Elsie and Pell

"Hey Elsie, why don't I ever get to drive places anymore?"
"Are you really asking me that?"
"Did you really just answer my question with a question?"
"Are we really going through this again?"
"Just answer the question."
"You don't know?"
"If you don't answer my question I'm going to--"
"Fine, fine. Well, first off you take every corner going AT LEAST thirty, you try to 'pop wheelies' at the curb when we're in a parking lot, stoplights and traffic signs clearly mean nothing to you, and if that's not good enough, you have a catch phrase you use often: I can make it! Even when you obviously can't."
"Wow."
"Exactly, Pell, exactly."
"No. I thought you enjoyed it."
"Enjoyed what?"
"The Pell Driving Experience. I mean, Elsie, you lead a pretty boring life. I figure--"
"Hey!"
"--might as well spice it up, let her experience the rush of a brush with death."
"You are a piece of work."
"You'll thank me later. Just wait for my next adventure for you..."
"What?! No. I refuse to take part. You are crazy if you think I will--hey! Don't walk away, I'm not done here!"

"And there, perched comfortably on my pillow, was Markus."
"Markus as in the spider who taunted you as a child."
"Yes, Elsie, is there any other Markus?"
"Well, there's Mar--"
"Rhetorical: meaning shut the hell up."
"Pell. That is so not what rhetorical means."
"Can I please get back to my story? Thank you. As I was saying, there was Markus. Like I hadn't taken charge so long ago and forced him from my room forever."
"Right, by killing him."
"Elsie! No! I could never--. Well, you know."
"Did I not just watch you knock out Gary Remelman in gym yesterday?"
"Yeah, but i didn't kill him! Sometimes you are so impossible. No. I asked him, kindly, to never show his feet-tickling, web-spinning, head-dangling face again. And he didn't. Until now."
"Head-dangling?"
"When I tried to sleep at night he would dangle above my head and taunt me."
"Huh. So what'd you do?"
"Captured him. Snuck him into the caf and released him--"
"How humanitarian of you."
"In Rob's milk."
"Pell!"
"Oh shush, it's not like I poisoned him. He almost got a dose of--. Well never mind."

A Trio of Poems

So here are three poems that I wrote back in January. We were doing a poetry unit in my English class and we had to write an ABC poem, an object poem (I don't actually remember what it's called), and then a free verse poem. Here there are!

ABC Poem
A nother day is about to begin
B oundless opportunities await just outside the door
C hoices are for making, just say when.
D on't let those people who are waiting for
E verything to come crashing down on you
F orce you into giving up on
G olden victory on which they wish to poo.

The Piano
A telegraph of emotions and feelings
Sends signals conveying that which I cannot say.
Those who carefully listen decipher my code.
As I hammer my dots and dashes, and get carried away.

Immune to the World
What kind of world do we live in,
where some people only care for themself.
Where people are only for the using
and friendship grows dusty on a self.

What has this world come to
when in order to survive you must take and take.
When you have to stab your friend in the back
and cause their whole world to break.

Well, I've grown stronger and wiser,
the trickery no longer works on me.
I've found a new way to survive
to which my pride and honor is the key.

I realize that these probably aren't my best. They've sort of made me realize that my poetry tends to be kind of literal. I've been trying to work on it. I know some poetry is good when it's like that, but all of my poetry is like that. You could say I've been kind of using these to base myself off of to improve. It's a work in progress and we'll see how it all turns out!

red booth diner.

I'm not quite sure how long we sat there across from each other. All I knew was that my butt was seriously starting to hurt and my brain was buzzing from trying hard not to return his gaze. I started to shift my position when it became clear that my bare skin had become stuck to the vinyl of the beat-up red booth. Wincing, I ripped my legs fast from the seat. "Just like ripping off a band-aid," Dad would say, "fast and all at once." And then we'd see who could do it the fastest. Giggling and squealing like the little girls we were.

"What is it?" he demanded softly, snapping me out of the wave of nostalgia.

"What are you talking about?"

"Your eyes--they changed. Like you were remembering something. Something that made you happy."

"It's impossible not to remember in this town." I replied. Everywhere I went something reminded me of her. Autumn was the worst with it's apple cider, mountainous leaf piles, and school starting. I remembered this one time--

"You're doing it again," he playfully warned me while tugging on at my hair, laughter in his eyes. But then suddenly his voice became softer and serious. "You know, it's okay to remember. They're part of who you are. Your past. She wouldn't want you to forget."

"It's just impossible to get on with my life when I'm constantly reminded of life before--before... it happened. Before, when there wasn't an after. Only tomorrow." As a rule, I generally didn't talk about what had happened. But on the rare occasion I did, I picked at my hangnails and avoided eye contact at all costs.

But the silence was too long, curiosity got the better of me and I looked up. I was expecting him to be looking at me with sympathy or pity, searching for the right words to "comfort" me. He knew me too well, though. He knew that's not what I needed, nor wanted. He just gravely, steadily gazed back at me. Saying nothing, but giving me exactly what I needed. He was simply there. And that was enough.