#and then fridays my mom would be working and shed pay no attention to us

[hifurio]

u know for someone who had a really big ego growing up i am shockingly stupid i literally was just egotistical over being smart when i wasnt

[neverleaveyoubehind]

Teen Wolf : 1x01 “Wolf Moon”

OMG they look so young! This whole episode has made me feel so old, I can’t believe that it’s been 9 years since this aired. I still remember watching this after middle school and now, it’s been almost a decade, I’m in college , I’m a full adult, unbelievable!

Let’s proceed with the actual reaction, though.

The first scene it’s surprisingly good, I mean, the way it starts all somber with the creepy music, you see all the police department and the Sheriff arriving to the woods, all the police dogs barking , the fog ,... I really liked it. Actually, I had forgotten about this scene in particular.

Like, we actually get to see the Sheriff a little bit, in my mind we weren’t introduced to the Sheriff until later in the episode. That was cool, knowing that he’s the first important character we see (even though you need to be paying a lot of attention to see that it’s him, because they just focus on showing his arm or something like that )

Suddenly, the music changes into an upbeat song, and we are in Scotts house. (God, seeing Scott fixing the Lacrosse stick gave me ALL the nostalgic feelings I could handle) Tyler Posey looks so young, like a little baby, he changes so much during the years. Not like Dylan who looks exactly the same but , with longer hair 9 years later.

Anyway, we have baby Scott (that’s how I will be referring to him for the next 2 seasons aprox) working out , being teenagery , brushing his teeth (his sink worried me a bit, maybe they should think about investing in a new one ‘cause that one looks nasty) Then, he hears a noise and freaks out. BTW, Scotts hair is a whole situation, it’s way too long for such a small face.

He freaks out, gets out of the house with a baseball bat,which might have been the highlight of my day (also,the baseball bat as a deathly weapon was Scott’s idea first ,ladies and gentlemen, let’s take that into consideration) and we are finally introduced to Stiles.

What better way to introduce him than having him hanging for his first 2 minutes on screen? (he being completely unfazed by it, and carrying the conversation like nothing was wrong, is my favorite thing in the world and the reason why I love Stiles so much) if this whole scene isn’t the reason why everyone kept watching the pilot, Idk what to tell you.

Ok, then, after the best interaction ever, Stiles has somewhat convinced Scott to go look for the body in the woods. Because, yes people, there’s a body , this body is missing a half and Stiles wants to find it. Like, of course he does, this man thinks he’s a detective or something (And yes, I did say a half because we don’t know which part is missing) So, in what has to be the most teenager/peer pressure way (reluctantly following your best friend trough the woods with a murderer on the loose) our story begins.

We have Stiles and Scott walking around trying to find the body (every sentence that leaves Dylan's mouth during this episode is gold, that's really my opinion) Scotty is worried about the prospect of founding not only the body but, the murderer, Stiles is living his best life, joking around, walking way too fast for our asthmatic baby Scott, and that's how they get separated.

We properly meet one of the best characters of the show, the sheriff Stilinski, after Stiles gets scared by another deputy that thinks he’s the murderer, and Stiles leaves with his dad. So, now we have us a baby Scott walking alone, in the dark, back home.

He’s walking for a bit, with creppy background music and various animal noises (the music and the ambiance of this show are great. Props to the music team, honestly) Then, he reaches a clearing in the middle of the forest, takes out his inhaler, and when he is about to use it, a bunch of deer bump into him causing him to fall to the ground and drop the inhaler. (I bet he was more worried about dying crushed by deer than losing it, though) When the deer have gone their merry way,and he no longer thinks he’s going to die, he gets up and starts looking for the inhaler with the light of his cell phone (with the light of the screen to be precise. Scotty isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed), but he doesn’t find his inhaler, he finds... The body (the upper part, in case someone was wondering)

Then, Scotty jumps back from the scare, and falls down a hill. When he gets up, a huge black monster attacks him and baby Scott gets bitten!

(The CGI of the first season is truly horrifying but, don’t panic my friends, it will get better)

Baby Scott runs as good as he can manage ,after being bitten by an unknown huge thing and having lost his inhaler,through the woods until he reaches the road, where he is almost hit by a car (our homeboy Scotty is having a really bad night)

SPOILER

The fact that he gets almost run over by Allison and her mom , who aren’t even in the show yet is amazing. Jeff did truly love this 2 because their storyline is truly wonderful, their whole relationship is handled with such care and a lot of attention to details. It makes my heart soft.

SPOILER

They go to school, Jackson looks like an asshole and turns out to be an asshole, normal High School shit. Scotty shows Stiles his bandage and tells him that a wolf bit him, then Stiles proceeds to laugh his ass off because there hasn’t been wolfs in California in like 60 years (Stiles is the kind of person that knows that type of thing) and , baby Scott tells him that he found the body.

Then this whole hilarious scene happens:

They go to class and Scotty starts hearing a phone ringing and turns out he’s the only one hearing it (obviously dude, you’re a werewolf) because it’s the phone of a new girl that’s outside of the High School waiting for the headmaster (I guess, I though someone else was but maybe that hasn’t happened,yet) this new girl is talking on the phone with her mom and she realizes that she forgot to bring a pen (really? You forget to bring a pen to your first day of High School? Someone wasn’t prepared)

So the headmaster brings the new girl to Scotty’s class , her name is Allison, and baby Scott has a crush on her the second he sees her (puppy love has never been more fitting )

Then, he does that whole thing of giving her a pen that she didn’t ask for (if I was Allison I’d be creeped out that someone just gave me a pen after I said outside of the building that I didn’t have one but, IDK, maybe it’s just me)

Anyway, Lydia and Allison become BFFs ,they have Lacrosse practice (we hear the Lacrosse background music for the first time) and surprise, Baby Scott didn’t suck (we also meet Coach aka the most important person of Beacon Hills high school) After school Stiles and Scott go back to the wood to look for the body and the inhaler (seriously, do this kids never learn?) while Stiles jokes about Scotty being a werewolf,and Derek Hale makes his first appearance (God Derek looks like Edward Cullen in this episode) he gives Scott his inhaler back and tells them to get out of his property (like an old man)

Stiles tells Scotty that almost all of Derek’s family died in a fire in his house and baby Scott leaves to go to work. He goes to feed the cats and they freak out, Allison comes to the vet hysterical with a dog she run over , this cutie moment happens :

Baby Scott is in love, so he asks her out to Lydia’s party that friday, Allison is also in love so she says yes. Scotty goes to sleep feeling on cloud nine and wakes up in the middle of the woods (it was a full moon the night before) he sees the big monster that attacked him the other night starts running and ends up falling in someone’s pool (Baby Scott is way to ripped for an asthmatic little kid but, ok)

He goes to school , Jackson interrogates him about steroids (fuck off Jackson, no one likes you. Well, maybe Lydia, but that’s it) Scotty freaks out about sleepwalking 40 miles into the woods, they go to Lacrosse practice and Scotty makes first line so he’s going to be playing in their first Lacrosse game of the year ,Stiles is suspicious because Scott was awful at Lacrosse like 2 days ago , and suddenly he’s a pro (like he should be, honestly, people should listen to Stiles more)

Stiles goes home researches a freaking ton about lycanthropy and werewolfs and decides that yes, his best friend is a werewolf (just like that, that was his first option and he stuck to it) he calls Scotty, tells him that he should cancel his date with Allison just in case he tries to kill her but Scott ignores him.

Melissa and baby Scott have a nice mother-son moment before his first ever date (with a lot more mentions of teenage pregnancies and underage sex for what one would expect from a first date)

Baby Scott takes Allison to the party, everything is going great, until it isn’t. Suddenly Scott starts feeling the bloodlust and the changes that Stiles had warned him about, so he leaves the party (leaving Allison alone without as mush as an apology, and without a way to get back home) Do not fear, though. Derek offers to take her home so everything’s great.

Scotty goes home while having a whole freak out and tells Stiles (who has followed him because he’s the best friend anyone could ever have) that Derek is the werewolf that bit him. Stiles tells Scotty that Derek took Allison home, Baby Scott leaves to have a fucking argument with Derek, and Stiles goes to Allison’s house (Allison was just fine so Stiles leaves)

Scotty and Derek get attacked by werewolf hunters (needless to say, Scotty won’t be sleeping in a while)

In the morning Stiles picks him up from the woods. At school Scotty apologizes to Allison, she forgives him because they are in love (or stupid , if I had been left like that in the first date I wouldn’t have forgiven him) and we are introduced to Allison’s dad

Wait, did I say Allison’s dad? I meant the werewolf hunter that tried to kill him the night before.

Wow that was a roller coaster of emotions ! What did you guys think? Did you remember all of what actually happens ? Did you also realize that you’ve been mixing what happens in each season together into one big season? Because I did

[xserpentlife]

Starved

Requested: Anon original request was something along the lines of Reader has anorexia and the group of friends find out. Second after asked question- Preferably anorexia but whatever you'd like lovely! Your writing is amazing and I'd probably be happy no matter what way you took it!

A/N: Platonic x Jughead, Toni, Fangs, and Sweetpea. If you are in any way triggered by any discussion of Anorexia or anxiety please do not read this. Also, thank you to @wayward-river for all the help with this story she is incredible go read her stories. 

Warnings: Anorexia, Anxiety

Word Count: 3132

Summary: You always put up the facade that you were alright, but what happens when your friends know your not and they figure out the real reason behind it.

Your mom left when you were young and your dad passed, you have been alone since you were 13. The Serpent's were a family and you always wanted to be fully in. Your Serpent dance was coming soon and you were getting more nervous by the minute.

Y/N POV

You stood standing in the mirror looking back at a girl, the marks you drew on it showing the way you should be looking by now... the goal for your dance. Your dance was in a few days. The last month you had been shedding weight, more than should have been possible. Luckily you were one to always wear baggy clothes so no one really noticed. You had to look perfect and the way you looked now your mind told you wasn’t. A knock on your door knocked you out of your thoughts. You quickly covered the mirror and thew on a t-shirt. You opened the door looking out to see Toni.

“Hey girl”

“Hey Toni what’s up”

“Everyone is on there way to the Wyrm wanted to know if you wanted to come”

“Uhm no actually I’m good thanks though”

“Aight can I borrow a water”

“Yeah of course” you watched her walk in about to open the fridge before you realized “Wait Toni” but she had opened it.

“Y/N you got no food and you rarely come out with us what do you eat?”

“Uhm I pick up Pop’s a lot” You hoped the lie you told was believable enough.

“You sure you don’t want to come”

“Uhm yeah, I’ll come why not” you rode with Toni to the Wyrm in your truck. Your vision blurred as your ears rang while driving but you kept focusing on the line in the road and you were luckily fine. You walked in behind Toni taking your seat at the bar like usual.

“Want a beer”

“No, I’m good thanks though” Jughead came up behind you.

“The infamous Y/N isn’t drinking tonight”

“Not feeling it gotta get up for school tomorrow”

“Never stopped you before, you ok?”

“Yeah I’m good” at that point Sweet Pea and Fangs came up as well.

“Y/N!” Fangs hugged you

“Hey Sweets hey Fangs how are you guys”

“Good you?”

“Excited for your dance, when is it again? Friday right?

“Yeah, will you guys be here”

“Sweet Pea miss a dance, your funny”

“Shut it Fogarty Y/N is like a sister to me I’ll be here though, gotta support you” Sweet Pea responded

“Thanks” Your vision blurred again as you heard what sounded like chiming bells once again, this one stronger as your body slightly swayed before being able to come back into focus.  Luckily Fangs had stayed next to you as your body swayed into his almost falling off the stool. “Y/N you good?”

“Yeah, just tired, sorry”

“Want me to drive you home?

“Yeah, please”

“Leaving already Y/N?”

“Yeah T I’m sorry just tired is all, I’ll see you guys at school tomorrow okay” You walked out with Fangs to your truck.

“Fangs I forgot I drove Toni and I here because she walked to my trailer earlier, I’ll drive it’s not a big deal”

“Yeah it is you almost fell asleep at the bar, I’d rather drive you I’ll walk home not a big deal really it's like five minutes”

“Are you sure”

“Positive I wanna know you got home safe, can’t have my best friend fall asleep at the wheel”

Fangs drove you home, your stomach growled but you covered it with a cough luckily Fangs hadn’t noticed. Growls rarely ever happened anymore, more often than not the hunger wasn’t even there, maybe a few sharp hunger pain but no noise to cover up thankfully. You knew you should eat but if you ate you'd gain, and you couldn’t let that happen not this week not now. Since you weighed Monday and saw you weren't near your goal you haven't eaten much. You ate maybe an apple or piece of fruit and even then you would only eat half. You watched your trailer come into view and Fangs turn the truck off. He walked inside behind you asked if you’d be alright. After you told him yes he turned towards his trailer and went home. You walked to your bedroom and stripped off your jacket and shoes falling asleep in the clothes you had on. You woke up the next morning, walking into your kitchen grabbing a water bottle. You didn’t even want to drink that knowing full well liquids always made you bloat, but you still had a day till the dance so it would be fine.

You drove up to the school pulling into your spot and getting out of your truck. You saw your group of friends sitting on the steps.

“Hey guys?”  

“Get some sleep?” Fangs chimed in.

“Yeah, why?”

“Well you were super tired last night so just wondering if you were good now”

“Oh yeah I'm good” you hadn’t realized that you forgot to put the flannel over your t-shirt today like usual. Toni stared at you about to speak before the bell of the school rang. You didn’t believe in god but at that moment you thanked him. You walked into the class you had luckily Toni wasn’t with you because she had to go to Art and you wouldn’t see her until lunch. You sat at your desk in every class barely paying attention and only doing what you had to. You had one class left before lunch but you hoped it would go forever because you didn’t want to go near that room knowing full well everyone would ask why you weren't eating. During your whole lecture looking in the reflection of your phone thinking how you just wish you could see the bones in your cheeks a little more. You looked around seeing the girl who sat beside you and how beautiful she was. Her eyes bright, her chiseled jawline, the stomach that couldn’t be seen, and even her legs that looked as if she ran miles a day. You got knocked out of the thoughts racing in your mind when Jughead tapped your shoulder.

“Y/N you good”

“Yeah why, wait why are you in here?”

“Because class ended 10 minutes ago we were waiting for you but you never showed up so I came looking”

“Oh”

“You okay?”

“Yeah just had some work to catch up on”

“Y/N”

“What?”

“You were staring into space”

“Zoned out”

“Your book isn’t even open”

“What the fuck is this Jones 20 questions, now let’s go to lunch” You got up rushing out of the room him following behind. You walked into the cafeteria sitting down next to Sweet Pea the smells flooded your nose. You were hungry but just a few more days and you would eat it would be fine. Toni looked to you.

“Not eating Y/N?”

“Uh no, not hungry”

“What did you eat last night”

“Uh nothing”

“Oh well then you must be hungry”

“Not really, I gotta read part of this book I’ll talk to you guys later” You stood up too fast the blood rushing to your head making you sit back down. Sweet Pea grabbed you as you almost fell over. “You okay? Y/N you should really eat.”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that!” You stormed out heading to your last class of the day. Get through this you thought, tonight is the night and after you’ll be fine. Your teacher made you work in pairs, and you, of course, you had to get paired with the one person you wish you didn’t. Jessica, she was beautiful skinny, a strong jawline, and everything you weren’t. You ran out of class going home you couldn’t handle it. 

You drove to your trailer walking inside and were instantly hit with the smell of Pops. You walked to your kitchen table seeing a note: You got the dance tonight, and you ran out of lunch figured you wouldn’t have time to grab anything enjoy - Love, T. You looked at the bag and then into the mirror, you were so close you couldn’t eat and ruin yourself, not now not after all the hard work you did. You threw the Pops into the fridge and walked into the back taking a shower and getting ready.

At the Wyrm

You walked in seeing your group of friends sitting by the bar.

“Hey guys”

“Hey”

“How's work tonight T”

“Decent haha did you get my note”

“Yeah thanks”

“You ready?”

“I think so, I just don’t wanna mess up I've been a part of this for so long I just want to me official”

“Don't worry Y/N you got this”

“Thanks Fangs”

“Y/N You got 20 mins till you go okay head to the back room and I’ll announce you”

“Okay, Thanks Jug” You walked to the back room and started doing some push-ups, figuring it could tone your muscles a little more before the show started. You had to stop after a few because your head started to feel fuzzy. . Just push through it you thought. Get through it and you would be fine it’s just stress. In the distance, you heard talking but you couldn’t focus on it right away until you heard it repeat; your name again, and again.

“Welcome to the stage for serpent initiation Y/N…Y/N?” You tried standing up but fell down slightly losing your balance but you had to push through. You got up standing again and walked onto the stage. Your song started. You began slowly stripping the outer layer of the clothes you wore and began the dance. You grabbed the pole swinging around it and swaying your hips to the beat. About a minute in everything went wrong. Your ears heard a constant ringing, the serpents in front of you blurring in and out, the room spinning. You tried shaking it off but it came back again and again, but it was no use as you were swinging around the pole your world went dark. The last thing you heard was the scream of your friends calling your name before you fell down to the floor.

Groups POV

Sweets watched as Y/N’s body dropped to the floor. He stood shocked, not knowing what to do until he heard Jugheads voice.

“Sweets, Fangs get her into the office now” Sweets walked over picking you up in his arms, not even needing the help of Fangs. “Sweets, you need help up the stairs?”

“No I got it Fangs” Sweets walked your body to the office and placed you on the couch. Toni came up. “Toni she’s…”

“Bones…”

“Toni I have picked Y/N up before she… she’s not Y/N. What happened?” Jughead walked in then. “Guys, what is going on?” Everyone was about to start explaining when Fangs started talking. “Guys, it was right in front of us”

“What was?”

“She's sick”

“What the dizziness?”

“No, well yes but just her… I think she’s starving herself Toni and Jug kept trying to wake her up while Fangs was talking. “Guys when is the last time she ate with any of you I mean she told me she went out with Cheryl the other day to Pops but”

“Fang she didn’t go to pops with Cheryl I was with Cheryl at her house all week”

“Okay well what about the other week when she picked up pops to go”

“Betty was working she usually tells me when she sees you guys there, and she hasn’t said anything to me”

“I should have fucking saw it, I should have fucking known” sweet pea chimed in

“Sweet Pea this isn't your fault”

“Well it isn’t hers she's sick and we, I should have noticed”

“This is on all of us, and we’re going to help her”

“Guys I think she’s waking up” The whole group stood next to you at that point as you sat up holding your head”

Y/N POV

The darkness started to dissipate as you felt a pounding in your head, the light began to pour in.

“What…”

“OMG Y/N you're awake” you felt everyone around you, Fangs holding your hand, Toni kneeling next to your head, Jughead sitting at your feet, and Sweet Pea sitting on the couch end.

“What… Happened?”

“You fainted”

“Oh god! My dance I didn’t finish… I’m not gonna be a Serpent” Sweet Pea yelled while standing up and throwing the knife he was playing with across the room.

“Fuck the stupid dance Y/N do you see yourself, please… please fucking tell us what is going on”

“What are you…”

“Don’t play stupid” Toni stood up walking to the corner of the room bringing the mirror over.

“Look at yourself Y/N”

“I…” Fangs squeezed your hand kissing it. “Y/N I, I know this is hard but look at yourself, you can’t say that you're not sick, and if you really don’t see what is wrong while looking in this mirror then…”

You forced yourself to look in the mirror. “I know it’s wrong but I kept telling myself one more day.”

“Y/N…” Fangs started

“Okay Fine! I get it okay! I shouldn’t have done it” Jug sat up from his position “What have you been doing, how long?”

“I don’t know how long a month maybe two. At first, I just wanted to shed some weight and I … I kept seeing girls looking so much better than me. Then, I scheduled my dance. I don’t look like any of the girls that dance. I wanted to look perfect I told myself I’ll drop some and then I’ll stop, but then I did...I dropped a little weight, but then I kept going and going and I haven't stopped. I wanted to look great. I wanted to keep going”

“Y/N you don’t look great but not because your too big, your underweight. Babe while you were doing your dance I swear I could see your bones, what have you eaten this week?”

“I, I don’t know an apple, banana, and some nuts  maybe I try not to eat anything.”

“The entire week?”

“I…” Fangs stood up helping you stand up with him “Y/N look me in my eyes… do you want help? Do you want to get better?”

“I just don’t want to feel like this anymore”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“I've always dealt with things on my own I’m so used to it”

“You don’t need to be used to it you have all of us, you have had all of us we are here for you, we are going to get you through this okay?”

“O, okay”

“I know this is going to be hard, but we are going to start small. Jug can you go behind the bar to the fridge and grab the fruit I have in there” Jughead left the room. “You're going to eat the fruit, as slow as you have to but you are going to finish it or at least try your hardest to no lying. If the thoughts are coming you talk to one of us and we will talk it out. You are going to eat with us for every meal. I don’t want it to feel like we are harping over you, but I can not lose you… You are my best friend and I know how hard this is my cousin went through the same thing. I, we are all going to help you get through this”

Jughead came back up with the fruit and handed it to you.You started eating it slowly your stomach growling. You felt the hunger rise inside of you. You stopped, and they looked at you. 

“Y/N you have to eat I”

“I know Toni... it’s hard” 

“just eat some more it will get easier I promise” They all started having a normal conversation like you would always have. You were happy they were not focusing on you eating but instead making eating comfortable again. 

“Jug…”

“Yeah Y/N?”

“Do, do I have to do the dance again? Did I fail?”

“Here,” he handed the jacket to you that you had waited your whole life for. “You're a serpent you always have been you have always been a part of this family, but now you can stop complaining about not being official”

“Let’s get you home” 

“Fangs can you drive me”

“of course” you got downstairs and into the truck waiting for Fangs to come. The thoughts came back about all the calories you just ate, but they soon went away” 

“You’re thinking about it aren’t you” 

“About what?”

“You know what, and I know what. Your thinking about all the calories that fruit had aren't you” you looked down at your hands. “Look I know how hard this is going to be to get through this, but you have all of us and you have me, you are not losing me and I sure as hell am not going to lose you” the drive seemed short but as you were waiting to pull into your lot fangs passed it driving to his and pulling in. 

“why are we?”

“Because I told you I am not letting you do this alone, home is here with me or with Toni or sweet pea or Jughead, home is not your trailer alone”

“thank you”

“hey I don’t need you to thank me your like my sister I would do anything for you, and you can stay here as long as you want”

The next few months were a rollercoaster, you stayed with Fangs knowing that you wouldn’t be able to conquer this alone. You wanted to get better, but you had your hard days. You had your days where you would show up to the Wyrm on an empty stomach, but after the first few times everyone had come up with a code word for a bad day. Those bad days whether at someone's trailer or the bar they would grab something small to eat and a water and would sit and talk with you while you ate something. There were also days when you didn’t say anything breaking down the next day feeling like you had lied and betrayed them. Finally after you were comfortable enough Fangs had you talk to his cousin who went through something similar and relating to someone really helped.

Eventually you had started eating bigger meals with the group, and eating became something fun like it used to be. Throwing fries at each other from across tables or stealing drinks of shakes just like before. This was what you needed. This was how you got your life back together. You now wore your serpent jacket knowing that these people had your back, you were no longer alone. You had your true family. You had your life back.

[artificialqueens]

Fall in Time, Ch3 (Branjie) - Somesilverreply

A/N:  Thanks again for your support! <3

Note: I’m basing the auditions Brooke attends off of the annual Unified auditions that aspiring BFA musical theatre/acting students go through which I’m very familiar with, but I’m not certain the recruitment for BFA dance programs are the same.

Read on AO3 here.

When Brooke Lynn Hytes was 17 years, 11 months, 3 days, and 1 minute old, she met her best friends.

But she didn’t know that, yet.

She had grown up in Canada, a small suburb outside Toronto with her mom. Her father hadn’t been around much, so she and her mother lived a quiet, conservative life that consisted of pancakes every morning (except Sundays) and dance recitals.

Brooke had known, from the time she was a little girl that the States was where she needed to be if she was going to be a ballerina. Canada had beautiful professional ballet, of course. Much to her mother’s dismay, however, she had her sights narrowed in on exactly what she wanted for herself and her life.

After some convincing and a little extra work around the house, she and her mother embarked on what Brooke remembers as The Great Audition Tour of 2003. She remembers riding in a plane for the first time, seeing New York City for the first time, and the way it all made her feel so small in a five-foot-eleven frame.

It’s day three, or four, she’s so blindingly exhausted from her anxious stomach keeping her up all night every night to the physical trauma of college dance auditions. She was practiced, she was trained, of course, and her mother made sure her shoulders never fell even for a second as they felt the illustrious buzz of New York when they walked through the city.

“Sit up, Brooke Lynn, you never know who could be watching,” her mother repeated like a mantra as they sat for breakfast each morning. She was always on.

But in the third hour of her fourth (she’s pretty sure) day of auditions, Brooke let out a laugh as she heard the murmurings of the girls beside her.

“I swear to God, I was holding relevé, and it was so fucking loud,” she heard one girl say, blonde and petite, looking almost like she belonged in a beauty pageant against to the stripped away anonymity of the black leotard, pink tights combination that painted the room.

“You farted?!” the other girl, as tall as Brooke but enviably slender with uniquely beautiful features, laughed incredulously, earning a small hit to the leg as the pair leaned over into a side stretch like a seasoned pair of synchronized swimmers.

The other blonde looked around, checking for any onlookers when she locked eyes with Brooke, giving a minuscule smile she tried to hide in the crook of her elbow mid stretch.

The girl looked embarrassed immediately, Brooke instantly correcting her expression.

“I’m so sorry you had to hear that, sis,” the blonde said with a chuckle, the girl beside her still stifling a laugh.

“It happens to the best of us,” Brooke shrugged, unsure whether or not she was safe to join in on the fun. She pressed her luck, happy to feel some of the pressure release from her shoulders for the first time in weeks.

“At least it wasn’t a silent but deadly,” she tried, immediately sending the other two girls into a fit of giggles, careful not to draw extra attention from the fellow auditionees (but failing, somewhat).

“I’m Alyssa, this is Yvie,” the blonde told her.

“Oh, I’m Brooke, are you guys friends?” she smiled, placing a careful strand of her bun that had fallen into her face behind her ear.

“She’s stalking me,” Yvie told her, completely deadpan.

“I am not, I’m not a stalker,” she turned to Brooke, “We met in our hotel night one, and we’ve just kind of hit it off this weekend. You been here all four days?”

Brooke nodded sheepishly before adding with a cautious drop in tone, “Unfortunately.”

“Tell me about it. I literally feel like I could stick my leg in a subway door and it would snap in half,” Yvie added, moving into a middle split with little to know extra effort required, her voice unwavering.

“Well, we got you, you’re one of us now,” Alyssa grabbed her hand with a smile, sharing a knowing glance with Brooke before they heard the boom of the microphone over the loudspeaker, instructing the hundred-plus girls in the room to rise.

That night, after the penultimate day of auditions was completed, Brooke nervously told her mother she had other dinner plans for the evening, that she had made friends. She looked at her mother carefully, expecting the reprimand or warning she’d grown accustomed to. Instead, she was greeted with a half smile, a light touch on the back, and a simple, “Be careful.”

Brooke had spent every night of that trip bee-lining for the hotel by 9:00pm, showered, practiced, and ready for the early AM wake up call. She had barely seen the city, and by the second or third day had begun to forget she was in any place that wasn’t the blinding white walls of a dance studio.

But that night, as she felt the soft red glow of Times Square, authentically American street hot dog in hand with her new American friends, she felt the most prepared she ever had all week. They spent all night running around the city, dancing in subway cars and calling Brooke “Canada” whenever she pointed out something that made the girls giggle. She had friends back home, of course. But not like this. Not so unabashedly carefree and naive.

So when they all tentatively sent each other MySpace messages as they opened their acceptance letters and found that all three of them were accepted to their number one choice school, it felt like pure magic radiated through the computer screens in all three ends of North America.

Alyssa and Yvie were her closest confidants, her mirrors, and her worst critics all at the same time. They were there for her through the trauma of her injury and did their best to remind her of who she was whenever they got the chance, even though Brooke hadn’t done so much as a twirl since it happened. Alyssa had worked with her on and off for years at Ballet D’Amerique, and now was working as a dance instructor in New York, while Yvie had been successfully working in Vegas shows for years, creating the perfect excuse for a girl’s trip weekend there every year.

They’d all changed, naturally. Brooke’s gentle, cold exterior she adorned now was different from the softness of her bright-eyed college days, but leave it to Alyssa and Yvie to bring out the parts of her she needed constant reminding were there.

So when Brooke Lynn Hytes was 33 years, 3 months, 19 days, 7 hours, and 7 minutes old, sitting on her red line train, the familiar whirl of the Chicago transit easing as the train car rose above ground, she pulled out her phone once again.

She’d contemplated calling them in her office earlier that morning, but that desire dissipated the second she’d shoved the flyer into the depths of her purse, as if it had some Mary Poppins transfigurative ability to make it cease to exist. But as she sat now, foot incessantly shaking as she sat cross-legged, uncomfortable and cramped in her seat, the air full of post-work bliss on a Friday evening, her heart never stopping to catch up to her breath in their ongoing footrace, she texted them.

To: Yves and Lyss

B: I have a problem.  

Y: ugh i’m about to go on :((

A: Hi how are ya to you too, Canada!! B: Sorry I know it’s been a while.

Y: i miss you bitches.

Y: got some mad D last night. forgot to text, sorry bout that

Y: he reminded me of greg from freshman year. but like.. not as high

B: Ew.

Y: sorry brooke catch me up later, dollface, i love you

A: Weed Greg!! haha

A: Brooke, call me bitch!!

Brooke cracked a smile and let it melt into the phone, calming the repetitive movement of her leg. With a sigh she reached into her purse the best way she could, shocking her body when her finger caught the edge of the flyer like it was begging for her attention. She grabbed her headphones, gingerly popping them into her ears as she moved to FaceTime her friend, forever thankful for the excuse to hear her friend’s voice.

“Okay, what’s the tea bitch?” Brooke heard suddenly, acutely aware of the burning glances in her direction.

“Shit, hold on,” she fumbled with the bluetooth, mouthing a few “sorry’s” around her as if anyone had given any real mind. It was the Chicago transit, she was hardly what anyone was looking at, and although Brooke was hardly one of the warm and gentle souls her home country had been known to produce, apologizing was a knee-jerk reaction she couldn’t shed.

“I don’t even feel bad for you, Miss Airpods,” Alyssa scuffed, before smiling at her brightly, simultaneously distracted but fully attentive to Brooke at the same time.

“What’re you up to?” Brooke asks, before paying closer attention to the shadows in the mirror evidently behind her. “Wait, Lyss, are you teaching right now?”

“Yeah, they’re taking a little juice break, it’s fine, what’s up? No time for the how was your day blah blah bullshit let’s go!”

Brooke shook her head gently with a heavy side of you’re nuts , and I love you , before breathing out a sigh that’d been trapped in her for hours.

“So I turned away another dancer today, and I don’t even know why, she just… made me feel… I don’t know.”

“ - Horny?” Alyssa finished, Brooke laughed, looking around her on the off chance of another headphone malfunction.

“No, I don’t know, just… weird. Like I suddenly wasn’t me, anymore. And not in a bad way, which is worse. And then she invited me to see her show tonight, to watch her dance, and it’s like part of me knows I should stand my ground because we’ve already gotten so many new dancers this month from other agents in the office and I already said no and what kind of talk will there be if Ice Queen Brooke Hytes is seeing little dance shows around the city like she has nothing else to do with her Friday night, which by the way, she doesn’t because she hasn’t gotten laid in like, 3 years, and lives alone with her fucking cats but no one can know that or else no one in the industry will take me seriously because I’m not even a dancer anymore so what do I even know and what the fuck do I do,” Brooke realizes she’s not even looking in Alyssa’s direction when she finishes with a huff, feeling the unfamiliar slump of her shoulders.

“Okay, Canada, breathe for me baby,” she looks at her through the glow of the screen, her eyes piercing her from miles away. She waits till she has Brooke’s eyes before telling her sternly, “you are a dancer. And a beautiful one at that. So don’t you think for a minute that part of you has gone away. And secondly, bitch, you need to get laid. Go fuck this girl, please, for my sake,” she gives her a knowing glance.

Brooke takes a breath, doing her best to muster a smile. “I don’t know her. And I certainly can’t do that. Can your kids hear you saying all this?”

“Their moms are still paying me, so it really doesn’t seem to matter all that much, do it?” she laughs. “Listen sweetie. It’s gonna be fine. Just sneak in the back, pull out one of your Gi-von-bur-berry-froo-froo sunglasses I know you have all incognito like. That way she doesn’t gotta see you there. And please report back, okay?” Alyssa turns her head to face to the side of the camera, looking out at her class and raising her voice. “Brooke should go, right girls?”

Brooke couldn’t help but roll her eyes with a laugh as she heard the thundering chorus of “yeah!” in only a way six-year-olds can.

“See bitch? I gotta go, but I love you honey,” Alyssa blows her a kiss, winking as she ends the call, Brooke feeling the lingering click of her tongue as she stares at the homepage on her phone, once carrying her best friend inside of it. She looks up, taking the headphones out, and feels the screeching halt as the red line stops at Fullerton, a few blocks from Brooke’s high-rise apartment. She can feel the soft carpet of her bedroom phantom-brush against her feet as she wills herself to stand, but locks her knees as they’re set into place, the train going as soon as it stops past the comfort of her little corner of Chicago.

Her legs were moving before her mind was, like her body knew what it needed before she did (it always had), and she found herself clutching the flyer as she stood in front of the advertised address.

The building was hardly anything to look at, in fact Brooke had done several double takes before finally deciding that yes, this was the place, but it was in high contrast to the modest theatre she had been expecting. It almost gave off a thick air of mystery and palpable intrigue, and Brooke braced herself as she slipped on the sunglasses and walked in.

She walked down a narrow hallway lit only by a small red exit sign, the only noise coming from the reverberated click of her heels and the muffled pre-show music and murmuring in the background.

After turning a corner she guessed was where she needed to be, entering a maze she was far too lost in to begin with, she barely registers a girl in a less than decorous bodysuit collecting donations, her eyes growing wide as Brooke drops in two one hundred dollar bills like they’re pennies in a fountain, her eyes locked ahead of her as she enters in the performance space. It’s a typical Chicago, rent-by-the-hour black box space, modestly filled with decoration and filled with rows of seats. Brooke’s thankful for the crowd that’s generated already, carefully slipping into an inconveniently placed (but conveniently for Brooke) stage left corner seat that slips out of the glow of the followspot on stage. She curses her deep-seated punctuality as the time of 8:48pm glows on her phone screen, and slips off her sunglasses, looking around casually. As she takes a breath, she’s finally aware of her surroundings, and namely who she’s surrounded by. She’s known growing up in the entertainment world that oftentimes small-venue performances such as these generally are only put on for resume building and so that people like Brooke can attend. On any given night you could have three people to a full house and it’s all considered normal. But as Brooke looks around to the people that surround her, she’s overcome by the unlikely undercurrent of excitement in the air.

There’s a fog machine intermittantly blowing the thick clouds into the already-stuffed room, and Brooke’s thankful for the particular blanket to her lungs giving her something to drown in.

Of course it’s popular, she thinks, I’d want to see Vanessa too .

She sees people of all walks of life, but a dedicated concert-like mosh pit of men surround the stage itself, and Brooke has to bite her tongue at the lack of etiquette. She knew this wasn’t a ballet performance, but it sure as hell wasn’t a display at the Chicago Zoo.

Her phone buzzes in her lap, giving her the reminded to silence it, the timing glowing 8:59pm as she takes one more glance at her notifications, quickly opening one from Alyssa to ground her.

From: Lyss

A: Bitch you’re motha fuckin Brooke Lynn Hytes, just like your momma say (maybe not the motha fuckin part) but you got this!! You’re gonna be just fine. That bitch is lucky she gets to be eye-fucked by you. ;)

Brooke smiles, slipping it into her void purse but this time so she can save it for later.

The lights begin to dim, and her stomach flips like it did before a dance recital, as if she were one of Pavlov’s dogs salivating at the ding of a bell.

With another gratuitous gust of fog, three girls come out in the dim, low lighting as the soft bump of a familiar jazz tune begins to play. There’s a few faint whistles of recognition from the audience, but nothing matching the energy of the pre-show volume they’d been living in before. Brooke recognized the song from one of her freshman dance classes, feeling the shadow pain of her teenage pointe shoes as she sees the figures enter the stage, each of the girl’s faces concealed by a Bob Fosse inspired black-brimmed hat. They’re snapping along to the rhythm, clad in full trench coats with the peak of a fishnet tight peeping out below the hem as they straddle individual bar stools. While it was a departure from her traditional eye, it wasn’t anything groundbreaking. They were in Chicago, after all, and Roxie Hart’s name had been spilled far too often for Brooke’s, and just about every talent agent’s in the city’s liking.

She cranes her neck, still not completely able to make out which one was Vanessa, the black of the coats swallowing the figure of the dancers. They’re all talented, clearly limber albeit a little traditionally stiff in style. As she watches them move from jazz kicks to jazz squares she’s hit with the sudden pang of realization that there’s no way she’ll be able to sign this girl, and she’s even thinking about leaving at intermission because the thought of lying to the poor girl when she gets that follow up email a week later is simply too hard to stomach and oh -

Oh.

First she hears it, then she sees it: the deafening beat of the bass, the inharmonious uproar of cheers and applause, the soft thud of the trench coats hitting the ground.

Any doubt she had finding Vanessa was relieved in an instant as she stepped out to take center stage, a mass of hands clawing at her feet, revealing her glowing skin in the flashing club-like trance of lights, wearing nothing but a small red bodysuit, dangerously sheer and lacy along her mid section. The girls behind her were wearing similar ensembles, coated in black and white, but Vanessa stood front and center, moving her hips impossibly slow and tantalizing to the beat. Brooke doesn’t know the song, and it doesn’t matter. The music radiating from the delicate trace of Vanessa’s inner thighs as she moves into the splits, and effortlessly steps out of them and into her next move and her next move and her next move could move mountains. The men in the front now suddenly became Brooke’s kindred spirits as she watched them wave one’s at her, swallowing back a bitter taste in her mouth as she watched in slow motion: Vanessa grabbed one of the men’s hands, sensually pulling him on stage, her finger light touches making it evident he was doing all the work to hoist himself up.

Vanessa looks powerful, endearing and dominating at the same time as she pushes him down into the stool, his eyes locked on her like he suddenly didn’t know how to use words anymore.

Brooke wasn’t sure she did either.

She works her magic on him like its a practiced spell, bending, arching her back, all while flawlessly executing technique Brooke’s Ballet D’Amerique troupe couldn’t dream of doing. Brooke swears she feels her breath leave her body as she leaves him high and dry after moving to kiss him on the lips, lingering enough to make the whole room want her more than they already did (if that was even possible) before moving away with a snap, wiping her bottom lip with her thumb as she walked away, finishing her number.

The millisecond between the end of the song and the audience reaction is tangible - Brooke swears she can feel everyone’s heartbeat in tandem before it’s simply too overwhelming to handle. She doesn’t even notice when she’s on her feet, slipping into the group-think of the crowd and losing herself in the moment.

Vanessa looks out at the crowd, smiling, blowing kisses, absolutely eating up every drop of praise the audience has to give her. Brooke, in any other given moment would be shaking her head, feeling herself collapse, feel terribly inadequate, or any delectable entree featuring all three.

But she was mesmerized. Vanessa’s eyes were sparkling under the harsh lights, the red of her costume so commanding it’s like she was daring the crowd to stop.

Her eyes scanning. Her eyes.

Fuck.

It’s brief, but it’s enough. Their eyes meet, and Brooke’s body once again has her moving, anywhere, far, far away, thanking her photo-oriented memory as she once again navigates the delicate maze of the building that’s now become her sacred alter.

She doesn’t stop until she feels the rush of cold air, the whirling of the red line train, and the soft carpet of her bedroom.

Brooke clicks off her phone by her bed, the familiar glow softening for the night.

But no sooner than she sets it down is she ripping it from its resting spot, eyes glazing over the email she hadn’t dared believe would come so soon.

From: vanessamateo@hotmail.com

To: brookehytes@matthewsagency.com

Ms. Hytes,

I’ll see you Monday?

Xo,

Vanessa

[2ptonpt]

I was Happier with You

Masterlist

This work is technically part six of a seven part series based on songs from Ed Sheeran’s album, Divide. This chapter and “You Look Happier” can be read without the other chapters though.

Rami Malek x Reader

Word Count: 3,349

Your original plan had been to stay with Camryn and Sebastian at their apartment, but they had gotten almost a year break between their filming schedules and you didn’t want to crash their long term vacation if you could help it. So you ended up crashing at Joe’s until the apartment you had your eye on opened up at the end of the current contract, but you never ended up moving out. Joe had been there to comfort you; understanding what it was like to have to walk away from someone you loved but could no longer keep yourself around. He understood there wasn’t a limit on how many tears needed to be shed; no limit on how long it takes to get over someone.

The funny thing was, it didn’t take you as long as you thought. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself. You quickly found yourself falling for Joe. He was hesitant at first about the whole situation, with still being decent friends with Rami. But after he noticed Rami keeping to himself after the split, he didn’t mind as much. Eventually Rami stopped asking about YN during their chats.

It was five months after you had moved in when the press had really started having a field day with your and Joe’s new relationship. You had been out together, seen holding hands and sharing sweet kisses only a few weeks after you moved in, but hadn’t really posted much on social media about it. You had started feeling more comfortable, so you’d taken a selfie of you and Joe lying in bed, hair messed up and clearly lacking clothes under the sheets pulled up to your chests.

@itsyagirlynn: Sunday mornin, rain is fallin @joe_mazzello :*

@joe_mazzello: You need to start sharing the covers.

@benhardy1: Thanks for stealing my man @itsyagirlynn. Whatever will I do now :”(

@mrgwilymlee: What am I, chopped liver?

@imcammystan: You guys are sickeningly cute. Give @imsebastianstan some pointers @joe_mazzello.

The comments from your friends had eased the butterflies in your stomach. You had finally stopped constantly thinking about the what-ifs and started thinking about your future. You had a great group of friends who had been there for you during this trying time. They had stuck up for you after small rumors had started circulating when you two had been seen out on your first public date at O’Reilly’s all those months ago.

Things were going splendidly, if you didn’t think about him. You couldn’t… because if you did, then it would just uncap all the heartbreaking feelings you had managed to bottle up and stuff way down deep. You were happy with Joe, and you loved him. Didn’t you?

@ighandle1: MOM WHYD YOU LEAVE DAD

@ighandle2: she didn’t wait long did she?

@ighandle3: bish a homie hopper. Git it.

@ighandle4: You guys are the definition of cute and we stan a beautiful couple.

@ramimalek liked your photo: Sunday Mornin, rain is falling –

@joe_mazzello: You guys are all just jealous. Sucks to be you!

@imcammystan: You eggrolls need to get a life! Whomever she chooses to love is her own damn business. You got a problem you can come to me you pigheaded baboons!!!!

@LucyBoynton: <3

Seeing the negative comments littered among the usual fanfare of your Instagram hurt you more than you would have liked, but you had come to accept that you would never be able to make everyone happy so you settled for just trying to make yourself happy. Five months quickly turned into almost a year. A year without Rami by your side… But a year with Joe. You were happier, weren’t you?

~*’*~*’*~*’*~

You’d been having a movie night. Friday you’d started a Marvel movie marathon off with Captain America: The First Avenger. Now it was Sunday evening and you’d started on Disney classics.

You hadn’t been paying attention as Joe had put in a new DVD from the entertainment center, but regretted letting him pick the next one. The opening scenes of Beauty and the Beast started playing on the large screen in front of you and you tried not to stiffen up. Joe mistook your stiffness for a cold spell and snuggle closer to you, wrapping the comforter closer around your bodies.

By the time the ballroom dance scene started you could feel a panic attack coming on. There was a slight flush to your cheeks and the hot sting of tears tickled your eyes. You tried to keep your breathing even so Joe wouldn’t notice you were getting upset. You started feeling your back muscles tense and shiver along your spine as Belle walked down the steps.

You had started counting the windows in the living room, breathing deep and even. Joe had tightened his grip around your shoulders, rubbing his hand along your bicep lovingly. You were counting the windows in the living room, cursing yourself for looking at the spots where the windows were in your and Rami’s apartment. Rami’s apartment… You nearly jumped when a large hand ran down your arm and gripped your clammy hand.

Joe effortlessly pulled you off the couch and into his arms. You closed your eyes as he softly pressed his lips to yours. You were mad at yourself as tears fell down your face. You pulled your lips away and rested your head on Joe’s shoulder. He chuckled deep in his chest and tightened his grip around you. You choked back a sob, but you knew Joe felt your body shudder as you hiccupped. As the last note of Tale as Old as Time played quietly, Joe leaned down and whispered in your ear. The roughness in his voice surprised you.

“You still love him.” You blew hot air out of your nose at Joe’s statement.

“Course I still love him – I always will, but that doesn’t mean- I’m happy with you. I love you, Joe.”

“I love you too, but you were happier with him.” You were both crying silently now, avoiding eye contact but clutching to each other tightly. Neither of you wanted to have this conversation, but deep down you both knew it needed to happen.

Joe had felt your panic attack coming on when the movie started. He’d had a knot in his stomach the whole film and didn’t want to bring up the conversation you needed to have. He loved you dearly and wouldn’t trade a moment of these last six months; but he couldn’t watch you rip yourself apart anymore. You still loved Rami. You missed him terribly. Joe would be damned if he was the reason that you two weren’t together. He was mad at himself for letting things get this far.

“Don’t beat yourself up, Joey. I let us happen too.” God it was like you could read his thoughts. He met your eyes and smiled solemnly. You both let out a soft laugh as you continued to sway softly, movie long forgotten.

“I’m sorry, YN.”

“I am, too.” You shared a chaste kiss before you continued your slow waltz for a few more minutes before pulling away. You both fell asleep in each other’s arms that night, savoring one more night together. Surprisingly, as you felt your lids drooping closed, focusing on Joe’s strong heartbeat beneath your head, you felt at peace with how things were closing between you and Joe.

~*’*~*’*~*’*~

A month after you had moved out of Joe’s and into the spare room of Cam and Seb’s condo overlooking Central Park, you still couldn’t bring yourself to get a hold of Rami. It wasn’t like you were far away- your old apartment and the Stan’s was only a couple blocks away from each other. Less than a ten minute walk at a casual pace. You found yourself walking the complete opposite direction each time you tried to go there.

You and Joe still hung out on the regular but had become public with the mutual split. Both of you were content with how you’d ended things and all your friends were- as always- supportive. The fans hadn’t stopped with tagging you and Rami in posts and comments over every platform about getting back together; while others kept tagging you and Joe together. The former had only posted once about how you two wouldn’t be reuniting in that manner and to stop bugging him about it. You hadn’t seen anything from Rami concerning the fan-fueled feud. You’d logged out of all your social media over a week ago and hadn’t logged back in.

You were reading out on the patio, deeply entranced in the printed words as the world buzzed on around you. It was the first week of May and you had all the doors and windows open in the apartment. A comfortable breeze was wafting through the air, carrying the scent of blooming flowers from the streets below.

Camryn and Sebastian were watching the live feed of the MET Gala. All three of you had been formally invited but you had declined, not being brave enough to chance running into Rami during one of the biggest televised events of the year. Cam and Seb had declined as well, not wanting to leave you alone at the apartment. Cam had tried to get you to attend but hadn’t succeeded and didn’t try to push it like she normally would. She knew you’d come around eventually.

You were interrupted from a rather exciting part of your book by Seb’s booming voice calling your name. You jumped and turned your head to face the man. He had changed his lounging position on the plush couch to sitting on the edge of the cushion, hands clasped together, elbows on his knees, vein almost too visible on his forehead. Cam popped her head over the kitchen counter where she had been making a snack for you all.

“YN, get in here now, I said!” The pleading tone in his voice was unnerving you. Camryn and you got to the living room at the same time. You cocked your hip and bit at your thumb nail as you watched the scene unfolding on the flat screen. Cam gripped your shoulder when she heard you inhale sharply.

You watched with bated breath as the camera closed in on a red-faced Rami trying to contain his anger towards the interviewer but failing horribly. His eyes were bugged out slightly and his lips were pursed tightly in a thin line. He was dressed in a black velvet tuxedo, looking like sex on legs – should be illegal, honestly. You blinked your eyes rapidly and redirected your attention to the conversation happening on the red carpet.

~*’*~*’*~*’*~

This was the second interviewer Rami had dealt with that had asked him about Joe and you splitting. He didn’t know what had happened between you two, but he knew that it was mutual and there were no hard feelings about it. Joe had told him that much after you had moved out, but had said he needed to talk to you for the rest of the story. This current woman though, she was really grinding his gears. She kept pressing about what occurred when you had left.

“You know what. I’m so sick and tired of you guys sticking your noses where they don’t fucking belong.” Rami didn’t even care that he was cursing on live TV. He was physically sick to his stomach about this whole thing. The woman looked shocked to say the least, she made a move to remove the microphone from in front of Rami’s face but he grabbed it and held it firmly. He didn’t wait to see if she’d pull away before he let go and continued with his rant.

“I’ve lost the best thing I ever had. Eight years. Eight years of loving YN and it’s all gone because of you god damned people. We were happy, you know?! We were about to get married, start a family. And it’s all gone now. It’s all fucking gone because you-” He stopped mid-sentence, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The woman held her hand up still, arm slightly shaking at the adrenalin of catching Rami’s raw, uncut rant on live TV.

Rami blinked the tears from his eyes before angrily wiping them off his face, not caring that he was close to sobbing on live TV. He looked down at his feet, letting the tears fall down to darken the red carpet below. It wasn’t the pap and media’s fault that he had lost you. It was his. He had so many chances to fix things, you had tried to fix it for six months and he had been too reserved about your relationship to make any type of statement about it. It would have been so simple…

“You know what-“ He smiled tightly, ignoring his tears, and threw his arms out to his sides, palms up.

“It’s not your fault. I’m sorry, you’re just doing your job. It’s my fault YN and I didn’t work. She knew the rumors weren’t true. She wasn’t ever worried about our relationship. That’s not what led to her leaving me. It was the simple fact that my dumb ass wouldn’t stick up for us to all of you and dispel the rumors. And I didn’t. I didn’t stick up for the best thing that has ever happened to me. And that’s on me. It’s all on me. And now I can’t fix it.” Rami had stopped crying. A melancholy look graced his trouble face now. He had finally admitted it out loud instead of in the dark, lonely confines of his troubled mind.

He didn’t wait for the reporter to say anything before he backed away and ran up the carpeted steps, ignoring the other cameras, reporters, and guests. He walked calmly to the bathroom where he composed himself for a few minutes before heading to his table.

~*’*~*’*~*’*~

You stood, mouth agape, staring in bewilderment at the TV screen, which has changed to a commercial now. Cam’s hand left your shoulder for a moment before poking you with your ringing phone. You didn’t even glance at the caller ID as you took it and answered. Your hands were shaking as you held the phone close to your ear. Joe’s excited voice filled your eardrum.

“YN are you watching the MET!? Rami, he just – “

“I know. I’m watching right now.”

“YN you need to go there. Like now. This is your chance!” Joe was talking so loud Cam and Seb could hear him through the earpiece. You glanced at the couple and widened your eyes as they frantically nodded their heads in agreement with Joe. As you stood silently in shock, your phone started vibrating with text message notifications.

“Yeah.” You hung up before Joe could say another word of encouragement. You turned slowly towards your closest friends only to find them missing from the living room. You blinked slowly and tried to gather your thoughts about how you were going to confront Rami.

What should you wear? When should you leave? What should you say? You were shaken from your thoughts as Sebastian stuffed your wallet into your hands and Camryn shoved you onto the couch. She started slipping your tennis shoes on your feet as Sebastian threw a lightweight jacket to you. They pulled you up and led you to the front door. You looked down at your capri leggings, tank top, tennis shoes, and thin jacket. Your frantic eyes stared up at your friends.

“What should I even-“

“Anything babe, literally anything that comes to mind. Just say something for fucks sake, YNN.” Seb nodded his head in agreement to Cam’s answer.

“What she said.” With that, they shoved you out the front door.

~*’*~*’*~*’*~

Rami barely made it through the opening speeches or appetizers before he excused himself to the bathroom. He carefully splashed cold water over his face before toweling off and making his decision. He was going to stop acting like a pussy, man up, and go after you. The Stan’s apartment was maybe fifteen minutes away if he jogged. He knew you’d be there. He didn’t say goodbye to anyone, and didn’t see anyone on the front staircase as he walked out. He was temporarily blinded by the unexpected flash of the pap cameras as he opened the doors.

When his vision cleared he nearly choked at you standing below him at the bottom of the limestone steps, news media vans and paparazzi surrounding you behind the velvet ropes. You had your hair up in a bun that was falling out haphazardly, with leggings and a jacket that he had bought you a couple years ago when you were camping at Port St. Joe in Florida.

You didn’t really know what to expect once you had gotten to the MET, but Rami almost falling out of the front doors was not one of the scenarios that played out in your head. You still were trying to compose some sort of comprehendible sentence as he ran down the steps two at a time, arms out to his sides for balance. As he neared you, your vision blurred as tears threatened to escape. You saw his green eyes glisten as well. He came to an abrupt halt in front of you, mouth agape, and hands hanging awkwardly at his side.

“That suit is a sin.” Your eyes widened in horror and shock as you realized you had said exactly what Cam had told you to- the first and only coherent thought that had come to your mind. Rami’s glistening eyes widened a bit. His mouth hung open slightly, not quite sure how to reply to that.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry Rami. Cam said just to say anything because I needed to say something and ever since I saw you earlier on TV that was what stuck.”

“You saw that? Earlier I mean… On the red carpet?” Rami’s eyes downcast to his shoes, kicking an invisible pebble. You tentatively grabbed both his hands and brought them to your chest, covering them with your own. Rami made eye contact with you when he felt how fast and erratically your heart was beating. It matched his own.

“Yeah. I don’t know what to say. I think I’m still in shock to be honest.”

“Yeah, me too… I- I was leaving to come find you.”

“You were?”

“Yeah… listen YN, I meant everything I said earlier. I didn’t know you’d be watching I swear. I miss you and need you and I don’t even know how I’m still functioning without you. I didn’t want to try to get a hold of you when you were with Joe. You two looked so happy. So much happier than we had been those last few months before I fucked it all up and let you walk out.” He took a breath and you stole a chance to interject, hoping that it would get your point across that you just wanted to forget this all ever happened.

“I was happier with you. It’s always been you.” You both shared a tear filled wide smile before Rami continued.

“I don’t know how or what I can do to make it up to you but I am begging you to give me another chance.” Rami started to kneel down, and at the slight roar of the unwelcomed audience behind you, you pulled him up into your arms and kissed him sloppily on the lips before pulling away.

“You already did make it up to me. It’s all I’ve ever wanted is for you to just stick up for what we have to everyone. Even if they don’t mean anything to us. You don’t have to beg for me, you never lost me. Not really.” You both were crying openly now, the paps and news cameras long forgotten. Rami cupped your face in his large hands and kissed you deeply.

“I love you baby. I love you so much.”

“I love you too Rami. More than anything.”

[excitingrbl]

Chicken Soup for the Hardened Souls

What I learned at a young age is that it wasn’t safe to be vulnerable. This wasn’t some snap conclusion I came to. It was seeing how those who expressed emotions outwardly, were treated. I watched my crying, sad mother, often times in confusion. I paid attention to how much she’d write (while sad) and how her moods would shift depending on how her interactions with my father materialized. I remember my mother being more sad than happy…but when she was happy, it was infectious. She has a smile that can light up an arena.

I paid attention to how my brother and sister were treated by both of my parents. My dad wasn’t with that vulnerability shit from mother nor my siblings. It seemed to be my sister’s constant fight…to just be. Emotionally, she wanted to get it all out every opportunity she had but my dad and, oddly so, my mother were always there to gaslighting her emotional expressions. To others she might come off as [overly] dramatic but I don’t know her to be capable of expressing herself any differently. It was always too much for my parents though, even when her outbursts were warranted.

My brother’s situation was a little different. Any signs of “softness” and it seemed my dad would swoop in to kill it immediately. My brother’s sensitivity wasn’t like my sisters. You didn’t have to necessarily walk on eggshells around him and his feelings. He’s a naturally loving and affectionate person. If he likes you, it will 9 times out of 10, feel like he loves you. He likes to hug and be near the people he’s fond of, as much as possible. In a way, I think that’s his most genuine expression of self he can offer to others so when it’s not reciprocated, you can see his sensitivity surface, as if you swung on him and connected. My mom never stopped his emotional output because I think it closely resembles her own. But low and behold, it always seemed like my father was there to snuff out any indications that my brother could care about someone other than himself. Vulnerability has never been one of my father’s strong suits.

So after watching this happen enough, I began to reason that the safest I was gonna get living with this family was to suppress anything that would allow room for vulnerability. Sounds easy enough but there’s this very human thing we all experience regardless of our home environments. Emotions. While they’re fleeting, there’s no way to stop them from coming. Suppression of emotion doesn’t even stop the feeling from coming. It’s what I’d do with it when it’d come, that ended up mattering to me the most. Emotions are tricky though because even the good ones coming at the wrong time can be a problem. I had to learn how to suppress those too. All of this just to survive in a home that still constantly felt like I was drowning in emotions.

If I had to speak on it to those 4 people I watched, I’m not even sure they’d understand. I take that back. They’d get it but I’m sure excuses would follow because there’s always reasons for why we all behave the way we do, right? I’m hurt so I hurt you so you should excuse your pain because I’m in pain. Yet another reason to suck it up and not be vulnerable. No matter how much you share, someone somewhere has a reason to be in more pain than you and that’s why you should feel less about your own shit.

But then I met a tiny person who didn’t give a damn about my need to suppress vulnerability. All she wanted was to know she’s loved and it required more than a daily “I love you.” And when I look at her, I think about myself as a kid and who I might have become if I wasn’t so terrified of outwardly emoting… if I didn’t think something bad was going to happen if I shared how I felt… if someone put more weight on showing me what love felt like outside of obligatory responsibility to my welfare. I didn’t have The Bug because I’d always dreamed of being a mom. I didn’t have The Bug to “keep” her father around. I didn’t have The Bug because I was lonely and needed a companion. She’s here because my body accomplished something I was told it couldn’t and I was intrigued. Being intrigued about human life might not be the best reason to bring a child into this world but fuck it. She’s here now. I knew she’d change my life and regardless of how difficult those changes have been and continue to be, I wanted something different. I knew I had to care more than I’d allowed myself to in the past because children ALWAYS deserve that from their parents.

What I didn’t take into consideration was that I HAD TO be vulnerable. It has required ending friendships with people I genuinely liked because the changes I needed to make (to be a good mom) had nothing to do with them. Choosing to be vulnerable isn’t like deciding to wear a short sleeve shirt versus long sleeve. It’s like deciding to stop dressing like it’s casual Friday everyday and wearing a suit and tie …everyday. It’s like deciding to go cold turkey on drinking and smoking habits that you’ve had for 20 years. Being around people who still have those habits will naturally create conflict because you’re no longer doing the same things they’re doing. Your entire mindset changes and with vulnerability, you can’t help revealing damn near every sensitivity that exists in your tortured soul…and any new ones you’ll inevitably acquire. Because that’s how life works. As long as you’re alive and allow yourself to feel AND grow, you open yourself up to caring about things you probably once paid no mind.

I’d managed to keep people around me who also didn’t fuck with vulnerability or if they did, they didn’t do it with me because I wasn’t that compassionate of a person when it came to sharing feelings. Imagine knowing these were no longer your people. Imagine knowing this damn vulnerability meant shedding the skin that had been so comfortable for some new skin that could very well get you hurt. Imagine knowing how good this would be for your child but how painful it’d be for yourself. Imagine making the decision anyway. Probably one of the more crazier things I’ve done but absolutely the most necessary. I’ll be 40 this year and I can attest to the fact that we’re never too old to learn. I’ve been on this acceptance of vulnerability road for 10 years and I don’t necessarily like it but it has improved my emotional intelligence. I don’t like how vulnerability feels, not because it isn’t normal. Vulnerability IS normal. The removal/suppression of it, IS NOT. I don’t like how it feels because there’s NEVER any guarantee that if you’re vulnerable with someone, they’ll reciprocate. There is no guarantee that they won’t use your sharing against you. There is no guarantee that they won’t hurt you. I had guarantees when I steered clear of it… I knew certain people wouldn’t be attracted to me. I knew I was safe because people don’t REALLY like assholes (no matter how much they say they’re one too). If few(er) people like you, there’s less people to (emotionally) hurt you because there’s less people who know HOW to hurt you. But there’s also less people who’ll love you.

And while that don’t really matter to me because safety (mainly of my feelings) has always been my priority, it matters a hell of a lot to my kid. I see how solemn she gets when she doesn’t feel like she’s loved. I’ve known how that’s felt but suppression and blocking out large chunks of your life makes it not matter. She reminds me everyday that it does matter. It matters that we feel like we’re loved because then we’re able to pay that same feeling forward. And I hate that I feel SO MUCH now…just because I’ve decided to be vulnerable. It’s like everything I’ve ever felt, has been resurrected to haunt me for not feeling it sooner. Also combined with everything I feel in my current life. It’s overwhelming and makes me want to hide in my bedroom under the covers while Netflix plays until they’re also concerned that I’m hiding from them too. I don’t want to feel this much either. It’s been like committing to having a heart attack every damn day. The pain is…too much and I remember why I steered clear of it in the first place. I don’t want to be heralded for having a high tolerance to pain. I didn’t get that because I’m some mutant that Professor Xavier forgot about. It developed because of nerve damage and telling myself not to care or at least not to show that I do.

I don’t want to be smiled at because I’m strong. This strength is attached to sadness, what should have been unbearable pain, struggle, unloving shit, and abandonment. Yet, I’m praised for it because people always want what they think they don’t already possess. I just want to feel safe and that’s where my constant conflict with vulnerability comes in… it ain’t a safe place. I want it to be because I see how good it is for my daughter. I want to know what she knows at 9 years old that tells her it’s safe to be vulnerable but my 39 year old ass still says, “maybe it isn’t.” Because it can’t solely be environment…or can it? Is it really that simple? That, had we grown up in environments where it was okay to be vulnerable, we’d be okay with expressing it? And after asking these questions repeatedly, I end up at the same place. It is simple. I’ve just spent most of my life complicating it because of EVERYTHING I’d have to change. I keep coming back to this same spot so you’d think I’d let it settle in… but I’m still turning into that scared kid just trying to figure out how to not be in so much pain. This lands me back at square one of the same stupid cycle…knowing there’s a better way to see this but too afraid to totally let go, just in case this vulnerability shit doesn’t work out. I don’t need a therapist to tell me what I already know. I’ve told myself and my daughter’s face makes it clear every time I stifle her vulnerability. And that’s usually the trigger…her face. I don’t want her to do what I’ve done because this isn’t healthy. I want her to feel so she learns the healthy way of dealing with her emotions. I don’t want her to learn how to create huge band-aids to temporarily stop the gaping wounds from gushing all over the place. I want her to learn how to heal. And that’s why I ultimately know this 10 year journey of vulnerability has to continue. It must so I can break a cycle that should have never started.

[suckitsurveys]

What is your favorite type of cat? Ramona, Saké, and Friday.

If you could delete any word from existence, which word would it be and why? Tr*mp. It makes my blood curdle when I hear that name.

What is your favorite swearword? Fuck.

What celebrity do you wish you looked more like? I’m okay.

If you had your way, what color(s) would you dye your hair? I do have my way and it’s currently blue and purple.

Do you support the LGBTQ community? If not, state your reasons. You are entitled to your opinions. It’s not an opinion if it’s diminishing an entire group of people--you’re just an asshole.

Do you like seafood? If so, what is your favorite? If not, what is your favorite type of food? I LOVE seafood. Crab is my favorite.

Have you ever gone vegan/vegetarian? Nope and I never will. I’m trying to cut back on my red meat intake though and stick to fish and poultry only.

Have you ever eaten a veggie burger? I have.

If you could master any sport, which one would you choose? Swimming.

If you could meet any major political figure, who would it be? What would you say to him/her? I’d like to line up every republican and punch each one in the face.

Do you play any unique instruments? No.

In school, did you take any classes to learn how to play any instruments? No.

Do you like applesauce? Sure.

Do you know any German words? Sure.

How about any Portuguese words? No.

Did you actually pay attention in Spanish class? Yeah.

If you drink Monster, what is your favorite flavor? If you don’t drink Monster, why not? I don’t like energy drinks. Do you think any of your family members voted for Mitt Romney? Did you/would you? I don’t know.

Do you have a reason to hate anyone at the moment? Yes.

Is it easier for you to forgive or to pretend it never happened? Depends.

Are you one of those people who remembers EVERYTHING? I remember a lot of really weird details about things.

Do you sometimes pretend you don’t remember something about someone? No? I can’t think of a reason I’d need to do this?

Do you own any Webkinz stuffed animals? If so, do you have a Webkinz online account? Do you still go on it? No.

If you had/have a Club Penguin account, how old were you when you got it? I never had one.

Do you own any Nintendo video game consoles/handhelds? I have a GBC and a DS laying around somewhere.

Do/did you ever own a Blackberry? Nope.

Do you know the band Noah & the Whale? Yes.

Do you listen to Ingrid Michaelson? I don’t not listen to her.

If you have a song stuck in your head, what’s the name of it & the artist? Imagine by Ariana Grande.

Do you know who Sue Lyons is? How about Dominique Swain? Nope.

Unpopular opinion time. Be honest. The Beatles - overrated or not? Both.

What religion were you raised in? Are you still that religion, if you had one? I wasn’t raised in any religion. We weren’t baptized. My mom was a very spiritual person and I am pretty sure she believed in God in one way or another, but she didn’t follow a religion. She had her own version of faith. My dad just didn’t care about that stuff at all, haha. They were both respectful of people who did follow religion and I felt like they would have been/would be cool with whatever paths my sister and I decided to lead.

What religion/spiritual path intrigues you the most, if any? I like the idea that people live on in spirit in nature, and that there are spirits that control nature and shit, whatever that would be called.

What ancient culture intrigues you the most, if any? Greek.

What was/is your favorite subject in school? Sociology.

What was the last name of your second grade teacher? Mrs. Yamanaka.

Who was your favorite teacher of all time? My Kindergarten teacher Mrs. Furuta. She taught us so much; not just basic kindergarten stuff. We learned about different cultures and she set up these “trips” where we’d pretend we were in an airplane and “fly” to the country we were learning about. She would set up these “shops” where we could “buy” food and trinkets from the country with fake money. We had an EPIC fort we build out of boxes. We celebrated the Chinese New Year and did a ton of origami. I remember her class vividly and fondly. She recently reached out to my sister (who also had her) and I which was a really nice surprise and showed how much she loved her students.

Were/are you a teacher’s pet? In that class ^ yes. I could already read by the time I started Kindergarten and she’d ask me to read to the class every once in a while, which I LOVED.

Do you like pink lemonade? I don’t mind it but it’s not my first choice.

Do you have a Spotify account? I do.

Firefox or Chrome? Firefox for work, Chrome for everything else.

Safari or Internet Explorer? Neither, thanks.

Windows or Mac? Windows.

Desktop or laptop? Either is fine. I’m on a desktop currently at work.

What’s your favorite U2 song, if you have one? Eh.

What’s your favorite song that’s playing on the radio, if you have one? Anything Ariana right now.

What’s a song that you remember from your childhood? Graceland by Paul Simon.

Are/were your parents hippies? Yup.

Would you ever consider getting dreadlocks? No because I am white.

If you had a baby girl right now, what would her middle name(s) be? I am never ever ever having kids, but if hell froze over and we did have a daughter, her middle name would be Kay because it’s my mom’s middle name and also Mark’s mom’s middle name.

What heritage does your last name imply? German/Czech.

How about your middle name? I just looked it up because I never knew but apparently it’s Roman?

And first? My first name is Hebrew.

What is your heritage, anyway? German, Czech, Jewish, Finnish, Swedish, some other shit.

Were your parents born in the United States? Most importantly, were you? If not, what country? Yes.

Name an American stereotype? Lol.

Name a stereotype from your country/culture? Nah.

Do you have any paint in your house? Is it wall paint, art paint, or something else? I have art paint.

Do you ever swing at the playground & listen to music? No.

What was your favorite age so far? I don’t know.

What was your least favorite age so far? I don’t know.

Were you/are you in a rush to grow up? Nah.

What’s your opinion on tattoos in the workforce? How about piercings? I see no issue with either.

Do women breastfeeding in public make you feel uncomfortable? Why or why not? Nope. Why should it?

Do you know the band The Last Place You Look? No.

If not, you should check them out. Do you like A Day To Remember? If not, they’re a lot like The Last Place You Look. Cool story.

What is the most annoying commercial you’ve seen/heard this past week? I saw this ad on a YouTube video the other day that was selling some menstrual cup thing and it kept saying how you can’t have sex on your period?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

What is your favorite holiday? Halloween and Christmas.

What holidays do you choose not to participate in, but others celebrate? I’m sure there are a few.

“Happy Holidays,” “Merry Christmas,” or “Merry X-Mas?’ Whatever.

Does it even matter to you which one people say? No.

Why is that every major Christian holiday adopts Pagan traditions in its celebrations? Uh.

[addicted2electronics]

A Tour

Today, I’ve experienced a lot of sadness.

I was woken up by my younger sister, telling me it was 6:40 or something among the lines.. 

Then my brother was yelling at her, once our mother came in the room he said that she was yelling at us for 30 minutes. I didn’t want to get up, and I didn’t say anything.

I’m the oldest, by the way. 

Then once I got up, I was given 6 bucks so that I could get food. Then we got in the car.

It was raining. I didn’t have my phone with me because I left it somewhere else.

We made it to my school and I was late. I had to go in to get a tardy slip, and the electronic dispenser wasn’t working, so I got a little extra late while waiting for that. 

Then I got to my class, Algebra 1 B. The back seats were taken, and that’s where I usually sit to avoid the laughter and the grins that feel like are directed at me, but I’m really not sure.

I had a quiz. Tried napping, but didn’t. I finished it and I feel like I got the content down pretty well, I’m sure I got a high grade. Most of the time, though, I could just feel the grin of the two boys next to me, and they were just pounding down on my patience. 

Class ended, as it should. I walked with my shoulders and head up. At least, it felt like my shoulders and head were up. I walked up the stairs to double check whether or not my Wellness class was in the gym, and turns out, it was. So I walked back downstairs.

While walking downstairs, there was this kid with black hair and mixed skin. He does some stuff that I would never do myself, but I just tell him not to get caught. He was a little aggressive at the beginning of the year, but I made friends with him, telling him that I wasn’t his enemy. Now he has my back.

At least, it seems like that. I’m glad I made friends with him.

I walk down to the gym and everything goes on, we sit down, and this girl next to me just doesn’t stop talking.

I go to complain to one of my “friends,” but the upfront person he is, he just tells me that he straight-up doesn’t care. I’m a little bitter, now, I try and go to talk to a girl that I wanna be friends with, but she says she’s occupied.

I go to do sit-ups, and my friend accidentally hits me in the face. He comes over and laughs, asking if I’m okay. I just say “I got hit in the head.” He head off and hit me by accident on the back a third time.

Today isn’t going well. 

I’m becoming self-aware. Is it because of the way I look? Do I smell bad? I haven’t taken a shower in a couple of days, I must stink. I don’t want anyone else to smell it, so it was a bit of dilemma for me. After a couple of attempts to socialize, I eventually give up and sit up against a wall, secluded off to the side. Some guy that I clapped in smash brothers comes over and he’s like “are you okay?” Something along the lines. I say that I’m fine. 

“Do you want me to leave you alone?”

“Yes.”

The bell is close to ringing. I get up and grab my stuff, and it’s really going downhill for me. I don’t have my phone to complain to my friends.

I start to identify why I’m upset. The people that I want to talk to aren’t talking to me, and I’m growing lonely and depressed because of it. 

I get to English. I sit down and just start looking at dog memes after being told to rest for a moment by the teacher. 

The Lunch bell rings. I sigh, close my laptop, grab my Lunch money, and tell my teacher I’m not feeling the best. She tells me that she cares, but she has to talk about it later. 

I get out of class, and so does the teacher. I slip in my reasoning for my emotions while I walk. Then I go back downstairs, to the first floor. 

Maybe it’s because I look too intimidating. I didn’t feel like smiling, so I just raised my eyebrows. 

I then get to the lunchroom. I grab my food and pay for it, and my best friend is at the front of the line. I walk up to him, and I say “The one person that can make me smile today.” Of course, I was genuinely smiling, and he did so as well. I went to sit down with him and we started talking, I started complaining.. 

Lunch ended pretty soon. Because Lunch started in the middle of English. I start reading through the book that was assigned to me, “The Hate U Give.” I hate a lot of the people in this book, especially this racist girl Hailey. I’m scowling in class, wanting to go the the bathroom and punch something. 

I go to the bathroom. I don’t punch anything, but I swear to myself a couple of times. I go back to class and it ends a little bit afterwards. Now, alongside of having to do my Math notes, I also have to finish a chapter for the book I’m reading in class..

I walk to Creative writing. This was a lot longer than I may be painting it, but I dunno, I just want to get it out. I see one guy that I’m interested in, and maybe he detects that I’m upset, I dunno. I tell him that it’s an off day, he asks why, I tell him it’s because nobody was talking to me. He points out that I was talking to someone while coming to class, but that was an exception from the whole day. I sit down with them, though it isn’t my assigned table. I’m told to move back. I’m starting to feel terrible. I write down my emotions disguised as written work. Nobody hears them. I begin to think.. my book is due on Friday, the second book for the whole semester but the one for this class.. I haven’t even started on it. I begin to stress out as the teacher puts up the main assignment for the day, shedding a coupe of tears silently. I make my eyes only visible to the teacher, but she doesn’t acknowledge them at all. 

I pass out.

A couple of minutes later, it’s time for us to go, and I begin waking up. I stand near the teacher, also where the guy and this other girl I’m friends with are standing. The girl just walks off without acknowledging me and so does the guy. I’m just standing there as I tell myself it’s an off day. I’m in that odd state of mind that you get when you wake up and you’re just neutral for a good 3 minutes. 

The 3 minutes expire. I start getting upset. I see my middle school friend and my ex talking. Neither of them seem to care much about me at the moment. I turn and apologize to the teacher for passing out in class, she says that I didn’t pass out in class. I tell her sorry for slacking on the work. She tells me she’ll help my table out.

I walk out of class, slow as all living hell. I’m in no rush.

I walk in on the bus. My ex, who I’m still friends with, is sitting on the bus. I try to sit next to her like I do some days, but she tells me that she’s saving the seat. 

I walk towards the back, there’s this kid that looks like he’s in 6th or early 7th grade, super skinny. He’s like “you ain’t sitting here.” 

I sit on his legs. He kicks me off. He starts yelling, calling me a little hoe, saying that he doesn’t have room to move as I sit back on the seat. I move my legs to let him move. I tell him that he’s doing this to himself. 

He starts trying to talk to me about my ex, and he doesn’t know I broke up with her. I didn’t tell him anything. Somebody in front of him says something and he’s like “I’m trying to ask flip-phone about his girlfriend.” I had thoughts of hitting this kid, but I didn’t. I turned to him and said “I don’t wanna talk to 45-degree-angle-nose.” A bit of a mouthful, but it gets the point across. 

I endure a bus ride. My stop comes up. The kid’s like “bye!” 

I said “I’m sorry for sitting on your leg. Have a nice day.”

I think I surprised him. “It’s okay. You’re alright.” He mutters after a moment. 

I get off the bus and just stand on the sidewalk until the bus drives off, until this couple walks off, until I feel alone and spaced out enough. 

My eyebrows furrow and my mouth perks down. 

My mom asks me how I am, I tell her I’m not doing very well. I don’t get into it very far.

Then I type my story about today online, hoping I get some positive, wanted attention and maybe some sympathy. 

I know for a fact that I can be very petty and pathetic. 

[denimwrites-archive]

The Meeting (Part 1)

Prompt: I couldn’t get the thought of a tough yet compassionate gangster Davey, so here we are.

Fandom: Newsies (2017) - 1920’s Gangster AU

Pairing: Gangster!Davey Jacobs X Librarian!Reader

Series Summary: You work at the library and show off the meeting rooms in the building to a mysterious man who stops by, not knowing your life would change forever. Katherine warns you about who he really is, and you learn more on your own over the course of a few weeks, being put in danger but too caught up in him to care. But will he catch you if you fall for him or will no one catch you in time?

Chapter Summary: A man asks about the meeting rooms in the library where you work, and about the exits, but you don’t pay it any mind until your friend, Katherine, sheds some light on him.

Word Count: 2,161

Warnings: Language, mention of mob meetings? Nothing too bad yet.

A/N:  Okay, another series started. I have no idea when this will be updated, but I’m going to try for every two weeks? But if things come up, things come up. I’m excited for this though, and I’m going to be trying a different style to kind of show the duality between the reader and Davey. Feedback is definitely appreciated! <3

Part 1 - Part 2

~~~

Awaking to the ringing of your alarm clock, you groan as you stretch. Settling back into bed you attempt to get yourself ready to face the day. Swinging your legs over the edge of the mattress, you stand and stretch again, causing your brain to lose some of its sleep fog. Heading to your kitchen you pour some juice and put some bread in the toaster, before you head back to your room to get ready for the day.

After you finish getting dressed, you eat breakfast and head off for work. Making your way down the street with the rest of the city foot traffic, you buy a newspaper off of a boy on the corner, giving him an extra penny for his cheerful grin. Finally arriving at the library, you rush through its doors and behind the counter, ready to start the day.

A few blocks away Davey was also getting ready to start the day. Getting dressed in his suit, and making sure his little brother, Les, was up and to school on time. He made some eggs for the two of them, and he told Dave about how class was going and how he was looking forward to playing with his friends during break.

Davey couldn’t help the smile that came over his face as he listened to Les talk about the stories he and his friends would act out during recess. He thought about how grateful he was to be able to take care of Les and his folks, who lived on the other side of the borough. He and Les visited every week, and Dave made sure they were comfortable. Ever since their dad’s accident, work has been hard, and he needed to be where he was to help Jack run his operation, so Les was with him.

He knew it was hard on his mom and dad, but that was the way things had to be, at least for now. After breakfast was finished, Dave grabbed his hat and briefcase, before walking Les to school. Waving his brother goodbye, he continued down the road to the restaurant on the corner. Giving a nod to the host, he made his way through the back door and to the building behind it. Knocking a pattern on the door, it was opened to reveal Albert. He patted his shoulder and moved past, to the office he knew Jack would be in.

A light knock and he entered to see Jack reading the day’s paper. “Hey, Davey, did you find a neutral place for that meeting with Conlon tomorrow?”

Davey chuckled, “Good morning to you to.” Walking over to the other desk in the room he set down his briefcase and opened it, grabbing some papers and walking over to stand in front of Jack.

He folded up the newspaper, and gave him his full attention, “Sorry, Dave, you know that Spot coming for a meeting has me in a bunch. How’s Les? Is he following after his uncle and being a troublemaker?”

Shaking his head, “You’re not his uncle, Jack, more like another brother. And no, he’s behaving himself, thank god.” Handing the papers to Jack, he began again, “Here are some of the sights we were considering for the meeting. I haven’t gotten to go out and scout them all since I wanted your opinion first.”

As Jack glanced over a few of them, his mouth was set in a grim line. “I’m not finding any of these especially great Dave. We need someplace public enough that he won’t cause a scene if something goes wrong, and if something does go wrong, we need an easy exit.” Setting the papers down, he lets out a sigh and rubs a hand over his face. Davey goes to say something, but Jack stops him with a hand. He sits forward and scratches his chin, pausing before looking into Davey’s eyes. Slapping a hand down on the desk, “I got it! How about the library?”

Davey bobs his head considering it, “They do have meeting rooms on the second floor. And it’s one of the larger branches so it won’t just be Manhattan turf.” Jack raises his eyebrows at him, with a flourish of his palms. “I’ll go check it out after I talk to Specs about that meeting he had in Queens. I just got to check and make sure their payments are on time, or at least on their way.”

With a nod from Jack, he sets off to do just that, while you go about reshelving some of the books that were returned to the book drop. As you step up another rung on the ladder you’re on, Katherine comes careening around the corner, bumping into the ladder. You let out a squeak as it wobbles slightly, and you glare down at your friend who has a sheepish smile on her face.

Shelving the last book in your hand, you make your way back down to the floor. “Hey, Kath, what can I do for you?”

She smiles, “I need…” she trails off and grabs her notebook, flipping through it until she finds the scribble she was looking for. “Any and all stories and records about the owners of the Thomas Racetrack.”

Leading the way over to the shelves, you sort through the cards muttering to yourself until you find the one you’re looking for. Grabbing it, you hand it to her, before digging in again. You end up pulling about five cards, and then head off to find the corresponding books and newspaper archives, talking while you do. “So, big story with this racetrack? Trying to shed some light on some shady dealings?”

Katherine gives you a small giggle and a nudge. “Nothing so interesting, but who knows what this might reveal. It’s actually a story on the owners and how they grew their business. I interview them this week, but I wanted to do some homework on the place first so I can get more than just the standard information.”

“What’s the big occasion? Usually stories about the track are only about the races?”

“It’s their thirtieth anniversary being open this Friday, and since they contribute so much to the sports pages the Sun wanted to give back. And I’m the one stuck with the fluff piece.” She lets out an exasperated sigh and you give her a sympathetic smile.

“Hey,” you say, getting her attention, “I know you’re going to give it your all. And who knows? Maybe they’ll love it and have you cover the next big race? That’ll get your name out there for sure!” You can see her perk up at that and give a determined nod. After you’ve found all of the books and articles you leave her at a desk before heading back to the front counter, relieving your coworker to go and reshelve for a little bit.

You settle in and grab one of the books in the stack next to you, deciding to read while you wait to see if any patrons need help, or want to check something out. But you don’t get very far into the story when someone is clearing their throat in front of you. Setting down the book and looking up to the man in front of you, you freeze when you see his deep brown eyes. His growing smile at your state as well.

“Uh… How can I help you today, sir?” you finally ask, snapping back to reality. You feel your face heat up as you really take in his appearance. Tall, dark hair under a pinstripe hat, matching the rest of his three piece suit. He stands tall, like he knows his purpose and is going to fulfill it, holding himself proudly and permeating an essence of strength.

He also seems to be taking you in, and you feel your cheeks warm even more at the attention. After what seems like an eternity, he finally states his business. “Do you have meeting rooms that are open to the public?”

“Yes, we do. They’re up on the second floor. I can show you if you like?”

The man smiles and nods, “If it isn’t any trouble, I would love to.” Standing up from your position behind the counter, you brush your hands on your bottoms, slightly nervous. Making your way to the front you motion him towards the stairs to the side of the building, walking beside him as he starts forward. “I’m David Jacobs, by the way.” he introduces himself, holding a hand out.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N), pleasure to meet you.” Shaking his hand, you decide to keep the conversation going. “May I ask what the meeting room would be used for? I’ll need it later for the paperwork anyway, but I have to admit I’m curious.”

“Strictly business. My boss wanted a neutral place to discuss some opportunities with a competitor, and who’s more neutral than the library?” He smiles at you, and you smile back, proud that more businesses are taking advantage of the library and its many uses. And you say so when you make it to the second floor landing, before walking down the corridor.

“Well the library is here as a public structure, we’re here to help in whatever way possible. And I for one, am very happy that businesses are starting to see that and use the resources we provide.” Turning down a side hallway, you stop in another hallway in front of a row of windows. Gesturing to the sets of doors on the walls opposite of the windows, “These are some of our meeting rooms, the smaller ones. I wasn’t sure what size you needed so I thought I’d start with these. They can hold up to twenty people, and are much more private than our bigger rooms.”

“And where are the exits in relation to these rooms?” David asked, quickly scanning the hallway and back up the way you came.

“Well on the other side of these windows is the fire escape, which leads to the ground, but the other closest exits are through that hallway we came down, or the other hallway up ahead that reconnects to the rest of the library. You would have to use the stairs we came up, or the stairs at the other end of the building in case of an emergency.”

“Can I please see the larger of the meeting rooms? We aren’t entirely sure how many of our competitor’s people are coming, so it might be best to go bigger.” With a nod, you lead him back to the main section of the second floor before heading towards the back wall. Next to the other set of stairs, there was another hallway that lead to another corridor that was similar to the last meeting room section, but the rooms could hold over forty people.

Explaining this to him, you also spoke of the emergency exits from these rooms. “Again, there’s a fire escape on the other side of these windows, but the stairs back to the ground floor are much closer. Of course with the other rooms, you could always slide down one of the columns back to the first floor,” you joked with a smile.

He chuckles along before glancing across the way at one of the said columns, “That’s actually not a bad idea. Thank you for your time, I think one of the smaller rooms would be perfectly fine. You said there’s paperwork to fill out?”

Motioning towards the staircase closest, you explain on the way back to the front desk, “It’s just a form saying that you agree to library no food or drink policy, and that you’ll leave the room the way you found it. Nothing big, but some people like to damage the tables. And let’s just say our budget is small enough as it is, we don’t need to keep paying for new tables if we can help it.”

He gives a solemn nod and starts to fill out the form once you hand it to him. You find yourself getting lost in the smooth planes of his face, but his eyes snapping to meet yours, causes your breath to catch in your throat. He smiles at you and sends you a wink, “See you tomorrow then, (Y/N).” And then he’s walking out the door.

It takes Katherine calling your name a couple of times to finally grab your attention. “Do you know who that was?” she asks in concern.

“Who? David? He seemed like a nice enough guy, why? What’s the matter?”

She’s blinking at you in surprise. “David? David Jacobs? Also known as the right hand man of Jack “The Boss” Kelly? The leader of the Manhattan Mob?” And then it’s your turn to blink at her in surprise. And then it dawns on you.

“Oh my god, that means there’s going to be a mob meeting here tomorrow.”

Tag List: @helplesshansen

[peterpparkrr]

Changing the Tide: An Avengers Fanfic (4/7)

Summary: Wanda Maximoff is the new girl in town and also reconciling with the death of her twin brother, Pietro. As she starts to navigate her new life she manages to stumble into friendship with a group of teens who are surprisingly similar to her

A/N: This is basically just a highschoolAU for the Avengers without powers.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7)

“Wanda? If you have any questions about any of that stuff let me know,” Bruce said softly, about halfway through class. Ms. Hill had just finished showing some examples and Wanda was furiously scribbling down answers on some of the older worksheets that had being at the bottom of the pile Bruce had given her.

“I’m pretty good at math,” Wanda replied, not looking up from what she was writing.

“Well, one of those papers has a list with all of our phone numbers on it. I uh… made it for you incase you ever need help with anything. It also has email addresses, actual addresses, birthdays um...yeah,” he finished lamely.

Wanda thought about saying that she didn’t need it, then she thought that she could just give it back to him, in the end she just said, “Okay.”

After math class Wanda got up and left before Bruce had a chance to finish packing up his stuff. She walked as quickly as possible to her next class, literature, which was hard to find without anyone’s help.

Once she got there she remembered that Clint had planted his friends in each of her classes. Jane and Dacy simultaneously waved her over to them. Unsure of what to do, Wanda figured it would be best to just sit with them and not start any drama.

When she sat down Jane and Darcy started talking almost immediately about all of the work that she needed to catch up on. By the time class started they had already clued her into the two essays she needed to write and the fact that they were already halfway through Hemingway’s book of short stories and Jane told her that they had discussions every week so she’d need to be caught up to where the class was by Friday. The entire time Jane was talking about Hemingway, Darcy pretended to vomit all over her desk.

Jane shot Darcy a look. “You know he was one of the most brilliant writers of the 20th century, he’s key to the understanding of what culture during his lifetime was like,” Jane told her, matter-of-factly.

“Doesn’t change the fact that he was a misogynistic asshole,” Darcy shot back, crossing her arms over her chest.

Their English teacher gave Wanda a copy of the book and told her that all of the assignments were on the website and that she just needed to have them in by the end of the month to get full credit on anything that she had missed.

They spent most of class going over Hemingway’s style and how it shaped later writers. Unfortunately, English wasn’t one of Wanda’s strong suits so she had a hard time following. Luckily, it also meant that she was so focused that she didn’t have time to think about Jane, Darcy, or any of their friends.

When the bell rang at the end of the hour Darcy offered to walk her to the Physics classroom but Wanda shook her head.

“I have some questions about one of the assignments that I missed that I want to ask before I forget them,” Wanda quickly made up, hoping her excuse would stick.

“I can wait for you,” Darcy offered.

“No, I think I saw it earlier today so I’ll find it easily,” Wanda replied.

Darcy nodded and left the classroom with Jane, Wanda could hear them start up their argument about whether or not Hemingway was an asshole.

After a minute or so she figured the coast was clear so she got up and walked out of the room. She actually found the physics classroom pretty easily, it helped that there was a group of guys in superhero t-shirts talking about the merits of different types of circuits heading in the same direction.

When Wanda walked into the classroom Tony was standing near the door and grabbed her hand before she could even register that it was him.

“Just wanted to make sure that you didn’t sit next to the wrong people,” Tony explained as he wove through the lab tables to one near the corner of the room. Clint was already sitting there, Wanda visibly tensed, Tony glanced at her, confused, but didn’t say anything about it. “Bruce texted me,” Clint said, looking up at her, Wanda couldn’t read his tone as she sat down next to him.

Tony looked confused once again but said something this time, “About what? What are you guys talking about?”

“Nothing, we’re not going to talk about it,” Wanda said definitively. She could feel both Clint and Tony looking at her but refused to look back at them. Wanda had decided during her conversation with Bruce that she wasn’t going to argue with them, she had a feeling she would lose. Instead, Wanda figured that her best option was to ignore them until they finally got the message.

Wanda was in this for the long haul.

“Wanda, please,” Clint said, his voice soft as he leaned toward her. Their teacher was already droning on about frequencies. Wanda tried to tune him out, she even shifter her chair away from him at one point, but Clint was persistent.

Wanda sighed, looked up from her notes and into his eyes, “After class.”

Clint nodded at went back to his work. Wanda tried to pay attention for the rest of the hour but she kept getting distracted, she had never been one for conflict. She kept running through scenarios of what was going to happen.

When the bell rang Wanda had a split second of wondering if she could just take off but she spent too long thinking wishfully so when she snapped out of it Clint had already packed up all his stuff and was waiting for her.

Wanda quickly stuffed her notebook and textbook into her bag and stood up.

“Let's go into the hallway,” Clint said, his face filled with concern. Clint led her out the door near their lab table into a part of the hallway that was more quiet than by the main door out of the physics classroom.

Tony followed them out and stood in between the two expectedly, “So why won’t anyone tell me what’s going on?”

Clint shook his head as Wanda nervously played with the zipper of her sweatshirt, “I think it would be best if the two of us talked alone,” Clint replied.

Tony could sense from Clint’s tone that this was serious and didn’t push it, “Okay,” he said before walking away, “See you later.”

“First of all, I didn’t tell my friends to babysit you, I just thought that since you were new it could help if I introduced you to some people,’ Clint said, trying to make eye contact with Wanda, who was staring adamantly at her shoes.

“Which required you making sure you had someone from your group of friends in every class of mine?” Wanda asked.

“I thought it would help if there was someone who could help get you caught up. It’s not like I changed anyones schedule, I just made sure that one of us were in your classes.”

“And how is that not babysitting me?”

“I’m just trying to be nice to you, I don’t see what the problem is.”

“Everyone here, all of your friends, they treat me like a child. They think that I can’t take care of myself.”

“That’s so not true.”

“Yes it is, no one thinks I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

“They’re just trying to be nice to you, is it really a bad thing that they want to help?”

“Yes! No one was ever helped me before, and I was doing just fine.”

“Your brother wouldn’t have wanted you to-”

“You do not get to talk about my brother!” Wanda cried, “Don’t you dare. You didn’t know him.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Just leave me alone, okay?” Wanda said, her voice cracking before she turned and walked down the hall.

Wanda made it to her locked and out of the school and down the block before breaking down, Clint hadn’t followed her and once she was far enough away from the school there weren’t students anymore. Wanda cried quietly into her scarf as she walked. When she got home she went to her room and found the shirt of Pietro’s that she kept in her closet and held it close. She didn’t move from that position until her mom called her down for dinner. Wanda didn’t say much about her first day of school, despite the thorough questioning that her parents put her through. No one mentioned Pietro at the dinner table.

After dinner Wanda went back to her room and set in on her schoolwork. She had to make up for the first week of school and was determined to do it before anyone could try and offer their help. Wanda worded late into the night, she hadn’t been sleeping much as it was so she managed to drill through more of the work than she had expected to, it gave her a well needed distraction.

[thegrumpypenguin]

  Jamarcus at four weeks

  Look how tiny he is!!!

On August 24, 2017 I showed up for my second “Keeper for a Day” prizes – this time with the lion keepers (I talk about it briefly in this post about Kanzi) – which began with the opportunity to attend the Morning Meeting (“Hill Street”, as it’s affectionately known to the Keepers) in the Atrium at North Service, the Admin building at the Zoo. Among other news and updates the Keepers logs from the previous day are read out to all assembled. As luck would have it, a baby bactrian camel had been born the day before so I was among the very first people to learn about it! I don’t recall if we were told his sex or his name at this time – likely not – but I know it didn’t take long to have that information because I was already labeling photos of him by his second week on this planet. His parents were Alice and Goober (yes, seriously) and I went over to Eurasia to see him as often as I could early on because when his sister, Jozy, was born I didn’t see her until she was six or seven months old.

  Already a charmer

Most of my early shots of him were through the fence around the “camel palace” because by the time he would be big enough to go out on the larger exhibit it would be winter and none of the camels would be out there (likely due to slippery conditions for both the camels and the Keepers, because it clearly wouldn’t be a weather-related issue). But he was a precocious young lad from the very beginning and always seemed to be in view. In fact, he was almost too precocious because I needed him to be farther away from the fence to be able to blur it out, whereas he often came over to see the people whenever anyone was stopping by. It was pretty difficult to be frustrated with anything that cute and that close by. I don’t know if this high energy caused, resulted from, or was completely unrelated to the fact that he had to separated from his mom early on because she became too aggressive towards him. The keepers were already supplementing Alice’s nursing schedule with bottles of her milk that they had expressed themselves; it became a matter of simply bottle-feeding Jamarcus exclusively from then on.

  Jamarcus snuggling with “Aunt Sally”

But Jamarcus was not to be totally abandoned. The Keepers decided that he should be paired with the sweetest, most laid-back adult female of the entire flock (I prefer “caravan” but it doesn’t make sense here): lovely Sally, who is typically the go-to camel for behind-the-scenes tours and close encounters in the main body of the Zoo. As hoped, the pair got along swimmingly and Sally exerted quite a calming influence on the young lad. Most of the times I visited them I saw a very similar image to the one at left: Sally relaxing comfortably and peacefully, with Jamarcus seldom very far away from her side. I would also hear Alice elsewhere in the palace area – often inside or around back – bleating to let the Keepers know it was time to come and collect some of her milk! I was lucky enough to witness a bottle feeding on a couple of occasions; however, these took place in a spot that did not lend itself to decent photos at all.

  Spindly legs and peach fuzz

Jamarcus was eating straw at quite an early age: this photo was taken when he was just seven weeks old and was certainly not the first time I had seen him at the feeder. We had an unusually hot and dry summer here in Toronto in 2016 which extended far into the fall; I took this shot on our Thanksgiving Day weekend in mid-October. This gave me plenty of wonderful opportunities to catch a glimpse of the adorable calf without having to be concerned with him being inside and out of the cold or snow until quite late in the year. By that time, he was clearly hale and hardy enough to withstand the chill and never really had to be specially sheltered on his own. I didn’t always take photos of him, though – at least not decent ones – because of the aforementioned issue with the fencing. Also, the area around the Camel Palace is not exactly huge so my views of him became quite repetitive. I began to count the days until the flock was once again given access to the main exhibit where I could have a much better opportunity to take pictures that were relatively fencing-free. (If not actually “footloose”. *BA-doom-tish*. Sorry.) I did grab one awesome shot that the amazing Sarah was able to “tweak” for me to remove the grid-marks of the fence. It probably would have been the photo in the calendar had I taken it in time (this was shot in early January):

  Don’t you just wanna skritch that fuzzy head??

  Aunt Sally in the snow

While I was waiting, I did have one really great experience with the camels. In February, the Volunteers had their annual “Winter Blahs” which is an opportunity, while the Zoo is not busy, to have a meeting and then a behind-the-scenes of our own, just as a little pick-me-up in the dark of the winter. Our Friday group was given two choices: the giraffes or the camels. I had been BTS with the giraffes on more than one occasion so I chose the camels because: 1) I had never been in the camel barn before; and b) there was a baby to spend time with! When our little group arrived we were led into the back paddock where, as expected, Sally was waiting to greet us. We each had an opportunity to come in contact with her and the Keeper, Jennifer, gave us an excellent run-down of the whole camel program since the Zoo first opened. (There’s a side-story here which I will share at the very end of this post.) When things appeared to be winding down, cognizant of the fact that we had time left for our session, I asked Jennifer if we might visit the inside of the barn since I had always wanted to see it. She said, “Of course!” and took us in there for a few minutes where we met up with Tilly (who spent the entire time trying to eat my baseball cap, to my delight) and several others. Suddenly Jamarcus made an appearance at the half-door at the front of the barn. He was his usual feisty self and mostly made life miserable for Jennifer by attempting to bite her leg when she wouldn’t pay attention to him. Despite this annoyance, she graciously allowed me the chance to pet him before we left the barn and it was absolutely heavenly. His curly fur felt soft, scratchy, and bumpy all at the same time and his chin was feather-soft. It was transfixing…until he broke the spell with one last nip at his Keeper, which was the final straw for her. Still: a wonderful morning spent with this baby!

  Jamarcus and Sally

Finally at the very end of April I headed over for the Eurasia Wilds area of the Zoo and went to the Camel Palace. The numbers there were very thin – and no sign of Jamarcus! Excitedly I quickly went along the path to the vast grassy expanse of the exhibit and found, to my great joy, Jamarcus hanging out with his Aunt Sally, his half-sister Jozy, and Suria, a two-year-old female who had arrived from Quebec before Jamarcus was born. He had been spending more and more time with the young girls in addition to Sally through the latter stages of the winter, so this wasn’t a surprise to me at all. He was considerably bigger – and very much more woolly – but he seemed to still be full of that impish delight at simply existing, which I can only imagine was increased exponentially by the new access to the hills and grassland, and full exposure to the soft sun of the early spring. He was lying tightly against Sally when I first encountered him, but after I called his name out he wasted no time in showing off his exuberance:

    Eventually he got to his feet and worked his way over to where I was standing…

  …before heading up the hill to hang with his “sisters” for a while.

  (L-R) Suria, Jamarcus, Jozy

  I didn’t see him again for quite a while, mostly due to the Zoo being closed for five weeks from early May to mid-June. When I did get back there I was stunned by this sight:

Where’s the rest of Jamarcus??!

My goodness! Jamarcus had gone through such a shed it looked like he had been struck with alopecia or something! Quite a shock to the eyes.

Now he is nearing his first birthday and has grown to a healthy size (although he has a lot farther to go), but he clearly hasn’t lost an ounce of that curiosity or boyish impishness:

  Next month is a very special “Baby Boom”: four of the most adorable little boys you have ever seen in your life. I’m very much looking forward to writing about them! See you then!

  Oh, that’s right. I owe you a story. Ok, here goes: when my group of Volunteers went behind-the-scenes in February one of the very first things Jennifer told us was about another Volunteer who had come through with a group (although it was unclear if he was leading a tour or had come with a different BTS group) who had come upon Jennifer cleaning up the paddocks around the barn and blurted out something about Keepers “spending all day cleaning up poop”. Absolutely disgraceful – and all of us there that day gasped in shock at the insensitivity and ignorance behind that event. She appealed to us to please, please not do that when we lead tours – although she definitely handled the affront brilliantly when it happened, it seems. We expressed our solidarity and apologized for our fellow Volunteer.

A little later on in the talk, Jennifer was telling us about the camel program over the years at the Zoo. She mentioned it the numbers were dwindling and she was concerned that there might be consideration given to phasing it out down the line. She mentioned that there had once been a huge number of bactrian camels at the Zoo and, in fact, there had been 30 when she had begun working with them. After a while she asked if we had any questions, so of course I immediately raised my hand. When she noticed it was me, she kind of sighed a little and said, “Yes, Steve?” in a bit of a sing-songy voice, obviously reading ahead a little bit.

I asked her, “Did you say there were 30 camels when you began, Jennifer?” She warily confirmed that this was, indeed, true. “Wow,” I continued. “That must have been an awful lot of poop to clean up, right?” Jennifer laughed and put her hand up to her face, shaking her head from side to side. Almost at once, the other Volunteers groaned and one of them smacked me on the shoulder. “We almost made it!” she said to me.

“Almost made it??!” I chortled. “Have you met me? There was no way we were going to get out of here without me asking a question about poop. In fact, I’m a little ashamed it took me so long to ask it, to be honest!”

And yet, I still got to see the barn and pat Jamarcus after that. I guess it pays to know your audience.

2017 “Baby Boom!” Calendar – August Story On August 24, 2017 I showed up for my second "Keeper for a Day" prizes – this time with the lion keepers (I talk about it briefly in…

[nonlethal2]

Knobles

Went to Knobles yesterday. I really wasn't up for it but Dave was dead set on going there and honestly I think he wanted to go there more than Kaleb did because when we were at Turkey Hill Kaleb said he rather be here playing in the backyard. Plus Kaleb was not listening and being miserable and cranky. It was also very hot. Dave gets his money and we get ready to go to Knobles. Get there and I pull in the parking lot and I'm asking him where to go and right off the bat he's giving me attitude that he doesn't know since he always come in down there. When why didn't you say that and I would have freaken drove down there. See I hate driving constantly 24/7 and him just being a passenger. It pisses me off!! He will yell/ slash get excited at something or something that he sees and here I think something is going on. Like yesterday he is trying to show me as we are leaving some roller coaster that when Knobles first open had the park open for four miles. Meanwhile I am trying to drive, pay attention to my GPS in an area that I never driven before, there is a twist in the road and we have your kid in the car but sure let me take my eyes and just stare at this rollercoaster you feel is so important to look at. That's another I hate. Driving home yesterday. I brought up a restaurant that serves food and ice cream. Now keep in mind. I am driving, have my phone on for directions and he is a passenger in the car as well as his four year old son. Do you think he's going to pull out his phone and look the place up?? No, that's too much like work

He's going to just sit there being his normal hypocritical self smoking cigarettes with his kid in the car and have me do it all. So yup I am driving and have to look up the restaurant to see if it is open, that we can sit down, has ice cream. Do that and get us there.

Can't wait for him to drive and get a license and car so I can be a passenger and just act like him but I don't see that ever happening.

Back at us at Knobles. We get there and he goes to the bathroom and I am walking with Kaleb. We get in line for this train ride which seems to take forever. Do the train ride which was cute. Than they have this place with all kiddie rides. However, it's all the way at the end of the park so we are walking there which seems to be taking forever. Dave is charging ahead and I am the one looking after Kaleb who isn't paying attention to where he's going and tripping over himself. Okay sure I got your kid that you are still correcting to call you dad not Dave.

Take Kaleb and he does some kiddie rides and wants a drink. So have to hike in the heat to a place that sells drinks. Get the kid a drink who is still being miserable, cranky, tired and only listening somewhat but sure lets take him to an amusement park. We reward him instead sounds like a good thing. So he drinks and goes to the bathroom and wants to do more rides. We take him back down and he does more rides. He gets off these car rides and he is acting up and not listening and I tell him if he keeps it up he's not going to get more ice cream. So Kaleb picks up rocks throws them at me which hits me in the back. I tell Dave. He comes at me and hits me. I looked at him and said now you definitely aren't getting ice cream and we are going home. I had enough of his misbehavior, the heat, and Dave not disciplining that if that was my child and the minute those rocks hit my back he would have been smacked. This kid doesn't know the meaning of being punished. He sheds some fake crocodile tears says the words he is sorry which he doesn't know the meaning of and he knows he will get what he wants and that's exactly what happened. He got his ice cream while acting up in the restaurant.

Got home and someone was parked in front of my house and tried to parallel park without hitting the cars and have Kaleb in the back jabber jaw, and mister as always just sitting there. Determined after 2 attempts that I wasn't going to be able to get into the spot so I whipped a U turn and parked across the street. I hear Dresden parking and honestly I been worried about my dogs with being gone for so long. I am wondering if Dresden got into something, did Zo have an accident and if so guess what??? I am the one cleaning it up not him. He can't even be bothered as I seen Friday to throw out his trash from the bedroom. Finding empty sushi containers, my pepsi cup and a spoon under the bed along with other garbage.

I just snapped and went off. He said not to yell at him because he didn't do anything but I remember saying Fuck you that he was to blame because he's the one that wanted us to go to that place and I truly believe that, Knobles was more for him then anything else. I just got out of my car and charged across the street and came into the house. Looked around and didn't see any accidents or any destruction. I got the dogs in the backyard and I see people in the backyard a guy and a girl who is staring at me but I only briefly make eye contact. I was focusing on my dogs. Now wasn't the time to be doing neighbor introductions especially with the mood I was in and they were working on the pool.

There was a bang and Zoe took off. Let the dogs in and Dave must have had Kaleb upstairs. I got the dogs there food. Sat on the side porch and wrote my mom an email. The person in tbe car left so went and moved my car. Dave and I haven't spoken. He's laid on his side of the bed and I have laid on mine. Last night I felt so sick. My stomach hurt, I was hot. Felt like I was going to throw up. I had diarrhea. I'm thinking there's a good chance that I have Covid-19. Because there's a pandemic still going on and he takes us to a theme park. Smart thinking. Shake my head.

I get in the shower and come downstairs and sit on the side porch for a few minutes. Had some ice tea. I take a pain pill because I am still having the pain in my right leg in the thigh and like I told my mom it seems to be okay but when I start doing a lot of physical work it's when I really start to feel the pain or being on it a lot because of it being my dominant leg. She told me I should stay off of it but knowing that won't happen until after the weekend. I go inside and lay on the loveseat and checking out Twitter. Dave comes down and comes outside. Smokes a cigarette and goes back upstairs. Hey why not go smoke in Kaleb's room just like you smoke in the car? Anyway, I fell asleep on the loveseat and woke up after midnight. Go up to bed and wrap myself up in the Harley Quinn Blanket that Mark got me. Dave gets up and leaves to go to the bathroom. Honestly I was hoping for Dresden to get in his spot because when he came back in and told him to move I would have told him no. He has more of a right to be where he's at than you do.

He came back in and got into bed. He hasn't said anything to me and I haven't said anything to him. I want to tell him to leave. I'm done. I am thinking he feels the same.

Got up at 4:30am and let Dresden out. Now I will see about Zoe. It's suppose to be hot today and I am not getting involved with Dave and Kaleb's plans that is on them. I will just be in my room taking it easy and relaxing. Have fun asshole.

[itsjayyyy]

January 10, 2019 12:13 pm

it’s a week after i planned on writing an update, but it’s a thursday so i’m technically on time. I worked tuesday, as i said, and on wednesday rose came over. we first went to the mall so i could show her how decrepit it was, and got auntie anne’s there. I like the mini pretzel dogs, but hate the hot dogs inside them; i just like how the pretzels are rolled up to look like croissants and how the hot dogs imbue the bread with that umami flavor. Then we went back to my place and watched train to busan (the main character was the same guy from coffee prince!), and then went to baanchan for dinner. I remember that she borrowed a shirt and got a stain on it and took it home and said shed wash it but i can’t remember which one. thursday and friday i just kinda lazed around, relaxed for a few days before the semester started. i signed up for postmates, and just today i got an email saying the prepaid card was sent to my address so i’ll activate it when i get home. the weekend was work, as always.

i would like to thank every god for allowing me to live so close to campus, because if i had to wake up any earlier for my 7:30 am calc class i would die. On the first day I woke up at 6, but tbh the earlier i have to wake up, the longer i have to take to get ready so I was kinda rushing and ended up forgetting my wallet. I didn’t want to give up my parking space to go back to get it, so I took the on campus shuttle back to my apartment to pick it up, since i needed my id to get my textbooks. got my textbooks (with no line whatsoever!), went to my evening classes, then went home. oh, and apparently i’m so bad at math. i saw my schedule’s weekly chart and said “oh nice, i have a 4 hour gap in the middle of the day for studying or getting lunch” but apparently it’s a 7 hour gap, from 8 am to 3 pm. coolio.

my calc professor was a bit timid, and has a slight accent. the first day i made the mistake of sitting in the back like last year, and could not focus on a word he said. psychology was chill, we just covered the syllabus. apparently, the psychology department (not my professor) mandates that all intro psych classes’ grades are 10% participating in psychology studies, bc otherwise nobody would volunteer to help them. i hate being forced to do anything, so of course I’m gonna lie and fuck with their studies. asl was my fav class, it’s at 6:30 when campus is empty. we just learned the alphabet (and by that i mean she ran through it once and then we had to go to the front of the class and introduce ourselves). the whole class is immersive, meaning that even on the FIRST day of class we weren’t allowed to speak. as if i understood a single thing she said. there’s a cute girl in that class, we didnt speak to each other (obvs) but when i got stuck while introducing myself, she helped me out since she was in the front row. can i just say i’m PISSED that it seemed like everyone was fluent in asl while i barely knew the alphabet. yall this is an introductory class.

tuesday was a disaster. i woke up at 6 again, but was so beat from the day before that I decided to skip calc, on the grounds that it was all just review and the first unit was my best anyways. i forgot to set a follow up alarm, though, so i woke up naturally at 8:55. and then looked at my class schedule. and saw that my next class was at 9. luckily since i live by campus i was only 6 minutes late, but i forgot literally everything (didn’t bring my phone or my backpack) except for my wallet. I didn’t even have time to shower, or brush my teeth, or comb my hair. immediately after i was done with that class i went home and did all of those. I also went to the pet store to get a new filter for my fish, since my last one broke (after 2 years of having it, which i think is a good lifespan). I installed that, knit more of my gloves, then went back on campus for programming at 6. The professor didn’t even cover the syllabus, he just jumped straight into the lecture. one kid asked about the structure of the class, and at that point he gave a quick summary. it was clear we were all expecting him to start the lecture with the syllabus. i’m so annoyed that last semester i deleted codeblocks, the program used in the course, because i thought i was done with it, and now i have to reinstall it. tuesday evening i watched hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy, which i watched when i was like, 7, but forgot most of. 

wednesday, i woke up at 5:30, so that i would have more time to get ready. I sat in the front of calc, and took really great notes. we finally started getting into psychology, all about behavior and stuff. I did one of their stupid studies before class, it was this survey about “human social perception” but honestly it was asking about how lonely i am. and when you have to actually sit there and quantify how many friends you have, and how often you see them, it really puts it into perspective. kinda felt called out.

ya know how every semester, i creep on webcourses’ list of students in my class? well the cute girl in asl is named “anna” (as per how she introduced herself, it was the only name i could catch), and there’s only one anna in the class, and she has a crazy last name so it was p easy to find her on ig and twitter. i was scrolling down her twitter when i accidentally liked one of her tweets. i quickly unliked it, and i didn’t think she would have gotten the notification bc it was a retweet anyways, but shortly after that she followed me. and then i remembered that my most recent tweet was “so uhh whos gonna tell the cute girl in my asl class that i want to go out with her bc it sure as hell ain’t gonna be me” (cue my death). i deleted it and hoped she didn’t see it, but honestly if she followed me she prob saw it. i hoped that maybe bc i don’t have my real name listed on twitter that she wouldn’t know it was me, but in class i introduced myself as “jay” bc i forgot the symbol for s. pls kill me. and this all happened like 10 minutes before class started. I sat in the back, though, so we weren’t near each other. but at the end of the class we did an activity where we got a card with a word, and we had to find the person with the same card by signing it. we did like 4 rounds, and i was hoping we wouldn’t be together, but in the last round we were. we didn’t talk tho, and as soon as it was over i was gone. 

despite my period being nowhere near, i had a huge depressive episode last night. like, by her ig and twitter, she’s a Distinguished Gay in which she did a high school summer program with Stanford where she did heart surgery on a porcupine, and was an award winning thespian, and has tons of friends and a supportive family, where i’m the complete opposite: no friends, failed 3 classes, family hates me, chose a low paying career, needs alcohol to cope with life. This is one case where opposites don’t attract: she’s not gonna want to be with someone whose life is a complete mess. And then i just got to thinking about how rose tells me that mom lowkey thinks I’m a complete dissapointment for being gay and she only puts up with me bc it’s the muslim thing to do, and how the only way i can make her happy is me being single my whole life so she wouldn’t have to know. how i can never have love. and then rose texted asking for an update and i just kinda lashed out at her. why does she feel the need to tell me about mom talking shit? why would i want to hear that? yea i get the whole “don’t let others talk shit behind my back” idea but sometimes ignorance is bliss. i just don’t want to feel like a pile of shit for once in a while. and of course I’m still so resentful about the way that mom and dad treat rose like a damn golden child while i’ve never gotten 1/10 of the support she has.

This morning i went to calc, then comp, didn’t really pay attention in either. while in comp, heather texted me and was like “we should meet up soon.” rose also texted me; last week we were planning to meet up today but it was kinda dicey since we had that issue last night. and anyways at 11 she said “i got a job interview with izziban at 4, should i go” and i was just like “yea sure” bc i really don’t give a fuck. she always puts everything before me so why bother. then she got all like “if something’s wrong you need to tell me i can’t help if i don’t know what’s wrong” like, how about you read what i sent you last night, that details EVERYTHING that’s wrong. she later said she was gonna skip the interview bc she already has a job and she’s gonna do uber eats, and that she was just gonna have lunch with mom (since mom loves her enough to cook for her) and then head out my way. heather responded that we should meet at 1 today, so i told rose. rose said “should i wait for yall to finish and then come by?” but i havent responded bc i don’t want to see her (ever again).

I soft blocked anna on twitter bc i didn’t want her to see me talking about how i wanted to kill myself on main lmao. anyways i’m gonna go get a smoothie.

[davidaolson]

The past is a place of reference, not a place of residence. ~Roy T. Bennett

With the sale of the family Summer Estate in Central Wisconsin in March of 2018, the second to last vestige of my childhood goes the way of the final Dodo bird clubbed over the head by a sailor for food. Death. Extinction. The last vestige is my childhood home, a red brick bungalow still housing my Mother. It is the saving grace connecting me to my personal history. A place I can visit and feel connected to a youth characterized by reckless stupidity, a youth experiencing more joy than any one person deserves.

This travel blog will be different than most I have written. It is an amalgamation of experiences occurring in chunks as small as one day up through a maximum of two weeks occurring over 45 years compressed into a single offering. It is the story of yesteryear, a memory filled yesteryear with my last memory painted a few yesterdays ago. I am trekking deep down memory lane living mostly in the time before mobile phone, the land before internet, the world before nearly every human was connected by six degrees of separation.

This blog is longer than most and possibly too long to keep the average person’s attention. I am ok with that. I wrote it for myself as both a celebration of 45 years and a cathartic experience to release my pain into the collective consciousness so to begin the healing process.

I had a rudimentary plan for the farewell blog one that saw me deep dive into a sea of memories, study all the offerings, then surface with those carrying the weight of ages for sharing. It did not work out that way. I fell into labyrinthian memory corridors without Ariadne to guide me back stumbling my way through a memory fog bumping into remembrances I had completely forgotten existed, people whose faces I hadn’t thought about in decades who may no longer be breathing.

The vignettes contained herein are those that allowed me to see them giving me comfort during a challenging time. They chose me. Each is both an anchor grounding me in my youth and a springboard into my unknown future. The two may appear to be conflicting, anchoring and springing, but they are harmonious dualities, complementary. This duality is not good balanced with evil as in the Western tradition but the harmony of Mother and Father, yin and yang. To maintain the harmony of my subconscious, I laid them out in the same sequence they spoke to my soul.

Many remembrances echoed from the depths of forgotten time during the drive from my home in Chicago the Friday before my last ever visit. I foresee no reason to ever return. Long solo drives are enjoyable. I set the cruise control a nickel over the posted speed, slide into the right lane, settle into a mantra of sunflower seed, preferably David & Sons brand, eating…pop a handful into my mouth, crack individual shells and eat the seed, spit the saliva drenched shells into an empty soda bottle. Repeat.

It is a meditative process where my mind wanders only interrupted when a thought I want to explore further is spoken into Siri for a note. Most of the time, the notes are garbled, sometimes too much to be of later use. Or a song reaches through the speaker and grabs my attention but I always fall back into my sunflower seed rhythm where my mind, uncluttered, senses the echoes before they become full-fledged remembrances.

The drive is 250 miles and takes four hours, three and a half if you push it, four and a half when taken leisurely. My dad had the ability to stretch it into a solid eight hours. Granted, the speed limit was 55 in those days, a number he held tightly. Eight hours inside a van full of camping gear, six restless kids, a dog or two, and not a lick of air conditioning to abate the August heat.

We always left just before dawn. The first stop was a mile away for coffee and donuts. The next stop 90 miles later for a restaurant breakfast at the Clock Tower in Rockford followed by another 120 miles and lunch in the horror show known as the Wisconsin Dells. Then 25 miles up highway 13 to friendship for yet another cup of coffee, at which time the passengers were ready to stage a violent revolution, before the final 19 miles to the land.

Some events echoed clear as the day they happened and I was able to write with assuredness as if I was taking notes from a film reel playing in real-time. Others were apparitions, shadows steeped in thick fog allowing near blind glimpses leaving a trail of unresolved emotion I tripped over skinning my soul.

I am not sure if any vignette is my singular experience, a fusion of various experiences, or recitations of other’s experiences that sublimated into my mind taking up residence as my own first-person stories. My understanding of reality rises and falls with the color of the sun, waxes and wanes with the phases of the dark moon, fluctuates with the intonation of the voices carried in the wind. Their essence remains if not the exact facts. Facts don’t speak whole truths anyway. Statistics are facts and most of them are used to support damn lies. There are still other incidents so hidden by the mists of time, if I don’t receive the help of others to clear the clouds, they may never again illuminate my personal history. I weep for those losses.

And so it goes…

The End is Nigh

At 4:41 pm CST on Sunday, 04 March 2018, the siblings, siblings-in-law, and the grandchildren received a group text telling us the sale closing on the cottage was imminent and our help was needed to ready the house for the buyer. My first tear fell the next day during a flurry of texts planning a final visit to clear out the home, gut the fish and leave it for dead, slip a thin, sharp knife in the soft underbelly of my youth ripping forty-five years from stem to stern scraping the vitality of youth to be tossed in a pile of decomposing offal. I am officially old.

When Mom informed us last Fall it was being sold, I was indifferent. I had not been there for five years and that last time was only for one night on the way back from a mountain biking trip a couple hours further North. I did not want to drive the remaining four hours home to Chicago and I was with a hot lass. Drive home in the dark or spend the night in a wooded forest cabin with the hot babe? It was an easy decision. It was a decision that made itself. As for future trips, well, none were anywhere on my horizon. I have come to enjoy international travel and prefer to spend my leisure time immersed in unfamiliar cultures that bombarded the senses and obliterate my understanding of reality.

The Summer Estate had become the dying limb on a tree, a drain on the financial health of my mother. Better to sever the limb than allow it to siphon off resources needed elsewhere. Since my dad passed, it had become too much for her to maintain. She valiantly held on to it for 10 years thanks in large part to my brother-in-law who helped her open and close it year after year. Looking back, I have to say he is somewhat a hero.

We dubbed the upcoming event a reunion, a euphemism keeping the pain at bay for as long as possible. The first stage of grief is denial. The euphemism helped me deny the coming loss for a couple of weeks. The actual reunion/cleaning day was filled with stories, multiple trips to the dump, laughter, photographs, and a tribute. It is amazing how pain can be dissipated when it is countered with love.

What can we throw away?

Lunch

Cleaning the Main Quarters

Paul Bunyan

Boat is Frozen

Cleaning the Shed

Worky, worky

The Fire Pit

The Fire Pit & Home Made Benches

HUH???

Dousing the Flames

The Address

Herstory/History/Gender Fluidstory/Gender Neutralstory

The land, a small heavily wooded pine and oak copse within scent range of the freshwater lake, was purchased in the Winter of 1973. It was young and vibrant then but, like us, it aged not so gracefully. Today, there are fewer trees in the area. A blight took many of the oaks. Pine trees were removed to build the house and by others purchasing lots on either side of ours. What felt like a forest now feels closer to a suburban subdivision.

It was bought at the behest of my dad’s best friend, Bob, who had his own plot a short traipse through the tick-infested woods. I didn’t know it at the time but Bob, the consummate outdoorsman and storyteller, was destined to become a second father figure to me. After my father died, Bob’s stories unwound from the reel of his mind while we fished the Canadian wilderness brought my dad back to life. He repeated the same stories endlessly yet I never grew tired of hearing the tales.

I grew to love Bob, was distraught when his children didn’t tell us he passed in 2017 until months after he was laid to rest and then it felt like an afterthought. I would surely have made the 500-mile round trip to pay my last respects and immerse in communal grief which disperses the pain so no one person has to carry the entire burden. Instead, I cried alone, bore the loss alone. One only gets so many fathers in life, for some the count is none. I was lucky to have had two.

I was 12 when the land was purchased, immersed in little league baseball as were my brothers. The Vietnam conflict was still littering bodies of both sides over the lush jungle landscape pockmarked by unrelenting bombs dropped from heaven. I can’t recall if my father and I had already had the disagreement we never resolved about the moral corruptness characterizing America’s role in the fiasco. We existed at opposite ends of the political spectrum. Even in my 50s, when most people seem to have long ago navigated toward conservatism, I have not budged an inch toward the center. To be so would make me feel complicit with the evil perpetrated by our lying government. The war never directly influenced our lives. We kids were simply excited to know we would vacation in Wisconsin where we could fish and swim.

In the beginning, we tented. We built a compound, the Olson compound. Three tents set up in u-shape, a sleeping tent on the left with eight double bunked cots and thick cotton, brown sleeping bags. The storage tent lived in the center with the portapotty. The final tent, the screen tent for eating insect free to the right. A canopy connected all three tents ensuring we could walk between them and keep dry during the rains. One just had to avoid the rivulets falling between the gaps. Every night before bedtime, the tent was sprayed with Raid to kill off the creepy crawlies.

One late night, we heard scraping at the cooler in the food tent. We peeked out with a flashlight and saw a skunk trying but failing to pry open the cooler. We immediately turned off our light and quieted into to bed for fear of startling the skunk and suffering uplifted tail umbrage. Another time, a brother who will remain nameless…for now, jumped up on a cooler and screamed when a tiny mouse ran through the screen tent.

The worst tent vacation ever occurred the year it rained every day for the entirety of our two-week vacation only clearing up after we broke camp and started driving home. During sunny weather, the sleeping bags were hung to dry every day on lines stretched between the trees. Sleeping bags absorb body moisture. Two weeks of rain meant the bags never dried. We were forced to sleep in increasing dampness the entire vacation. The lodge, too far for us city folk to walk, had 25¢ showers along with ice cream, soda pop, a pool table where quarters near the slot reserved the next game, and pinball machines on the lower level. It was a nice place to hang out during the rains.

I love tenting. In the old days, they were massive canvas beasts. Heavy. They required many aluminum poles fitted together, anchor ropes without which the structure would collapse, were cumbersome and required multiple people to erect. Consequently, we only enjoyed ‘The Land’ for a couple of weeks each year with those two weeks squeezed between the end of baseball season and the beginning of football season. Then came the luxury of the camper. The camper rolled in during the Spring, was taken away to storage, per the property owners association rules, in the Fall. The relative ease of a camper increased our time spent at the land.

The ultimate abode was a small, prefab house was brought in two halves on flatbed trucks and slapped together. The back half was two bedrooms and a bathroom, the front half a combination kitchen and living room. Ever the builder, my dad soon added a deck. Years later he removed the deck and built a new one with a large screened in porch. I loved the porch. It allowed me to sit outside on those nights too rainy for the campfire. The patter of rain while reading is comforting. Also with the house came TV. It always felt blasphemous to have the contraption spoiling the wilderness.

Having a house meant visits increased significantly for all of us. Being older with our own vehicles to travel as did the allure of the lower than Illinois drinking age. Wisconsin allowed 18-year-olds to purchase alcohol, the same age as military service. I always thought it hypocritical that one is believed adult enough at 18 to die for the country in a war but too immature to consume alcohol. I should not be too surprised. 18-year-olds drinking can’t put nearly as much money into the silk-lined jock straps of politicians as does the kickbacks they get from the war machine.

There were many party weekends in Wisconsin where the music played from early morning until well into the night. Somewhere there is a music video we created with dancing. People were on the porch and on the roof. I would love to see it again. The music continued for years…until some people wheeled in their own camper next door and complained that we were too loud for their younguns. It did not matter to them that their kids were running around screaming while many of us tried to sleep in the morning.

Ironically, as the years wore on, I slept in the house less and less often. It was too crowded, too noisy. And I enjoyed sleeping outdoors. Instead of the house, I popped up a tent with the opening directly looking toward the fire pit. My tents were the much lighter nylon versions, stand-alone with a screen roof for ventilation that could be set up by a single person in less than ten minutes and in the dark. My preferred bed was a comfortable Thermarest mattress and a down-filled sleeping bag. I slept well in the cool of those nights.

The Memory Vignettes

I wish I had chronicled the decades bounded by ownership of ‘The Land’ become ‘Summer Estate’ allowing me to read back and relive the many life-enhancing, some life-defining moments experienced on that 1/2 acre. Alas, my drive to write had not yet kindled into the raging fire it is today which sees me scribbling every morning. There are some moments that emoted into my mind leading up to the weekend and while we, as a family, emptied the house. They surfaced like bubbles when my mind was fixated on the road heading home forcing me to stop before the memory dissipated or call out to Siri to capture fragments. A few times tears rolled down my cheek. Still, I catch myself tearing up for memories lost.

He knew that forgetfulness was the most painful death. ~Jaume Cabré

The Sacred Bonfire

The indigenous peoples (is it right to call them Native Americans being they thrived on these lands long before they were dubbed America by European invaders?) made/make use a sweat lodge in purification ceremonies to prepare for divine intervention and God’s blessings. It is one of the seven sacred rituals of the Lakota people, a spiritual experience reconnecting participants with their oneness, with the universe, with nature.

Similarly, we had nightly bonfires…weather permitting. The quest to build a raging pyre with a single match was a skill a few of us mastered. It meant spending significant time with the hatchet splitting pine logs into slender, tender splinters. These are set in the middle on top of a loosely crumbled wad of dry newspaper. Next, a slightly larger, mini-teepee of thicker pine slices is built around the flimsy strips forming a chimney which, when the fire starts, pulls in oxygen from below to feed the flame. When the fire is strong enough larger, quartered pine logs are added and finally, the dense oak logs which burn hotter and longer ensuring an outstanding fire for many hours requiring minimal care and feeding.  The other methods, a blow torch, a cup of white gas, were easier but much less satisfying.

We shared hours upon hours, hours galore in a lodge made of smoke, smoke keeping the raging mosquitoes at bay, buzzing vampires, seeking to hold a rave with our blood as the centerpiece of the revelry. Our blood, their sacred communion. We shared hours drinking under legal age, shooting the shit frequently until sunrise. The faces changed repeatedly over the years. Some visiting once, others regularly featured. A few now flash before my eyes, most are obscured by the mists of time. My soul weeps for those I have forgotten.

Bonfires were a time, a rare time in my life where I felt an intimate connection with people. I never wanted the nights to end and would hold on tightly to those moments fending off sleep as long as possible. I think I feared the isolation I would inevitably return to with the dousing of the flames. Dark of night, shadow descending upon my soul. I would stay awake with the anyone not ready for bed. Stayed awake until the sun rose and the birds burst into a conflagration of song, a chorus of mostly sopranos with some altos, the occasional tenor, the rare croaking baritone of a heron seeking an early breakfast, a cacophonous symphony lasting less than an hour then finally to bed once the sun shot its orange wad over the horizon.

I realize, now, the bonfire time evolved into a sacred ritual, a spiritual experience connecting me with the universe, with nature, with people. If I could reside in any one moment of my Wisconsin history, it would be fire time. Better yet, string them all together into one long film reel where I could jump in and live them over and over again.

Oh, what have they done to my song, ma?

The end of night ritual was for the boys to drain the weasel one final time directly into the fire. The logic was we were dousing it so it would not spread while we slept and start a forest fire. As Yogi says, “Only you can prevent forest fires.” The reality. We enjoyed the sound made when our streaming piss hit the white-hot embers.

On this trip, my son and my brother stayed at the house the Friday before the cleaning, braved the cold and slept in the cottage. Had I not already paid for a non-refundable hotel, I would have joined them. They built a fire which burned deep into the night and through our reunion time the following day. Our final act before climbing into our vehicles and driving away was to douse the flame…with snow. It made the same sound as pissing the flame into submission.

The Pissing Tree

When you are male, the world is not only your oyster, it is also your bathroom. Every tree, every nook, every cranny, every dying fire is a potential place to discreetly, if possible, obvious if necessary, let the dachshund out for a walk. We have the anatomy to take advantage of zipper fly clothing allowing the one-eyed snake to stick it’s head out and spit anywhere and everywhere without exposing the rest of the anatomy to prying eyes or, worse, biting insects. The more talented are able to write their name in the snow. My willy was once attacked by a mosquito. Shaft sting, not head probing. It was painful, mainly itchy requiring lots of hand time in the pants to relieve the irritation. There is an unwritten rule with men. Shaking it more than three times means you’re playing with it. There was a party in my pants. It’s not an experience I want to repeat.

When you live in tents and there are eight of you and half are little girls there tends to be a line for the portapotty. Worse, the portapotty is not tied to plumbing so must be manually emptied when full. It is a stinky job so it is advantageous to drain the vein in places other than the portapotty. What better place than the outdoors?

Outside the tents, a few yards into the woods, there was a natural clearing and a small tree, perhaps it was a deer bed during the fifty weeks we were not at the land. There was enough bramble ensuring we could not be seen from the road during the brightest part of the day nor from the screen windows in the tents. It was not too far that it was scary to walk into the woods at night for that final piss before crawling into the sleeping bag.

We all, the three boys and our dad, migrated to the exact same spot multiple times each day. It wasn’t planned more evolution along a common path. At the end of two weeks, The piss smell became daunting. The grasses had yellowed and the tree was wilting. It, the oak, never recovered and we returned to a standing cadaver the following year. On the plus side, it was fuel to feed our nightly bonfires.

Skinny Dipping

Before the house years, showers were only available at the lodge. If you were male a shower came in at $0.25. For the womenfolk, it was upwards of $5. The showers operated on a timer with incremental time added per quarter. Us dudes could get two showers in for that twenty-five cents while the girls carried in a bucket full of quarters.

But the lodge closed around 5 pm necessitating a shower before dinner or going to bed nasty sweaty. And as we aged and our bodies physically matured, a day of playing hard in the heat, we worked up enough sweat to fill that quarter bucket to overflowing. We boys were as rank as a half-eaten deer on the side of the road a week after it had been run over by a vehicle. The insect riddled, decaying deer smelled like perfume compared to teenagers.

What to do?

Take advantage of the freshwater lake, obviously. After dark, we would run down to the lake, out onto the small pier, disrobe and skinny dip in the pitch of night, skinny dip with a bar of biodegradable Ivory soap to clean ourselves without upsetting the fishies we would be catching the next days. An added benefit to Ivory soap is it floats so we could throw it to the next body and without fear of losing it in the depths.

In the early years, the only light was thirty yards away, a back porch light attached to the lucky sods who owned the house butting right up to the water. The light was just bright enough to see what we were doing but not so bright that our birthrights were readily visible. Then the house was sold, the new owner put a streetlamp style light right at the water’s edge. It was bright, a sun on a giant corn stalk. Glaringly white. Intrusive. Still, we swam at night so as not to stink and for potential viewing pleasure.

Our skinny dipping, sometimes, was co-ed, so the new light promised advantages for a boy with raging hormones. This was pre-internet so porn was not ubiquitously available on the yet to be invented mobile phones. The only time we saw hooters was when one of our friends happened upon an old Playboy or Penthouse and were kind enough to share.

My sisters had some hot teenage girlfriends. Even the not so hot friends had shapely girl parts. So, I was hoping, we boys were hoping while swimming sans clothing our eyes would enjoy a flesh feast.  This was in the pre-pube shaving days so it was unlikely we would have seen much more than a black beaver patch glistening in the moonlight. Still, we played tricks like throwing the soap just out of reach and a little high so a girl might get caught up in the moment and reach exposing some forbidden skin. Perhaps, one would climb out of the lake ‘Birth of Venus’ like and their long hair would slip exposing boobage. Nothing. Not a once. The girls were much to smart for the boys. Girls are much smarter than boys.

To my teenage frustration, I never did see side boob or a perky nipple or, the holy grail, the furry little kitty. God knows I tried. The only clams I fondled were of the non-bearded variety laying just beneath the sand filtering small organisms and algae from the water. Those I threw along the surface of the water watching them skip with the aplomb of a smooth rock.

Losing The V-Card

The romantic in me would love to say I lost my virginity on a Wisconsin beach by the light of a full moon with an incredibly hot babe as we lay legs immersed in the gently rolling waves, that I busted-a-nut in a wild country girl with the leg strength to crush a mechanical bull in one of those honky-tonk saloons and emerged from my boyhood chrysalis into a fully fledged man. But it would not stand up in a court of truth. Fantasy? Yes. Reality? Not even close. Well, I did come close once and only once. Sigh. Double sigh.

She was either a year-round local or a Summer girl spending the months between the end and start of school at her parent’s lake home. I forget which. Their multi-story home was built on a lot with direct access to water. We had to walk a couple of blocks from our place to see the lake. My mom had a dread fear of people drowning so wanted ample distance to ensure safety. Little did she know we frequented the lake unsupervised many a time.

Her family had motorcycles that we rode, illegally, in a large depression across highway 13. She and I were on the same bike. Me pretending to be in control despite rarely being on a motorcycle while she sat behind with arms around my waist, a setup causing me to tingle in the loins. These were the days I was still immortal. Helmets were not mandatory riding attire as they became when I eventually purchased my own street bike decades later. We went down once. The rear time slid sideways in the loose sand on a decline and we eased down our legs still wrapped around the bike.

The depression in which we were riding was clear-cut in the forest that was in the process of being dredged later to be filled with river water eventually becoming the bottom of Lake Arrowhead where decades later I took my son fishing for the ubiquitous bluegill. The lake homes surrounding Arrowhead tend to be larger than those built around our Lake Camelot, also a manmade lake, with the whole area feeling more upscale. But those homes came much later.

Her name was Karen. My friends, Bob’s kids, year-round residents, referred to her as Karen QF. The QF standing for Quick Fuck which, I was told, meant she was quick to fuck not too fucking quick to catch for a fuck nor having jackhammer hips making the act of fucking literally quick. She may truly have been quick to fuck but I wasn’t quick enough to fuck…her. I waited one day too long to make my move only to be thwarted by nature’s cycles. My little man didn’t take a dip into the pink.

She was a brunette, a long-haired brunette with brown eyes. Perhaps the frustration with not hitting a home run is why I am still attracted to brunettes tending toward raven black above all other hair colors. Though, the blues and purples and pinks are alluring. It may be that I never recovered from the strikeout and am still trying to make up for the one that got away by knocking as many as possible out of the park (hitting for sixes for cricket fans). Or, maybe the adage blonds have more fun is poppycock and it is the ravens that are ‘funner’ to play with. Whatever the case…I struck out….yet again.

One Is The Loneliest Number

As deep as I can see into the sootied waters of my past, I see a person more comfortable being alone or with a one or two others than in a group. A person craving human connection but keeping everyone at arm’s length for reasons I still don’t fully fathom. This was definitely a truth in my twenties. It may reach back further but time has yellowed many of those movies either from the effects of an aging brain or my soul protecting itself from needless pain.

These days, I get great satisfaction from alone time and seek it out with increasing hunger. Back in the day, it seems to be the natural outcome of me not being particularly socially adept or a foundational arrogance preventing me from seeing my own faults digging moats none dare cross. Perhaps, I did not realize I needed to change my ways to make connections or there are some reasons not yet dredged from my psyche. Most likely, a combination of many.

I was in my late twenties, a gorgeous evening. Of course, there was a fire with lots of drinking and talking and drinking. Family friends outnumbered family members which was often the case. I was mostly listening to conversations waiting for an opening to shine my brilliance before retreating back into my head. Or I was mesmerized by the ghosts floating up from the dancing flames becoming lost in my own thoughts, ensconced in a world no one, not even my then wife, was able to penetrate to any meaningful depth. Again the dichotomy…wanting to know and be fully known yet walling off anyone seeking understanding.

Years later I was dating a woman who shone a light on this same predilection. We were having a conversation over dinner and I remarked that I was pretty much an open book for the world to see. She stopped midmovement from putting a fork full of kimchee into her mouth and said, “Seriously? Almost all I know about you is surface. You never let me inside.” I stared back trying to hide my grinding teeth, my tell in times of stress. It wasn’t long after she decided seeing me was not worth her time. This tiger was unable to change its spots. I have since wondered if I subconsciously kept her at bay or there was simply nothing below the surface worth knowing. Was as shallow as the Platte River, a mile wide but only an inch deep?

Some of us went for a late night swim. Afterward, all but one returned to the house and the bonfire. The one being me.

I stretched out on the wooden pier listening to the night voices, insects, the purr of waves against the shore, watching the waning Moon against a blanket of stars. Millions of stars and solitary Moon, a celestial body without the ability to generate light so cursed to reflect the essence of Sun, a satellite revolving around Earth yet never touching her. A being in isolation.

My guard dropped allowing a crack for emotion to enter and implode. I felt the pain of isolation. Loneliness gnawed with the ferocity of the walleye beneath the black water clamping sharp teeth into unwitting prey sucked into a gullet where acids attacked and slowly dissolved the body. I pulled out my pocket knife. I always carried a knife. I carved the letters O-N-E into the pier weeping all the while. It was my code for one is the loneliest number I will ever be. A cry for help? Maybe.

Eventually, I went back to the house. I had been there for at least an hour and I don’t think anyone noticed. Did anyone even care? I can’t say. That is a question requiring vulnerability. I lacked the courage to be vulnerable. So, I grabbed a drink, never being a beer drinker it was probably a whiskey and seven-up, and pulled up a chair by the fire. I watched everyone, talking, laughing. I remember wondering if I was cursed to be Moon forever isolated from the stars and Earth.

Buried Kegs, Panty Hats, & Stinkweeds

The big Summer weekend at the land was Frolic Weekend in August. We usually planned an event spanning the weekend plus a day or so at either end. Driving home to Chicago on a Sunday evening meant heavy traffic especially at the toll booths which were still insatiable mouths feeding on quarters. The lodge hosted a party with music, beer, more beer, brats, beer, grilled corn, volleyball tournaments, ski shows, and beer. They had a penchant for selling alcohol to minors then washing their hands when those same minors were ticketed by the PoPo resulting in a return trip for a court date with parents. I always thought the two were in collusion. Money to the lodge from beer sales. Money to the city in fines.

A few of us guys went up early. The WAGS (wives and girlfriends) followed a couple of days later. My brother and a brother-in-law bought a keg and buried it in the sand to keep it cold. Only the tapper stuck above ground. There was cold beer at the fire, cold beer at lunch, cold beer at breakfast. The beer was cold until the keg was tapped out a day or so later. So, I’m told.  It was likely they purchased a second but I don’t clearly recall. If I was betting man, I would wager on yes.

The second night, the girls came up well after dark. When they arrived, we were seated around the fire drinking, cooked halfway to roasted by the flames and toasted by the alcohol. The brother and BIL were wearing women’s underwear, their women’s underwear on their heads. This was a day or two into their stinkweed contest so what greeted their girls was two stinky dudes wearing panty hats. Funny and repulsive at the same time.

Why stinky? The two of them, for some reason I will never grasp, decided they would have a contest to see who could go the most days without a shower or swimming or washing of any type. Day one, not a big deal. Day two, erm, they were given more than their normal share of personal space. By the third or fourth day, we couldn’t get near either of them and, I imagine, their ripeness offended their own nostrils. My brother caved at the behest of his girlfriend. The BIL won. He was officially the stinkiest of the stinkweeds.

Fishing & Other Animal Stories

Wisconsin stories would not be complete without animal stories. Animals, primarily scaly fish, were a huge (yuge) reason we boys were excited to visit The Land. For me the priority was fishing followed by swimming, I think. If not in the early years then soon thereafter as I grew increasingly fishing obsessed.

Hook, Line, & Sinker

Fishing. Ahh, fishing. We are a fishing family because of my dad’s friend Bob. The same Bob who talked my dad into buying the plot in Wisconsin. The same Bob who felt like a second father. Bob taught my dad to fish when he invited him on annual trips to Boulder Junction for Muskie and the Boundary Waters for monster pike. The love of fishing has moved through the generations. We are all connected by a proverbial stringer.

I remember hot days standing in the shallows casting toward a sunken tree for bass while everyone else splashed around. I remember setting overnight lines and running to the pier in the morning to see if we caught bullhead and, if so, were they still alive since they typically swallowed the hook deep into their stomachs. I remember fighting mosquitoes in the night while we fished for bullhead and were surprised by the rare walleye sometimes big enough to legally eat. I remember the sheer joy of catching tiny bluegill after tiny bluegill for hours on end. I remember fishing in the sticks with my brothers, a place near the start of the lake where the feeding river flooded a woodland drowning the trees leaving them naked carcasses and prime habitat for bass. It felt like we had traveled into pre-history. We became spooked when a few large Blue Heron took to air from dead branches looking like Pterodactyls on the wing hunting meat. I remember standing in the water fishing by the upper spillway later emerging with leeches on my legs that I scraped off with the knife always in my pocket. There are three fishing memories larger than all the others combined. They involve Pumpkinseeds, a Largemouth Bass, and a shit load of crappie.

Nine Inch Pumpkinseeds

My daughters were probably three and four when this memory was created. I had taken the two of them for a long weekend in Wisconsin for some Daddy-Daughter time. I was recently divorced and wanted to make sure they had ample daddy time now that I was not seeing them on a daily basis. The weekend necessarily included fishing time. I bought them each identical Orca reel fishing poles from Sportmart which were very easy for little ones to manage and inexpensive.

The weekend was overcast with intermittent rains meaning most of the time we were stuck in the house. We took advantage of a lull in the weather and walked down to the lake. Each of the girls wanted to carry the tub of worms. Rather than have a battle, I gave each their own worm to carry, a worm they petted as they walk. As was her norm, the younger said her knees hurt and she wanted to be carried.

I was already carrying the fishing poles, the worms, and a Mountain Dew so there was no space for her plus I wanted her to kick the habit of always whining until someone caved and picked her up.  At the time, she was frustrated because her hair was not very long. It was then I dreamed up a solution to both problems. I told her the more she walked the longer and faster her hair would grow. Her eyes lit up. And, by corollary, I told her if she walked backward it would get shorter. The plot worked and anytime she asked to be carried, I reminded her of walking and hair length. Carrying her soon ceased to be an issue.

They each caught a few small bluegills, the first fish of their young lives. Every fish caught inched the smile on their faces wider. Then we hit a slow patch and the girls began to lose interest. Suddenly, Sammy’s bobber was pulled deep, unlike the tittering from the smaller fish nibbled at the bait, and the pole was ripped out of her hands and pulled under water. I saw it flashing in the weeds and thrust my hand in to pull it out. I let her reel it in and she landed a Pumpkinseed. They are an aggressive member of the bluegill family with a shiny orange belly patch showing like a bursting sunrise. It measured nine inches from lips to tail. While dehooking and measuring, Stephanie also had a strong hit. She had a tighter grip on the fishing pole so there wasn’t a repeat of a pole in the water. She, too, landed a nine-inch Pumpkinseed.

The rain started so we packed up and headed back to the house. I carried everything to hurry them along in case the drizzle became a downpour. They walked with their faces up, mouths open catching raindrops while laughing hysterically.

A Not So Lucky Largemouth Bass

A few years later, I was fishing with all three kids. The girls and I were on the same pier they caught the Pumpkinseeds but Brian decided he would fish from the pier on our beachhead. He was highly coordinated so was already able to cast with ease and accuracy. It was difficult trying to manage all of them at once and attend to the inevitable snags, hook baiting, and removal of hooks set deep in the fish internals.

He called saying he was snagged and needed help. I looked over and saw the fishing tip bouncing with ferocity and immediately knew he had a substantially larger fish than the bluebill and perch we were landing. I ran over to the pier by which time he had walked off the pier and was standing on the shore. The monofilament, a 10-pound test, was stretched across the pier and the fish was still dancing. How the wood slats did not cut the line I will never know. I took him back onto the pier and helped him land his first Largemouth Bass.  I would normally throw the fish back into the water for future growth. But, it was the legal length and the kids wanted to eat it so I cleaned it and cooked it for a dinner.

If I was to hazard a guess at the same time he landed the fish, fishing set its hook deep into his soul. He has been an avid angler since that day.

A Shit Load of Crappie

Fast forward a decade. My son and I are fishing at the spillway. The spillway is a concrete structure funneling water from the upper to the lower lake. There is a constant flow of aerated water through the deep channel spilling into the lake. The depth varies from ten feet in the channel and becomes shallows once outside the concrete walls and the direct influence of the water flow. Thus the area has a variety of environments attracting many types of fish. It is a prime fishing spot.

Over a couple of nights, crappie were actively hitting on white plastic tubes. Other colors attracted a few but white was the primary color triggering their attack instinct. Once we mastered the proper technique, waiting until the second hit in a short sequence to set the hook, we would pull in one every few casts.

One evening, we headed out before dusk loaded up with bug dope to keep the skeeters off so we could fish in peace and carried an ample supply of sunflower seeds. We had a small tackle box of plastics with extra whites knowing white was the color of the day but included other colors just in case. Fish can be finicky and it pays to be prepared. I don’t know if there was some magic in the way the stars aligned or we just lucked into an aggressive school of hungry crappie. They hit like psychos for at least two hours. We were catching fish on most every cast. By the time the frenzy quelled, we had caught over 180 between the two of us. It was the most insane fishing experience of my life.

White Tails

There were White-Tailed Deer galore which we loved seeing…mostly. We were fishermen, not hunters, though big game hunting in Africa was a parttime fantasy of my youth along with being Tarzan swinging through the trees. We never participated in the annual Deer Hunt, the religion most common in Central Wisconsin. If you don’t hunt, the high priests will not allow you to be a congregant of the Most Holy Church of the White-Tailed Deer. Although, the will serve you venison communion hoping to make you a convert.

When I was older and driving on my own from the Dells to the house just after sunset, I counted 40 deer over a 40 mile stretch in the ditches along the road. And those were just the ones I saw. I can’t imagine how many were lurking just beyond the reach of the high beams. Each was a potential weapon of mass destruction if it was spooked and took flight across the road at precisely the moment I was cruising by. Wham! Bam! Thank You, Ma’am. Wham…car slams into the animal. Bam…extensive damage and likely totaling the vehicle. Thank You, Ma’am, for crashing through my window and crushing me into the seat so I didn’t fly through the window.

Ant Wars

It was a party weekend. We were in our twenties, upper for me. ‘Back when I was in Nam‘ Steve who was younger than me and never a pincushion for bullets fired by the Viet Cong from Soviet weapons but liked to use the tag was bored as was blonde Andrea, pronounced On Drea who had an unusually high voice and was not afraid of insects. It was a sunny morning, too late to still be snoozing in a tent heated by the sun, too early to be two-fisting beers around the campfire. What to do before the action begins?

Wisconsin is home to a plethora of insect life the worst being the vicious mosquitoes swarming in any bit of shade to butterflies flitting between flowers on the sloping side of the earthen damn separating Lake Camelot from Lake Sherwood. Steve was watching some ants he found and placed in the dished underside of a white frisbee. This intrigued Andrea and they watched together.

One of them thought it would be interesting to add other insects to the mix. The two of them found another ant species and placed them in the same frisbee. The two species each threatened by their other’s pheromones and emboldened by their own fought to the death. It was a microcosm of almost every self-important politician’s wet dream sending youth to die in a senseless war.

Turtling in Lake Sherwood

Lake Sherwood, the lower lake from ours was continually filled by the spillway. Think of a spillway as a drain in a sink where excess water falls into the pipes and those pipes emptied into a lower lake on the other side of an earthen damn. The waters were lower in elevation, protected from the wind by thick stands of pine trees and walls of land descending from the road beyond the trees to the lake level. These waters were shielded from the wind, tended to be placid, conditions conducive to rafts of weeds forming along the shore. A semi-secure haven for small fish, frogs, and turtles.

We saw the turtles while fishing. Sometimes they were sunning on a dead tree branch. If you cast near them, hey would quickly slide into the lake with nary a splash. Mostly, we saw tiny turtle heads, black with yellow lines, poking above the water their shell a shadow hovering just below the surface intimating a chimerical flying saucer. Something you think you see but are never quite sure it’s real or it’s size. They were too far from shore to reach with our short nets.

On a sunny afternoon, some of us boys dragged a boat over the dam and launched it into Lake Sherwood with the idea of catching a few. What to do with them after? Young boys tend not to think that far into the future.

Our tactic was to row toward a head and, if it didn’t dive outside our reach, throw the net over the top. It was a tactic catching naught but weeds, weeds we had to clean out of the net. Mostly, the turtle dove well before we were within reach.

Through trial and error, we learned if you looked straight at the turtle it dove early. If they did not see you staring at them, they lingered until we were closer. We revised our strategy to approach at an angle and to monitor them from the corner of our eyes. The better proximity allowed us to realize when threatened the turtles did not dive forward in the direction they were facing but moved backward, quickly turn around and swam down toward the bottom for safety.

But they were still too far to catch. We fastened the net to a pole. We then thrust the net into the water targeting behind and below the turtles. Using this final stratagem, we pulled a good dozen from the lake. We brought them back to our tent compound where they were kept in a large bin with enough water to cover them but not enough they could escape. A day or two later, we released them back into the lake.

I only ever remember turtling the one time. I don’t know why we never went again. Maybe because dragging a rowboat up the damn was difficult requiring a few of us to push and pull. I guess, the difficulty outweighed the fun.

Tweeties

There was a season in my life, I was into all things feathered including bird watching. I had binoculars, a spotting scope, and a recording of a screech owl. I would take early jaunts around sunrise when every bird ever born seemed to be singing in a grand chorus and sunset when they stopped hunting and went to roost until dawn. Each new bird spotted sent tingles down my spine and a tick mark in my birding book.

I used the screech owl recording a few times. I set up a tape recorder near a tree on the land and hit play. I would describe the sound as a staccato burst or a trill or a tremolo. Each segment lasted a few seconds. Had I not known who was making the call, I would not be able to identify if it was from a bird, insects, or some animal hidden from my view.

When you are prey, it behooves you to know when a predator is lurking. If not, talons are much more likely to pierce your body and your final vision is a hooked beak tearing at your innards. The birds knew the call meant danger. The forest sentinels, Blue Jays and others, flew in to spot the owl and attempt to shoo it into another territory. They ignored me and I was able to add a couple new entries to my growing list.

Being a bird fan, I collected feathers. My preference is to see a plume flutter from the sky and catch it before it touches Earth. But that has yet to happen. I found them occasionally and only rarely could identify the species. I still kept them for their delicate beauty. A couple of times, I found the plucked remains scattered after a predator feasted. This was how I collected the yellow-tipped tail feathers of a cedar waxwing discovered near it’s bloodied skull.

The surest way to find feathers is to monitor the sides of higher speed roads for those losing their lives to cars and trucks. I once found a deceased Turkey Vulture and took the entire wing. Driving North on Highway 13 with my daughter, I found the intact remains of a Grey Catbird. It was on the other side of the road forcing me to make a U-turn. It was freshly dead without stench or oozing liquids, not even blood marred the otherwise splendid grey body. I wanted a few feathers but my daughter wanted to bring it home and keep it as a pet. So, it made the trip back to Chicago with us sometimes in her young hands, other times in a plastic Ziploc bag. A couple of days later, body fluids were oozing into the bag and it received a proper burial behind the garage.

Crawdaddies

Fishing at night near our pier, we carried flashlights so we could bait the hooks and remove the bullhead without having their spiny fins stick us. Those fins were as sharp as needles requiring care when grabbing them or a towel in which to wrap them. The towels grew to stink like hell and were eventually trashed. They were strong fish and wiggling bodies could stick a spine deep.

With the flashlights, we discovered crawdads scouring beneath the pier and near the shore for morsels to fill their bellies. Crawdads also known as crayfish or crawfish, look like miniature freshwater lobsters down to the segmented tail used for explosive backward movement and pincer claws to grab food and feed themselves. They easily fit into the palm of our hands. Of course, we deemed them a must to catch them. Why? The same reason people take arduous hikes in the desert or climb mountains. Because they’re there.

The pincers can cut human skin so catching them requires care. The technique we devised was to slowly move the hand into the water behind the critter, place the index finger onto the carapace and press it into the sand. It seems their eyesight was very poor and they may react more to changes in water pressure than seeing our hands. Thus immobilized, thumb and middle finger picked it up. We were safe from the pincers which, limited by the exoskeleton, could not reach us. It didn’t stop them from trying and their claws flailed in the air. We tossed them into a bucket with their brethren. Once they were cooked and eaten with butter. I wasn’t there that time.

Other Notables & Wish To Have Seen

For a short while, there was a herd of captive Bison near the intersection of Hwy 13 and Hwy 73. I stopped to marvel whenever I drove by. They are massive animals, an anchor to the American past, the sacred beast of the plains Indians. Once almost hunted to extinction, they are making a comeback in pockets across the plains. I have long longed for a Buffalo blanket for cold nights in bed or lying in front of a fireplace. I never did find out if the owner of this small herd sold them.

In recent years, wolves and black bears made their way into Central Wisconsin. The one verified Wolf sighting I know of involved a collision between a Harley rider and a wolf on a country road late at night. Neither survived. Kind of ironic that a one percenter killed another one percenter. Black Bear are spotted North of Wisconsin Rapids usually by garbage dumps. One man’s trash another’s treasure. We never saw any down our way. Just knowing both large predators existed a stone’s throw from our vacation lot excited me.

On my final trip to the land, I saw a couple of early migration, sandhill cranes sporting russet caps reminding me that I was and will always be a ginger no matter if my hair blooms white. They were standing on the side of the road, perhaps a mating pair. Quite a few Hawks were perched in trees and on the wing. Seven to ten deer were in various states of decay in the ditches along the road. Wisconsin DNR no longer collects the deer when killed by vehicles. They scrape them from the road and toss them into the ditch where Nature will perform final absolution and let her many children purify the bones. It’s the same process I wish for my bones to be liberated from my body, my soul forgiven for the untold sins of humanity committed against Earth. The dead deer felt apropos to the theme of our final weekend.

Jaws

No history of the land would be complete without the Jaws story. Jaws the movie came out in the summer of 1975. Quite frankly, it was terrifying to all of us but none more so than middle brother. As was our tradition, we were at ‘The Land’ in August so the movie was very fresh in our minds. We were playing in a rubber raft near the pier. Every so often, we would purposely tip the raft causing us to fall into the water then start yelling Jaws, Jaws. The fearful brother swam to shore with the speed, if not the flair, of seven gold medal winner Mark Spitz. We tormented him with ‘Jaws’ for most of the trip.

The Final Curtain – So long, Farewell, Goodbye

Dad’s Closed Face Reel and Cork Pole

When all was said and done, the mementos spared the fire or excused a trip to the dump were stuffed into cars along with a lot of sentimental junk that will either gather dust in attics or be given to charity. I took nothing, wanted nothing. Not even one of my dad’s earliest fishing reels and the poles bearing the scars of fish fins and the hard edges of boats. The only mementos I hold sacred are the memories.

We all gathered around the fire pit for pictures, dad was present in a large photo and in our hearts. We sat on the benches we made from the scraps when the first deck was ripped out for the newer, grander, porch. There was the Dan/Diane love seat and the two larger benches we angled in the middle to ensure proximity to the fire from every seat. The three benches are at least twenty years old and still solid as the day we made them despite never cozying up indoors during the cold and wet seasons. I expect the next owner, not knowing their history, will either burn or consign to the trash heap. Come to think of it, those are the souvenirs I would have liked to bring home. I would like to have replicated the sacred bonfire in my backyard using a cast iron fire pit.

Mom brought some of my father’s ashes in a vial for a closing ceremony. She spread some on the land itself in close proximity to the deck stairs. We then walked en masse to the beach, four generations interconnected by blood or marriage, with the photo of my dad held high. The pier where I carved the word ‘one’ is no longer there having been removed by the bureaucrats from the property owners association for some bullshit, legalistic reason.

The rest of the ashes were scattered in the lake with mom almost falling into the water. We laughed some more. Took a bunch of group photos then headed back to our cars and the drive home. I expected pain during the ashes ceremonies, the resurrected pain of loss but it never came. I don’t handle people leaving my life very well. Being there with family dissipated the pain in a jovial atmosphere.

Mom & Dad

The Originals

All of Us – Color Fading

The Fischers

The Son-In-Laws

The WInstons

Campfire Stylized

Ashes on The Land

Marching to the Lake

Ashes in the Lake

Ashes in the Lake After Almost Falling In

The First Family – Feels Like Sepia

They say catharsis with the rapid release of negative emotions is liberating. Not for me, not this time. I drove back to Chicago feeling bound and ball gagged by my internal dominatrix lashing my soul with a leather strop.

Afterword

If any of you out there in reader-land were among the hundreds that visited the Olson Summer Estate, I would love to hear your reminisces in the comments section…

Don’t You Forget About Me by Simple Minds Hey, hey, hey, hey Ooh woh

Won’t you come see about me? I’ll be alone, dancing you know it baby

Tell me your troubles and doubts Giving me everything inside and out and Love’s strange so real in the dark Think of the tender things that we were working on

Slow change may pull us apart When the light gets into your heart, baby

Don’t you, forget about me Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t Don’t you, forget about me Will you stand above me?

Look my way, never love me Rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling Down, down, down

Will you recognize me? Call my name or walk on by Rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling Down, down, down, down

Hey, hey, hey, hey Ooh woh

Don’t you try and pretend It’s my feeling we’ll win in the end I won’t harm you or touch your defenses Vanity and security

Don’t you forget about me I’ll be alone, dancing you know it baby Going to take you apart I’ll put us back together at heart, baby

Don’t you, forget about me Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t Don’t you, forget about me As you walk on by

Will you call my name? As you walk on by Will you call my name? When you walk away Or will you walk away?

Will you walk on by? Come on, call my name Will you call my name?

I say (Lala la la lala la la) Will you call my name? As you walk on by

My Childhood Was Auctioned off To The Only Bidder The past is a place of reference, not a place of residence. ~Roy T. Bennett With the sale of the family Summer Estate in Central Wisconsin in March of 2018, the second to last vestige of my childhood goes the way of the final Dodo bird clubbed over the head by a sailor for food.

[thegrumpypenguin]

  Jamarcus at four weeks

  Look how tiny he is!!!

On August 24, 2017 I showed up for my second “Keeper for a Day” prizes – this time with the lion keepers (I talk about it briefly in this post about Kanzi) – which began with the opportunity to attend the Morning Meeting (“Hill Street”, as it’s affectionately known to the Keepers) in the Atrium at North Service, the Admin building at the Zoo. Among other news and updates the Keepers logs from the previous day are read out to all assembled. As luck would have it, a baby bactrian camel had been born the day before so I was among the very first people to learn about it! I don’t recall if we were told his sex or his name at this time – likely not – but I know it didn’t take long to have that information because I was already labeling photos of him by his second week on this planet. His parents were Alice and Goober (yes, seriously) and I went over to Eurasia to see him as often as I could early on because when his sister, Jozy, was born I didn’t see her until she was six or seven months old.

  Already a charmer

Most of my early shots of him were through the fence around the “camel palace” because by the time he would be big enough to go out on the larger exhibit it would be winter and none of the camels would be out there (likely due to slippery conditions for both the camels and the Keepers, because it clearly wouldn’t be a weather-related issue). But he was a precocious young lad from the very beginning and always seemed to be in view. In fact, he was almost too precocious because I needed him to be farther away from the fence to be able to blur it out, whereas he often came over to see the people whenever anyone was stopping by. It was pretty difficult to be frustrated with anything that cute and that close by. I don’t know if this high energy caused, resulted from, or was completely unrelated to the fact that he had to separated from his mom early on because she became too aggressive towards him. The keepers were already supplementing Alice’s nursing schedule with bottles of her milk that they had expressed themselves; it became a matter of simply bottle-feeding Jamarcus exclusively from then on.

  Jamarcus snuggling with “Aunt Sally”

But Jamarcus was not to be totally abandoned. The Keepers decided that he should be paired with the sweetest, most laid-back adult female of the entire flock (I prefer “caravan” but it doesn’t make sense here): lovely Sally, who is typically the go-to camel for behind-the-scenes tours and close encounters in the main body of the Zoo. As hoped, the pair got along swimmingly and Sally exerted quite a calming influence on the young lad. Most of the times I visited them I saw a very similar image to the one at left: Sally relaxing comfortably and peacefully, with Jamarcus seldom very far away from her side. I would also hear Alice elsewhere in the palace area – often inside or around back – bleating to let the Keepers know it was time to come and collect some of her milk! I was lucky enough to witness a bottle feeding on a couple of occasions; however, these took place in a spot that did not lend itself to decent photos at all.

  Spindly legs and peach fuzz

Jamarcus was eating straw at quite an early age: this photo was taken when he was just seven weeks old and was certainly not the first time I had seen him at the feeder. We had an unusually hot and dry summer here in Toronto in 2016 which extended far into the fall; I took this shot on our Thanksgiving Day weekend in mid-October. This gave me plenty of wonderful opportunities to catch a glimpse of the adorable calf without having to be concerned with him being inside and out of the cold or snow until quite late in the year. By that time, he was clearly hale and hardy enough to withstand the chill and never really had to be specially sheltered on his own. I didn’t always take photos of him, though – at least not decent ones – because of the aforementioned issue with the fencing. Also, the area around the Camel Palace is not exactly huge so my views of him became quite repetitive. I began to count the days until the flock was once again given access to the main exhibit where I could have a much better opportunity to take pictures that were relatively fencing-free. (If not actually “footloose”. *BA-doom-tish*. Sorry.) I did grab one awesome shot that the amazing Sarah was able to “tweak” for me to remove the grid-marks of the fence. It probably would have been the photo in the calendar had I taken it in time (this was shot in early January):

  Don’t you just wanna skritch that fuzzy head??

  Aunt Sally in the snow

While I was waiting, I did have one really great experience with the camels. In February, the Volunteers had their annual “Winter Blahs” which is an opportunity, while the Zoo is not busy, to have a meeting and then a behind-the-scenes of our own, just as a little pick-me-up in the dark of the winter. Our Friday group was given two choices: the giraffes or the camels. I had been BTS with the giraffes on more than one occasion so I chose the camels because: 1) I had never been in the camel barn before; and b) there was a baby to spend time with! When our little group arrived we were led into the back paddock where, as expected, Sally was waiting to greet us. We each had an opportunity to come in contact with her and the Keeper, Jennifer, gave us an excellent run-down of the whole camel program since the Zoo first opened. (There’s a side-story here which I will share at the very end of this post.) When things appeared to be winding down, cognizant of the fact that we had time left for our session, I asked Jennifer if we might visit the inside of the barn since I had always wanted to see it. She said, “Of course!” and took us in there for a few minutes where we met up with Tilly (who spent the entire time trying to eat my baseball cap, to my delight) and several others. Suddenly Jamarcus made an appearance at the half-door at the front of the barn. He was his usual feisty self and mostly made life miserable for Jennifer by attempting to bite her leg when she wouldn’t pay attention to him. Despite this annoyance, she graciously allowed me the chance to pet him before we left the barn and it was absolutely heavenly. His curly fur felt soft, scratchy, and bumpy all at the same time and his chin was feather-soft. It was transfixing…until he broke the spell with one last nip at his Keeper, which was the final straw for her. Still: a wonderful morning spent with this baby!

  Jamarcus and Sally

Finally at the very end of April I headed over for the Eurasia Wilds area of the Zoo and went to the Camel Palace. The numbers there were very thin – and no sign of Jamarcus! Excitedly I quickly went along the path to the vast grassy expanse of the exhibit and found, to my great joy, Jamarcus hanging out with his Aunt Sally, his half-sister Jozy, and Suria, a two-year-old female who had arrived from Quebec before Jamarcus was born. He had been spending more and more time with the young girls in addition to Sally through the latter stages of the winter, so this wasn’t a surprise to me at all. He was considerably bigger – and very much more woolly – but he seemed to still be full of that impish delight at simply existing, which I can only imagine was increased exponentially by the new access to the hills and grassland, and full exposure to the soft sun of the early spring. He was lying tightly against Sally when I first encountered him, but after I called his name out he wasted no time in showing off his exuberance:

    Eventually he got to his feet and worked his way over to where I was standing…

  …before heading up the hill to hang with his “sisters” for a while.

  (L-R) Suria, Jamarcus, Jozy

  I didn’t see him again for quite a while, mostly due to the Zoo being closed for five weeks from early May to mid-June. When I did get back there I was stunned by this sight:

Where’s the rest of Jamarcus??!

My goodness! Jamarcus had gone through such a shed it looked like he had been struck with alopecia or something! Quite a shock to the eyes.

Now he is nearing his first birthday and has grown to a healthy size (although he has a lot farther to go), but he clearly hasn’t lost an ounce of that curiosity or boyish impishness:

  Next month is a very special “Baby Boom”: four of the most adorable little boys you have ever seen in your life. I’m very much looking forward to writing about them! See you then!

  Oh, that’s right. I owe you a story. Ok, here goes: when my group of Volunteers went behind-the-scenes in February one of the very first things Jennifer told us was about another Volunteer who had come through with a group (although it was unclear if he was leading a tour or had come with a different BTS group) who had come upon Jennifer cleaning up the paddocks around the barn and blurted out something about Keepers “spending all day cleaning up poop”. Absolutely disgraceful – and all of us there that day gasped in shock at the insensitivity and ignorance behind that event. She appealed to us to please, please not do that when we lead tours – although she definitely handled the affront brilliantly when it happened, it seems. We expressed our solidarity and apologized for our fellow Volunteer.

A little later on in the talk, Jennifer was telling us about the camel program over the years at the Zoo. She mentioned it the numbers were dwindling and she was concerned that there might be consideration given to phasing it out down the line. She mentioned that there had once been a huge number of bactrian camels at the Zoo and, in fact, there had been 30 when she had begun working with them. After a while she asked if we had any questions, so of course I immediately raised my hand. When she noticed it was me, she kind of sighed a little and said, “Yes, Steve?” in a bit of a sing-songy voice, obviously reading ahead a little bit.

I asked her, “Did you say there were 30 camels when you began, Jennifer?” She warily confirmed that this was, indeed, true. “Wow,” I continued. “That must have been an awful lot of poop to clean up, right?” Jennifer laughed and put her hand up to her face, shaking her head from side to side. Almost at once, the other Volunteers groaned and one of them smacked me on the shoulder. “We almost made it!” she said to me.

“Almost made it??!” I chortled. “Have you met me? There was no way we were going to get out of here without me asking a question about poop. In fact, I’m a little ashamed it took me so long to ask it, to be honest!”

And yet, I still got to see the barn and pat Jamarcus after that. I guess it pays to know your audience.

2017 “Baby Boom!” Calendar – August Story On August 24, 2017 I showed up for my second "Keeper for a Day" prizes – this time with the lion keepers (I talk about it briefly in…

[thegrumpypenguin]

  Jamarcus at four weeks

  Look how tiny he is!!!

On August 24, 2017 I showed up for my second “Keeper for a Day” prizes – this time with the lion keepers (I talk about it briefly in this post about Kanzi) – which began with the opportunity to attend the Morning Meeting (“Hill Street”, as it’s affectionately known to the Keepers) in the Atrium at North Service, the Admin building at the Zoo. Among other news and updates the Keepers logs from the previous day are read out to all assembled. As luck would have it, a baby bactrian camel had been born the day before so I was among the very first people to learn about it! I don’t recall if we were told his sex or his name at this time – likely not – but I know it didn’t take long to have that information because I was already labeling photos of him by his second week on this planet. His parents were Alice and Goober (yes, seriously) and I went over to Eurasia to see him as often as I could early on because when his sister, Jozy, was born I didn’t see her until she was six or seven months old.

  Already a charmer

Most of my early shots of him were through the fence around the “camel palace” because by the time he would be big enough to go out on the larger exhibit it would be winter and none of the camels would be out there (likely due to slippery conditions for both the camels and the Keepers, because it clearly wouldn’t be a weather-related issue). But he was a precocious young lad from the very beginning and always seemed to be in view. In fact, he was almost too precocious because I needed him to be farther away from the fence to be able to blur it out, whereas he often came over to see the people whenever anyone was stopping by. It was pretty difficult to be frustrated with anything that cute and that close by. I don’t know if this high energy caused, resulted from, or was completely unrelated to the fact that he had to separated from his mom early on because she became too aggressive towards him. The keepers were already supplementing Alice’s nursing schedule with bottles of her milk that they had expressed themselves; it became a matter of simply bottle-feeding Jamarcus exclusively from then on.

  Jamarcus snuggling with “Aunt Sally”

But Jamarcus was not to be totally abandoned. The Keepers decided that he should be paired with the sweetest, most laid-back adult female of the entire flock (I prefer “caravan” but it doesn’t make sense here): lovely Sally, who is typically the go-to camel for behind-the-scenes tours and close encounters in the main body of the Zoo. As hoped, the pair got along swimmingly and Sally exerted quite a calming influence on the young lad. Most of the times I visited them I saw a very similar image to the one at left: Sally relaxing comfortably and peacefully, with Jamarcus seldom very far away from her side. I would also hear Alice elsewhere in the palace area – often inside or around back – bleating to let the Keepers know it was time to come and collect some of her milk! I was lucky enough to witness a bottle feeding on a couple of occasions; however, these took place in a spot that did not lend itself to decent photos at all.

  Spindly legs and peach fuzz

Jamarcus was eating straw at quite an early age: this photo was taken when he was just seven weeks old and was certainly not the first time I had seen him at the feeder. We had an unusually hot and dry summer here in Toronto in 2016 which extended far into the fall; I took this shot on our Thanksgiving Day weekend in mid-October. This gave me plenty of wonderful opportunities to catch a glimpse of the adorable calf without having to be concerned with him being inside and out of the cold or snow until quite late in the year. By that time, he was clearly hale and hardy enough to withstand the chill and never really had to be specially sheltered on his own. I didn’t always take photos of him, though – at least not decent ones – because of the aforementioned issue with the fencing. Also, the area around the Camel Palace is not exactly huge so my views of him became quite repetitive. I began to count the days until the flock was once again given access to the main exhibit where I could have a much better opportunity to take pictures that were relatively fencing-free. (If not actually “footloose”. *BA-doom-tish*. Sorry.) I did grab one awesome shot that the amazing Sarah was able to “tweak” for me to remove the grid-marks of the fence. It probably would have been the photo in the calendar had I taken it in time (this was shot in early January):

  Don’t you just wanna skritch that fuzzy head??

  Aunt Sally in the snow

While I was waiting, I did have one really great experience with the camels. In February, the Volunteers had their annual “Winter Blahs” which is an opportunity, while the Zoo is not busy, to have a meeting and then a behind-the-scenes of our own, just as a little pick-me-up in the dark of the winter. Our Friday group was given two choices: the giraffes or the camels. I had been BTS with the giraffes on more than one occasion so I chose the camels because: 1) I had never been in the camel barn before; and b) there was a baby to spend time with! When our little group arrived we were led into the back paddock where, as expected, Sally was waiting to greet us. We each had an opportunity to come in contact with her and the Keeper, Jennifer, gave us an excellent run-down of the whole camel program since the Zoo first opened. (There’s a side-story here which I will share at the very end of this post.) When things appeared to be winding down, cognizant of the fact that we had time left for our session, I asked Jennifer if we might visit the inside of the barn since I had always wanted to see it. She said, “Of course!” and took us in there for a few minutes where we met up with Tilly (who spent the entire time trying to eat my baseball cap, to my delight) and several others. Suddenly Jamarcus made an appearance at the half-door at the front of the barn. He was his usual feisty self and mostly made life miserable for Jennifer by attempting to bite her leg when she wouldn’t pay attention to him. Despite this annoyance, she graciously allowed me the chance to pet him before we left the barn and it was absolutely heavenly. His curly fur felt soft, scratchy, and bumpy all at the same time and his chin was feather-soft. It was transfixing…until he broke the spell with one last nip at his Keeper, which was the final straw for her. Still: a wonderful morning spent with this baby!

  Jamarcus and Sally

Finally at the very end of April I headed over for the Eurasia Wilds area of the Zoo and went to the Camel Palace. The numbers there were very thin – and no sign of Jamarcus! Excitedly I quickly went along the path to the vast grassy expanse of the exhibit and found, to my great joy, Jamarcus hanging out with his Aunt Sally, his half-sister Jozy, and Suria, a two-year-old female who had arrived from Quebec before Jamarcus was born. He had been spending more and more time with the young girls in addition to Sally through the latter stages of the winter, so this wasn’t a surprise to me at all. He was considerably bigger – and very much more woolly – but he seemed to still be full of that impish delight at simply existing, which I can only imagine was increased exponentially by the new access to the hills and grassland, and full exposure to the soft sun of the early spring. He was lying tightly against Sally when I first encountered him, but after I called his name out he wasted no time in showing off his exuberance:

    Eventually he got to his feet and worked his way over to where I was standing…

  …before heading up the hill to hang with his “sisters” for a while.

  (L-R) Suria, Jamarcus, Jozy

  I didn’t see him again for quite a while, mostly due to the Zoo being closed for five weeks from early May to mid-June. When I did get back there I was stunned by this sight:

Where’s the rest of Jamarcus??!

My goodness! Jamarcus had gone through such a shed it looked like he had been struck with alopecia or something! Quite a shock to the eyes.

Now he is nearing his first birthday and has grown to a healthy size (although he has a lot farther to go), but he clearly hasn’t lost an ounce of that curiosity or boyish impishness:

  Next month is a very special “Baby Boom”: four of the most adorable little boys you have ever seen in your life. I’m very much looking forward to writing about them! See you then!

  Oh, that’s right. I owe you a story. Ok, here goes: when my group of Volunteers went behind-the-scenes in February one of the very first things Jennifer told us was about another Volunteer who had come through with a group (although it was unclear if he was leading a tour or had come with a different BTS group) who had come upon Jennifer cleaning up the paddocks around the barn and blurted out something about Keepers “spending all day cleaning up poop”. Absolutely disgraceful – and all of us there that day gasped in shock at the insensitivity and ignorance behind that event. She appealed to us to please, please not do that when we lead tours – although she definitely handled the affront brilliantly when it happened, it seems. We expressed our solidarity and apologized for our fellow Volunteer.

A little later on in the talk, Jennifer was telling us about the camel program over the years at the Zoo. She mentioned it the numbers were dwindling and she was concerned that there might be consideration given to phasing it out down the line. She mentioned that there had once been a huge number of bactrian camels at the Zoo and, in fact, there had been 30 when she had begun working with them. After a while she asked if we had any questions, so of course I immediately raised my hand. When she noticed it was me, she kind of sighed a little and said, “Yes, Steve?” in a bit of a sing-songy voice, obviously reading ahead a little bit.

I asked her, “Did you say there were 30 camels when you began, Jennifer?” She warily confirmed that this was, indeed, true. “Wow,” I continued. “That must have been an awful lot of poop to clean up, right?” Jennifer laughed and put her hand up to her face, shaking her head from side to side. Almost at once, the other Volunteers groaned and one of them smacked me on the shoulder. “We almost made it!” she said to me.

“Almost made it??!” I chortled. “Have you met me? There was no way we were going to get out of here without me asking a question about poop. In fact, I’m a little ashamed it took me so long to ask it, to be honest!”

And yet, I still got to see the barn and pat Jamarcus after that. I guess it pays to know your audience.

2017 “Baby Boom!” Calendar – August Story On August 24, 2017 I showed up for my second "Keeper for a Day" prizes – this time with the lion keepers (I talk about it briefly in…