Colorado Rockies

Colorado Rockies

Monday, March 30, 2015

Point of view piece: Unreliable Narrator

Identical. One in the same. Two carbon copies of one singular being. Mirror images, that’s what my sister and I are. And although we seem to be xeroxed from the same sheet, she seems so absolute, while I feel like the counterfeit. We were once interchangeable; literally, we switched places all the time. Kendall and I, we thought it was fun to throw off our teachers, plus she was better at presentations, art things, anything the involved confidence really, she thrived in art and English. While I dwelled in the more exact subjects; Math, Science, where I took comfort in the single answer questions. No room for flexibility, no room for surprises. Places where individuality was frowned upon, a place where I could sink into the sea of other students and bury my nose in whatever math equation or book I was into that week. The answers were black and white, plain and simple and no one could tell me I was wrong when I know for a fact that I’m right, not that any teachers ever tried to tell me my answers were wrong anyways; I was always right.
            Individual, that’s what I long to be. Unique, my own person making my own decisions. I’ve never been one to take orders, my teachers said I “marched to my own drummer” but that wasn’t the case, because I preferred guitar players. Gramps got me a guitar once, I played it religiously; strumming out long riffs and solos everywhere I went. Kira would never admit it, she probably doesn’t even remember, but she used to join me in my one woman band, humming along in the back ground or playing the part of the adoring audience. She was my only audience, she was the only who took the time to listen and understand. We used to play together, love one another, but that was before. I couldn’t tell you what happened that changed her so much, whatever it was, it never affected me, not that much did. According to Grams, nothing had ever really affected me and I planned on keeping it that way, I was emotionless, strong, tragedy and heartbreak seemed to just roll off of me. I was concrete.
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            I walked into the kitchen this morning, expecting to find breakfast waiting for me and gramps slumped in his chair with his nose in the paper and his arthritic hand wrapped around his coffee mug. But instead it was Gram’s frail fingers that found me, she grabbed my shoulder, startling me, and turned me to face her. She was standing in the hallway, its dim light catching the wrinkles that carved through her skin. My Grams was an interesting lady, she wasn’t one of those jolly old pudgy ladies that you see in the TV shows, all smiles and fresh cookies. Grams was more of the librarian type. She was petite and thin, with eyes sunken back a bit, framed with silver-rimmed glasses that slid to the tip of her nose. She wore her hair, normally, in a tight bun on top of her head, but at that moment it sat in soft wisps white wisps around her shoulders. Grams was usually a quiet and worrisome lady, she was always fussing over one thing or another, trying to make everything perfect for the family she loved so dearly. Her fingers found mine and laced their way through, I managed a smile; I knew what the issue was because I could read her expression like the pages of a magazine.
            “Gramps is hurtin’….Kira, I…” I held my hand up to stop her and her eyes fell to the floor. Seeing my grandfather that way killed me, and whenever I did see him that way, it stayed with me for the rest of the day, haunting mirages of him wasting away in the sterile solitude of the spare bedroom.
            “Grams you know I can’t, I’ll go get Kendall…” I turned to walk away but she grabbed my arm, stopping me.
            “Kira please, he needs you, stay with me, I know it’s hard for you but stay focused you can do this.” She was begging, I couldn’t say no to a pleading old lady. Reluctantly, I followed her down the stairs to our make shift hospital. Kendall usually handled these issues because I couldn’t stomach them, but she got to stay tucked away for the time being. Of course she did, Kendall always got what she wanted.
            I woke up to the sound of coughing and muffled voices. I knew that sound, Gramps was having one of his usual fits, and why no one came to wake me to lend a helping hand was beyond me. I always helped with my grandfather, Kira couldn’t do it, she barely saw Gramps anymore because she couldn’t stomach the tubes and medication being pumped into him, and she couldn’t stand the sight of the man who raised us slowly withering into a skeleton. It didn’t bother me, he was still my grandfather, when I looked at him I still saw the same towering brick house of a man that taught me how to ride a bike and kick a soccer ball. So I raced to Kira’s side to relieve her of cough rag duty. She didn’t mind moving out of the way to let me handle it, but I knew it bothered Grams that Kira seemed to just step away when it came to my grandfather. It bothered her that Kira wasn’t present for a lot of things that happened around the house, she seemed to shut down when she was around us. Family seemed like a foreign concept to her, I was the only one that saw through it. Not that she would ever actually let me in, no of course not, because letting your twin see who you really are is too risky right?
            After assisting Gramps, I sat with him for a little, telling him about my art projects and Kira’s outstanding test scores. I told him about my theater endeavors, and Kira’s newest track records. Our achievements always seemed so polar opposite. I was never one for sports, not that I wasn’t athletic, I worked out almost every day, but I just wasn’t a team player. I preferred to have my own spotlight and not have to share it with anyone else. Whereas Kira preferred things where her success was certain. She liked the sureness that grades and running a track provided. I preferred the challenge, I liked the uncertainty, the power I felt when I won. That’s what it was mostly about, power.
            The whispers never stop when I get to school. I can’t escape them, that’s why I like to blend. If this place was a painting I’d be a blade of grass in the distant landscape, monotonous and fused with all of the rest. Classes drag on, the clock seems to tick slower today, something’s wrong.
            Kira has been distant all day and it seems to be rubbing off on me, my spirit isn’t what it usually is. I left school today in a hurry, the walls seemed to suffocating. My nose in my phone, scrolling as I walked, I didn’t particularly pay attention to where I was going. Home was where I needed to be, with Grams; my anchor. I walked away from the school and past the small strip of pharmacies and bars towards my house on Sunset St., dipping down a small alleyway for a shortcut home. I stopped when I felt a shoulder collide with my chest and a deep, raspy “Sorry” emerge from the lips of this stranger. I apologized back without much thought when the stranger put his hands on my shoulders with an unyielding grasp. Startled, I looked up.
            For the first time since Kendall could comprehend the situations around her, she was visibly shaken. My protector could no longer protect me, because this time she was the target. I watched as her concrete cracked and crumbled all around her. So I took over for her, gave her time to gather herself. Our father looked into her eyes, his vicious smile creeping across his leathery face. He had been gone for years, and rightfully so, he was the reason our mother was gone and I don’t think either of us could forgive or forget this. Of course, we’re the only ones that know the truth behind this monster. Pushing him away, I tried to get Kendall to walk with me but she seemed cemented in place. I pleaded with her to move her feet, to run with me, but she stayed frozen. I screamed at her to move but she didn’t hear me. How was it that at this moment I was the strong one, her protector? My father just stood there, grimacing wildly, he knew the pain he caused. He feeds off of our brokenness, how when the big bad wolf comes around we seem to turn into little lambs. My father was drunk, as usual, I could smell it on his breath. The liquor swirled and burned in my nostrils. “There’s my girl!” He opened his arms to Kendall, she just stared back in horror. “Tell me, ya still mad as a hatter?” he tried to grasp her but she slithered from his grasp. “Come on cupcake, you can’t run away from your own daddy!” He grabbed her wrists as she tried to pull away, yanking her closer. Latching his hand around her throat, he put his mouth next to her ear, “You know, your mother never struggled this much.”
            All I could feel was his acid breath in my ear, and his vice grip around my throat. This man, this…this monster was the bane of my existence. He took everything away from me, my self-respect, my dignity, my mother. He destroyed Kira, turned her into the empty shell she is today. I wanted to fight back, I wanted to destroy this creature, but all I could was fall limp. Black dots started to cloud my vision as I felt myself fading in and out, my oxygen supply becoming less and less. I felt him whispering in my ear, more vile things about my mother, I heard Kira screaming, but I knew no one was coming. Kira’s voice rang wildly in my head, the sheer terror in her voice broke me. I would die, right here right now, by the hands of this drunken fool, and I didn’t even have the strength to fight back. I would leave my tattered sister to her own devices against a psychopath. The last thing I saw was two little birds fluttering through the air. The sky was deep blue, the sun warm on my cheeks, my vision blurred and the two little birds became one, dipping and diving through the air, leaving my field of vision and away from this hell on earth.
            All I could do was watch as Kendall fell motionless. She went limp in his grasp, but in his drunken stupor he didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he just got increasingly mad at the fact that she wasn’t answering him. He shook her violently, bringing her closer to his face as if that would wake her. I felt the tears falling down my cheeks in droves. My eyes burned, I just wanted to run away but I couldn’t, my feet seemed cemented in place. In fact, no part of me could move. I couldn’t comprehend what was happening, my sister was half dead and all I could manage to make out was my world fading into black and my father’s seething expression. I tried to scream but my vocal chords stayed idle, barren, as if I had never spoken a whisper in my life. I felt trapped, but not in a physical sense, more of a mental bear trap; latching on to my body and refusing to let go. Refusing to let me push out of this haze and into the daylight to save my ailing sister.   
            In a fit of rage, this drunken devil dropped my sister to the ground. Before I faded into black along with her, something struck me as strange. Watching as she fell into a crumpled heap, he narrowed his eyes and glared, spitting on her lifeless body he whispers. “You’ve always been useless, Kira,”
           
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A frail women walked into a sterile white room. Two windows sat on the far side, warm rays of summer light shining through the beige curtains. She lifted a tissue to her eyes, dabbing the corners to catch any tears as she sniffled and shuffled over to the solitary bed underneath the windows. As she got closer her knees began to wobble, finally giving way to the weakness over coming her. She fell at the feet of her loved one, a young girl, lying motionless. The beeping from the monitors and the sobs from the old woman were the only sounds echoing through the room. As she held her head in her hands another man walked in, his white lab jacket swaying behind him. He crept up slowly and quietly, not wanting to startle the old woman. He put a hand on her shoulder and she looked up with wide, hopeful eyes. He looked down at her, grasping her hand to pull her to her feet. As she stood she brushed the wrinkles out of her skirt and adjusted her glasses. She didn’t meet his eyes, almost as if she was afraid to. He sighed, giving her a weak smile, “The bruising will fade but her wind pipe was almost crushed. She’ll have trouble breathing for a little bit, what is mostly worrying us is her mental state, Ms. Robins, your granddaughter is suffering from a mental break.” The old woman looked to her feet, the sobs returned and she struggled to quiet them. The doctor put his hand on her shoulder again for reassurance.
            “Ms. Robins, in her file it says she’s been suffering from schizophrenia for quite some but was never treated for it. We want to help you and your granddaughter but we need all the details, we need you to let us in to help. Kira will be fine if we take the proper steps to…”

            With one frail finger, she silenced the doctor. “Kira will be fine with me, and what happened will forever stay buried. If you were being asked to expose your child to the greatest nightmare you’ve ever known, would you?”

Thursday, March 26, 2015

Angry Letter

Dear School,
            Oh, the issues I have with you. I suppose maybe I should address this to specific departments but in the interest of preserving ones feelings, I’ll keep it general. What is wrong with you? What do you think I am, a robot? I have a social life, I have feelings, I have responsibilities that do not pertain to school and, in my point of view, are far more important than the truck loads of work you decide to dump on us. I’ll admit, this year I have it somewhat easy, my classes aren’t as hard as they have been in the past, but you have made me dread the idea of learning. I despise the thought of waking up in the morning to come to this god forsaken place, so much so that I stay up into the late hours of the night, just to put off waking up, how sad. But do you care? No, of course not, this place is designed to feel like a prison, or so you have made it seem. I wake up at 6:45 to rush around my house and get everything in order for my day ahead of me, only to walk outside to watch one of your buses drive right past me, leaving me to inconvenience my step mother and make her drive me to school, all the while getting an ear full the entire ride there. Then I walk in, starving because I didn’t have time to eat breakfast but I, alas, cannot afford your breakfast “sandwiches” and disgusting whole grain poptarts because I need to save my money for your over-priced, under-portioned meals. I owe you $116 for lunch, do you think maybe after $80 you’d ask why? Maybe I can’t afford the lunch, maybe my step mother refuses to go shopping for weeks so we have no good food, but is that any concern to you? No, of course not, because that’s money in your pocket. Then I am forced to carry on through your pointless classes, with teachers who usually have no idea what they’re talking about, and oppress the creative minds of their students. With an exception of about four or five teachers, your school system is a vice, squeezing out individuality and creativity from the minds of these adolescents whom you are supposed to “sculpt”. I’m sick of the favoritism amongst students also. Why is it that the handbook was greatly enforced when I’m getting in trouble, but when a star athlete of yours gets in trouble, there punishment is made less severe. Its absolutely outrageous. And how about you give a little gratitude to the art students for once? Considering we work just as hard, and are able to create masterpieces, but we don’t bring home trophies or banners so our value isn’t as great. Just let us express ourselves throughout the school, that’s all we desire is to leave a little piece of us behind, because teachers like Mrs. Lewicki made us into the artists we are today. But no, you want a “clean” school, so our artwork is pushed to the side and we are left to cling to the shadows and make way for the “sports stars” as always.
            Well I, for one, am sick of it. I want things to change around here. I want more independence, I want more expression and more individuality. I want to go home and not have to force school completely out of my mind in order to stay in a positive state of mind and prevent myself from worrying about all the stresses that this place brings with it. In all honesty, I just want to enjoy learning again.

                                                                                                Thanks for ruining education for me,                                                                                                             Brooklynn Porter