss me and I’m leaning into you like a wave that’s about to crash onto the shore but you are the sandy banks and I know it won’t hurt I pray it won’t hurt.

“You know, I usually have a thing for blondes,” you whisper in my ear as you twirl your finger through a dark brown curl. My thick tongue can’t form the words I should be saying and I find your blue eyes with speckles of gray as they look my body up and down but won’t see me.

I am on my way back from a test, my head hurting, my eyes burning from my contacts, my mind swirling with formulas and equations and it is then that I see you with everyone else. I should go to bed, should eat something but instead I sit down. “How are you?” you ask, and it’s how you talk to me so casually, how you ask about me, it makes me feel like I matter. We sit across from one another and look at everywhere, anywhere, but at each other. You give a half smile as though I’ve told a joke and I refrain from grinning uncontrollably. You put me at peace. My shoulders relax and I ache to be closer to you, want to have you lean close and tell me about your day, talk so loud I can just listen, just keep chatting away and not wait for a response, I never respond, you don’t expect me to, don’t want me to; it makes it so easy to just fade away and enjoy your world, feel like I’m a part of it. But we sit in a crowd of people, staring but not staring, and God, I want to kiss you. I hope no one can tell. But then again, I hope they can.

“Are you in your room?” you ask. I am expecting more kisses, expecting something more, (it’s time, its been long enough) but instead when you arrive, you sit in my bed, eyes threatening tears as you tell me your deepest troubles. You want affection, desperately, and you don’t see the imploring in my eyes as I beg you with my hands to love me the way I love you. You tell me you’re waiting, saving yourself for someone special, for the girl of your dreams, for the girl that you’ll fall in love with. I tell myself we’re just friends as I stroke your back and reassure you that she’s coming, she will be there. When you leave, I don’t kiss you goodbye. You don’t notice.

You put your arms around me in front of your friends later in the week, so casually, so easily. They pretend they don’t see. I find myself wondering what this means. When you take me out on the stairwell, our stairwell, I know what is coming before your lips crash against mine and suddenly I’m burning, on fire, my lungs feel as though they will explode and I’m starving, ravenous for your touch. I need to feel something, anything more than this loneliness that threatens to fill me because I know I don’t compare to you, with your wild blue eyes and waving hands. You love roller coasters and thunderstorms. I am afraid of everything you love, but I tell myself I’ll do it for you.

“She’s pretty hot,” you say as you lean over to peer at my phone. I laugh while I tell you that she’s my best friend. When you ask me if I’d care, when you lick your lips and your hands run through your hair as you look at the curves of her chest, I recognize your motions and my words catch in my throat. Your tone is innocent but the words carve their way into my skin like a pen on paper until they’re all I can think about. My body spasms and retracts from your touch because, suddenly, the burning desire is too hot, searing through my clothes and singeing my hair and it smells like charcoal and smoky bonfires as I choke on my own saliva and struggle to form words I know I’ll regret saying. You ask about her in a way that makes me realize that you’ve been thinking about her all along. I am your consolation prize. I am the oyster and you desire the pearl. You flit around the topic and you’re like a match that refuses to light, refuses to acknowledge me, hear my feelings. I feel the ripping of my chest as I dig my nails into my thighs and crunch my teeth together to avoid saying the words I want to say. I tell you its fine if you want to go for her, if you want to make a move. You tell me I’m a great friend. I wish those words didn’t come so easily.

My phone dings at 2:33 A.M and I know that it is you. I have grown accustomed to these texts, find myself anticipating them, despite knowing that nothing has changed. I will be just as empty when you leave as I was before you came. But for those precious few minutes while you are here, while your lips are on mine, I feel happier than I can ever remember. You text me and wonder if I’m awake. I wonder how I could’ve fallen asleep. You pad barefoot down the hall and I have to stop myself from tearing the door off the hinges as I embrace you like the sky embraces its lost stars, gathering them into its jet black arms and stringing them together like a beautiful necklace, glittering and dazzling, reminding us that there is more to life than your lips on my neck and the soft crumpled sheets. There’s more to life than tying myself into a knot around you as though I am a ribbon clutching myself to the present; but when the wrapping paper is torn I am cast aside while you are cherished. You leave when you are done. I lie awake and wonder if I ever will be.

I’m trying to prove I don’t need you and you watch me kiss someone else. My friend cheers me on, her manicured hands clapping as she congratulates herself for bringing me out with her. The music resonates against the wall and I feel as though I’m being suffocated in his touch. I have made a mistake, an awful one, and though we never decided, we never said we couldn’t, I still feel a pit in my stomach, a spreading, engulfing sickness that swallows me whole. The room is too small, so suffocating, and I find myself looking for you even when I know it’s a bad idea. My friend tries to stop me, telling me to be happy, to have fun. I wrench away and she rolls her eyes. When I approach you, my movements are slow, deliberate. You look the other way. When I reach out to touch you, you feign ignorance. When my hands stroke yours, you pull away. You remind me we are just friends. I haven’t forgotten. I just hoped you had. I turn to find her and she has gone. She doesn’t come back.

And I thought I lost you, thought I made a mistake so when you show up at my room and your eyes are tired but you’re there, you’re really there, I ignore the cracking of my bones and the frantic palpitations of my heart as I let you into my bed, pull you close, drink you in. I forget for a moment that this is fleeting; I know you won’t spend the night (you never do) and I know your touch is purposeful. But I allow the sliver of hope to ooze into my heart until it pumps through my veins, reaching my bloodstream as I am literally bleeding out hope and love, cut open and lying on the floor but you leave so soon and your kisses become less frequent and your grip is tight, so tight, and you’re gone before I can even kiss you goodbye. We don’t kiss goodbye anymore.

I tell myself that I’m okay. I haven’t spoken to my parents in weeks. My only friend thinks I’ve lost myself, she tells me as she straightens her blonde hair in my mirror, starting at the roots, as she clamps the device down and burns her own hair. She’s wondering why I don’t hang out with anyone anymore while I watch her from my bed, the only place I find myself being lately. It makes me laugh; she doesn’t know that I never knew myself to begin with.

It has been an entire semester when you finally lose yourself to me. I remember how you promised you were saving yourself for the one you’d love forever, how closely you held that promise to your heart. So when you don’t tell me it means something, I don’t ask. All I ask is if you’re ready and when your eyes sparkle and your kiss is slow, gentle, I absorb your answer into my skin and slip off my clothes like a caterpillar, gliding out of its cocoon. But you don’t wait; you tear at the edges of my cocoon until my wings are free just to pin me down and stop me from flight. But then you shred at my shell, split me in half, my insides exposed for the world to see, my heart trembling on the floor, (as I realize I am vulnerable, so vulnerable). And you collapse against me like a smack of thunder reverberating off the air. I hear you moan, hitting the notes of a song that is slightly off key. I try to tune my piano, try to start at the beginning, but your eyes are on the wall, on the floor, on the tips of my breasts, on the curve of my neck, searching everywhere for the love you never will find. You are loud and honest. Meanwhile I stitch my mouth shut and fantasize about all of the dreams I will never achieve.

“I met a girl today,” you tell me when you roll over. I wait for the punch line. It never comes. She saw the poster in your room and told you she had never seen that movie. “So of course, we had to watch it!” like it is common sense, like that would’ve been your reaction if anyone had said what she had. But all I’m thinking is that’s too bad, that’s too bad, you unbuttoning my shirt, your eyes closing, your tongue reaching my chest, and you never watched a movie with me, we’ve never watched a fucking movie and as you tell me about her, you turn and say, “This isn’t weird, right? After all, we’re just friends”.

I tell you it’s over. You didn’t think there was anything to end. I don’t correct you. It ends as abruptly as it began. It takes all I have, I gather up all of my bones that are scattered across the past semester and try to put myself back together. But I was never good at puzzles. I end it so you can be with her; you don’t tell me I’m beautiful (did you ever?) and her favorite color is scarlet. You two bond over music and my phone doesn’t ding at 2:33 AM anymore. You gush to me about her. I tell myself that I’ll be okay. My shaking hands and tear-stained sheets taunt me, reminding me of how many times I’ve said that before. I text my friend, tell her about what you’ve done. She responds with, well what did you expect? And so I put the phone down, that question a spool of thread unwinding in my mind. You walk your path and I realize I’ve lost the map to mine.

I call my parents. When my mother answers, I am in tears, heaving, choking. She is surprised to hear my voice. She doesn’t remember what I sound like. My father drives out in the storm and picks me up. I climb into the truck and he’s looking at me, his brow furrowed, in his cloth pajamas and when my shoulders shake I don’t know if it is because I want to laugh or cry. They don’t ask what’s wrong; they just know it had to be bad for me to call them. We arrive home, an empty house filled with empty people. I’m not surprised when they tell me that they replaced my room with an office. I sleep on the couch. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to sleep again.

My mother is making pancakes. She doesn’t cook and this image is so cliché, so mother-like, that I throw up in the trashcan when she asks if I want syrup. This isn’t where I belong, this house with its tinted windows and tinted hearts. I belong in your arms, with your booming voice and desiring hands. I crawl back into the couch that pretends to be a bed and tell myself you’ll come back to me. My phone never dings. (We were never really friends, now were we?)

My mother takes me to the mall with her. The blurs of passing shoppers makes me dizzy, and I am so lightheaded that when she puts a hand on my shoulder to steady me, I feel safe. I can’t remember the last time I felt this way. When my parents tell me that they’re getting a divorce, I should be surprised. But I’m not. Instead, I ask them if that is what will make them happy. My father looks me in the eye and says, “Sometimes you need to be selfish; you can only give so much”.

That night, I tape together my glass edges. You hold her hand and whisper to her the echo of words you never thought to tell me, that were never mine to hear. I text my friend, apologizing for never realizing how often she came by, how many plans I had cancelled to be with you. I lie in bed and turn on my music so loud that it makes my teeth shake. I don’t like country music anymore.

[eedwritingportfolio-blog]

Personal Choice Piece 5

Red

Her nails are flecked with chipped red nail polish and she

brings them to her mouth as she takes another inhale of

her cigarette and I hate cigarettes, hate the smell hate the smoke

I hate cigarettes as I lean over and ask her if I can bum a smoke.

Her arms are aligned with tattoos of mermaids and butterflies

I ask her what they mean and she says they don’t mean anything

At all

They’re something to look at

Just like her

I laugh and I think this girl is crazy this girl is absolutely nuts and

when I ask her out on a date I’m expecting her to say no.

She changes the station on my car radio to punk rock and the music

is too loud, too loud and she sings along, her voice off tune, I’m worried

my speakers will blow out but I don’t say anything.

I like how she sings.

She doesn’t hold my hand as we walk, she walks three steps ahead

swinging her hips, her voice loud her red hair swishing and every guy looks

at her and it pisses me off, I want to yank her back but she laughs and flirts

and later that night when her lips are on mine I forget the anger I felt

forget that she tastes like cigarettes and breath mints, forget

that when I asked her out she looked me up and down and said,

“why the hell not?”

I know I won’t fall for her, she likes drinking whiskey and dancing on tables

but when she takes my hand and pulls me up on the counter with her

I forget

And my vision becomes a blur of red and Scarlet.

When she leaves without saying goodbye

I expected it, I knew she wouldn’t stay long; she flies off like a bird.

But I find myself tracing the pattern of her lips on my neck and

the taste of cigarettes and breath mints still lingers in my mouth

and no matter how many times I brush my teeth

I can’t get her out of my head.