An Unlikely Hero

When I was in elementary school I always played alone at recess. I'm not sure why. I remember always having friends in the classroom, but they always just seemed to disappear once it came down to picking teams and forming secret clubs. So I spent my recess days jump roping alone at the edge of the playground. I was alright with it though, I didn't need attention from anybody--or so I thought.

One day the school secretary and the hall monitor came out during recess to talk to me. They asked if I had noticed a man walking around the fence of the playground. I had noticed him. He had brown hair, glasses, and always wore a sweater. He looked like he had been looking for someone, or like he was lost, and he played with his watch a lot--he would try to push it off of his hand without undoing the clasp, but it always got stuck halfway and he would push it back onto his wrist and start again. I had seen him come around everyday for about a week.

"Yeah, I've seen him." I finally told them.
"Has he said anything to you? Or have you seen him talk to anyone else?" The secretary asked me.
"No," I said, "He just looks around and then leaves." The two women looked at each other and shrugged and started to turn around.

Oh no! I thought, I didn't say what they wanted me to! They're losing interest, they're turning away from me! Quick! I need to think of some thing fast! I know, how about this : "I think he was hiding something!!" They both turned towards me with concerned looks.

"Hiding something?" Job done, I thought.

"Yeah, I think anyway, in his pocket. But he told me not to tell anybody or he would hurt me." I shrugged one shoulder to make it look natural, like I didn't realize the seriousness of what I had just said. But oh, I realized it, I knew exactly what I had just said. This kind of stuff got on the news; I was gonna be the next big one!

When I got home from school I walked into the kitchen only to interrupt a conversation my parents were having. My dad said he had heard about what had happened at school, and I probably shouldn't play alone at recess anymore. I liked this getting attention thing. But I had two problems:
1) My parents had found out about my lie, but they didn't know it was a lie, and
2) Somebody was going to have to let me play with them at recess.

I decided right then how to solve the first problem: I would never tell my parents the truth of not being kidnapped until the day they were laying on their deathbed and were more willing to forgive a silly, attention-starved child like me. As for the second problem--well, that was beyond my control.

The next day at school I saw a couple of police cars parked nonchalantly around the school, and the principle pulled me out of class to talk to me about the seriousness of lying. I didn't say much to him. I just listened and then he let me go back into class. After that first couple of days all the commotion settled down and I went back to jump-roping by myself at the edge of the playground (okay, let's be real, I never really found any friends to play with during the crisis). I got my ten minutes of fame, and it was back to normal life.

As the years passed, I held firm with not telling my parents the truth about almost being kidnapped. I felt guilty at the beginning of each school year when my parents would ask me the dreaded question, "Do you remember that man that was on the playground when you were in first grade?"
"I remember him," I would reply, and look down at the ground.
"Do you remember how he threatened you?"
"Yeah, I remember him," I would repeat.
"You almost got kidnapped! It was scary. It's a good thing we reported him when we did."
"Yeah, good thing."
"So be careful this school year! There's a lot of bad people out there!"
I'd only respond with a nod.

One day when I was sixteen my mom and sisters and I were having a casual conversation, and we were talking about different secrets we had. I announced there were some secrets I wasn't going to reveal to mom and dad until they were on their deathbed and prone to being more forgiving. My mom's head jerked towards me and she , "Were you lying about almost being kidnapped!?"

"What!? That's the first thing you thought of!? Off the top of your head!? That was like ten years ago!"

"Well, it's the only big thing that's ever happened to you!"

Great, the one event that my mother deemed as noteworthy in my life, and I just told her it was all a lie.

Ever since that day I've become the family joke. I can't report about a traumatizing experience without somebody responding with the ever-so-witty "Really? Just like when that guy tried to kidnap you?" But I'm telling you, someday we'll find out that the guy really was a kidnapper, and that my little white lie saved the entire student body!

So for future reference, you're welcome.

And Lessons are Learned and the World Still Turns

Just to clarify, Dane and I have a passion for writing slam poetry-- I don't know if that's the literary term for it, but it's what we like to call it. Basically slam poetry is centered around a lot of rhythm in the meter and in the reciters voice to express frustrations and ironies.. So this is weird to post because a lot of the rhythm is maintained by voice stalls and sarcastic intonations; it's written to be read aloud.. They're really fun to read out-loud, it goes really fast and has a lot of animation. So don't think that this was some bitter sonnet written with pain and tears by candlelight, because it's a slam poem and there are never tears involved.


When you give it your all, and you're left with none
When you get to the end to find you've only begun
And you want to complain that life's just not fair
But you chose that path, so you wouldn't dare

So lessons are learned and hard times will go
And the high times will outlast the low
And the world still turns

Well you've lived a lie but you've lied to live
And you've taken it all intending to give
And now you want back the ones that you once turned away
And want to talk once more, but you have nothing to say

And lessons are learned as opportunities go
And sometimes you're left with nothing to show
And the world still turns

Was your choice correct 'cause it took away your fear?
Was it what you wanted? 'Cause you just weren't clear
You wouldn't commit, but kept your foot in the door
Because it hurt to admit that you'd commit once more

But lessons were learned and people will go
And what was lost? Only you will know
Do you know life goes on? 'Cause it doesn't show
But the world does still turn.

Apple Tree's That Never Grew

Every once in a while I look back at my life, and I wonder what I’ve done with it. Yeah, I know, I’m only twenty years old—but according to new standards I am behind in life! There are 18 year-olds graduating from high school with a bachelor’s degree, for heaven’s sake, and I just barely declared my major. Not to mention all those entrepreneurs who are starting businesses, making scientific discoveries, releasing cd’s, making the right investments, being paid for their natural talents—it seems like everybody found their niche in life a while ago, and now that they’ve reached their second decade, they’re going full speed towards success.

So I can’t help but ask the question, “What did I do with my childhood?” While the rest of the children were out making something of themselves, where was I?

I’ll tell you where I was: I was in my bedroom with my face in my pillow crying my eyes out because my red crayon broke in half. For crying out loud! Why didn’t my mom take away my coloring book and give me a practice ACT like all the other good mom’s were apparently doing?

I just have to wonder if I could have been so much more than I am.

The other day I was standing in the backyard garden with my parents, when my Dad bent down and picked up a popsicle stick that had to be at least ten years old. Underneath the dirt that had collected, we could see the red stain on one half of it, and on the other half was scribbled two words: “Apple Tree”. My Dad laughed as he showed it to my mom and me. As I examined the stick, it began to look familiar.

All of the sudden I could see my seven-year old self standing in the kitchen with my sister. She was cutting an apple in half and showing me that in the middle there were seeds in a star-shaped pattern. I asked her if those were the seeds apple tree’s came from. After a moment of deep thought, my sister responded, “I don’t think so. They’re too small to grow a whole tree.” I believed her, of course; but just in case she was wrong, I stuck a couple of the seeds in my jean pocket.

Later that day, I went into the backyard and dug a small hole for my apple seeds. Finishing my popsicle I had been eating, I labeled the dry end of the stick with “Apple Tree” and stuck it in the ground so I could remember where I needed to water. For about a week I would go out and check up on my seeds. While sitting in the sun watching the mound of dirt, I would imagine how surprised and happy my family was going to be once they realized I had grown a whole tree by myself. This act alone was going to give me a whole new status in my family. Unfortunately, without seeing immediate results that first week, I lost patience and eventually forgot I had even planted the seeds.

As I told my parents this story they laughed, and my Dad said, “I wish we would have known you wanted to grow an apple tree. We could have planted one while you still had interest, and it would have been a pretty good size by now.”

I could feel myself wishing for the same thing as my Dad. For the first time since I was seven, I wished I had an apple tree I could take credit for. That tree, had it grown, probably would have been my favorite place to sit and think, to do homework, or just to take a nap in the shade. Every time a friend stopped in for a visit I would be able to enchant them with the tale of how I had grown that apple tree from a mere seed, and now it was a tall beacon of inspiration to all.

The fact was, however, that I had never grown an apple tree—just planted one—so I had no apple tree of my own to boast of or relish in.

I realize there are worse things in the world than abandoning my goal of growing an apple tree, but it leaves me to wonder how many other tree’s I have planted, only to lose patience and give up before they could grow. Of course, I’m not really talking about fruit tree’s—what I mean is, how many goals did I set, how many dreams did I have, how many traits did I want to develop, that after a week of playing around with them and seeing no results, I abandoned them?

I remember after watching the gymnastics in the Olympics, I wanted to learn how to tumble. I practiced a whole night just doing cartwheels. My arms ached in the morning--but it was such a good feeling! I even practiced what I would say fifteen years down the road when the reporters were all wondering how I became so wonderful. But after a few nights of practicing, it ended. Same thing happened when I wanted to learn how to sew clothes for dolls, and when I wanted to play soccer, and when I wanted to run distance on the track team, and be valedictorian, and go to Georgetown for college, and write a book—I just never gave enough time for my dreams to fully grow into their potential.

And now here I sit: a college student just barely choosing her major, and trying to to figure out where I really want to go in life. I play around with the idea of maybe trying to once again plant my old dreams. Maybe I could learn how to sew, or start writing that book I wanted to write, or run a marathon, and ya never know, maybe I could end up at Georgetown after all. There’s no point in forgetting about my old dreams, because you know what they say: “The best time to plant a tree is twenty years ago—the second best time to plant a tree is today.”

The Most Awkward Things In Life

1. When you're bowling and you get a gutter ball, and everybody is waiting for you to take your next turn, but you have to wait for the machine to pick up ALL the pins and do the sweep under.
2. Working at a family business when you're not a member of the family
3. Singing to a baby, and then the baby starts to cry.
4. When you're eating chips and dip with a group of people, and your chip breaks in the dip, and everyone has to wait for you to get your chip out
5. When you say something really funny, and nobody reacts so you figure they didn't hear you, so you repeat it, and someone turns to you and says, "We heard you the first time."
6. Saying the word "paraplegic" really loud, and then realizing a guy in a wheelchair was right behind you.

Things To Do Before I Die

1. Go to the Oprah show
2. Find out how many licks it takes to get to the center of a tootsie pop
3. Find out the name of that thing that dangles in the back of your throat.
4. Get cancer (it's bound to happen)
5. Be on Nova
6. Visit the grave of Edgar Allen Poe
7. Find true love with someone who:
a. is a member of the opposite gender
b. wears a watch (you can always trust a guy who wears a watch)
c. loves me (optional)
d. has all major appendages still in tact, or at least has a good reason as to why they are missing
8. Get married to above said person

Ruining My Dreams, One French Stallion at a Time

I was walking on campus the other day when I saw the pituitary giant (everybody knows the pituitary giant, you see him everywhere) standing with a group of his basketball player friends, and naturally I thought, "Great, now I have to walk by them and act like I don't feel like a loser." So I commenced in doing so, and I was keeping up the act quite well when all of the sudden this tall black kid stepped out of the circle. He walked up to me, a basketball palmed in one hand and his other stretched out towards me. He shook my hand and introduced himself. He kinda had an accent, though, so I didn't understand his name. I asked him where he's from, and he said he was from France! He's here on a basketball scholarship. So I got all excited, since I've been studying French for many redundant years, and told him to speak to me in French.

He started with something simple. "Comment tu t'appelle?" (What's you're name?)
"Liz! My name is Liz! I understood you!"
He laughed, and then continued. "Quelle age est-tu?" (How old are you?)
"Oh wait! You asked how old I am! I'm so bad with numbers! Uh, nineteen...that's...dix-neuf!?"
"Good!" He babied me along, "You're good at French!"
"Try some more!" I urged, getting more giddy by the second.
"Okay," he continued, "Je sais que tu es belle."

I stopped--my school-girl excitement drained immediately. I thought I had heard what he said, but I didn't want to respond unless I was sure. He kinda laughed and asked if I had understood him, but by the way I was blushing he could tell that I had. But I told him I wasn't sure anyway, and asked him to say it one more time.

"Je said que tu es belle." He repeated, looking me up and down.
"You think that I'm pretty?" I asked weakly.
He smile big, "You are VERY good at French!"

I was so embarrassed. I tried to end the conversation and leave--tried to escape this meat-market of a campus. But before I could walk off he stopped me.

"Wait," he said, "Do you have a boyfriend?"
I laughed, "Nope!"
"Really? That surprises me."
I laughed again, it seemed to be my natural response to the whole situation. "Why do you say that?"
"You are very pretty. I would think that you have a boyfriend. Why don't you?"

Why don't I? How do I answer that question? There had to be some response that wouldn't make him think I was the victim, that I was in total control of my single status. Yes, there must have been a perfect response, but instead of thinking of it, I gave this brilliant answer:

"Boys are trash!" It came out without warning for me or him. I might as well have told him he had cooties; it would have sounded just as mature. Seeing that he was a little taken aback, I tried to make it sound a little better, "I mean, they're just no good. All of you. You just make life harder. Why would I want a boyfriend?"

Yes, I did immediately recognized that I wasn't helping the situation.

He gave a confused laugh, and started edging away from me, "All of us? Some guys are good, I think." But he didn't seem willing to fight the point. It looked like he was the one trying to escape now. "Sometime you will give someone a chance," he said as his final defense, "and you will see that some of us are good."

I just laughed--the default reaction--and then turned to walk off. It took all that was in me to not break into a run and try and leave my shame behind me. But he was still watching, and I didn't need to embarras myself anymore than I already had.

Why did I do that? Why did I feel the need to insult his whole gender and turn him away as if I've never wanted to marry a French stallion? Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! With a blunder like that I deserve a life of loneliness.

Every Excruciating Detail---Valentine's Day Edition

Valentine's Day of '07

Good old Valentine's Day. The day that brings out the romantic side of boys pursuing girls (I'm not saying that's a good thing). Naturally I've been dreading this day since the end of January, and have been playing Irish music in my apartment to try and focus on the arrrival of St. Patricks day instead, but my plan didn't work, and I was forced to face Valentine's day.

The SUU ballroom team threw a Valentine's Day Gala, and since I have two roommates on the ballroom team, every boy who stopped by our apartment got hounded to buy tickets for it. Little did I know that I was going to have to suffer the consequences. On Sunday they talked James into buying tickets, and on Monday James asked me to go with him. I knew I was in trouble. James has been trying to push our relationship along for two months now, and I've been rejecting every attempt he has made.

But I was stuck. I was going to this dance with James, and I was even going to try and be happy about it. I tried on my formal from high school to see if it even fit anymore. It was a little tight, but i was going to make it. As I was trying it on Matt texted me (Matt is a boy who I'm friends with, who often alludes that he likes me, and I often allude to him that he's a good friend) and the conversation went as follows:

Matt: What are you doing?
Me: Trying on my formal for Valentine's Day. I can't breathe.
Matt: I'd probably be breathless too just seeing you in it. (I bet he thought that one was smooth)
Me: I think I just threw up in my mouth.
Matt: Haha. Well you don't seem excited for your date. If you wanted a date for Wednesday so bad I'm sure there were plenty of guys who would have taken you. Heck, even I thought of taking you out on Wednesday.
Me: No Matt, you don't get it. I'm not going because I wanted to have a date, I'm going because I got asked. My personal plan was to get home from class on Wednesday and sleep off the rest of the holiday.
Matt: Well I do need someone to take to the dance. You're roommates got me to buy tickets and I don't even know who I'm asking.

I really didn't need Matt saying flirty stuff to me right now. I was already worried about James' intentions, I didn't even want to think about Matt. But I did help Matt out by setting him up with Brittney, a girl who lives upstairs. And I'm not gonna lie, I was really hoping that they would hit it off.

The night of the dance came. I don't know why I put the effort into getting ready for the dance, but I did, and it you don't mind me saying, I looked pretty good. James confirmed this to me when he picked me up and emphasized he meant it by looking me up and down. Tender. From that point on for the rest of the night it seemed as if it was his goal to keep our heads as close as possible. I honestly didn't look him in the eye the whole night because I was afraid my head would hit his if I turned it at all.

The price of the ticket included a three-course meal before the dance. The dinner was fun because it was assigned seating and my roommates used their ballroom connections to make sure we were all sitting at the same table. So for a moment I was able to ignore the fact I was on a date at all and just had fun with my roommates.

Then the dancing started---disaster!

For how timid James is, he was being quite insistent that we dance as close as possible, and have his head resting against mine the whole time.

If I could have spontaneously combusted right there on the dance floor, I would have.

To add to all that, the entire night he would reach for my hand and I would pretend not to notice and conveniently fold my arms or something. But since we had to hold hands while dancing, he just didn't let go the rest of the night. I imagine that was some sort of victory for him, that he finally found a way to dupe me into holding hands with him. Well congratulations, James, you win.

He finally dropped me off and I got into my pajamas and commenced in emotional eating. Matt came down to my apartment after dropping off Brittney. He stuck his head in the kitchen door-- "Hey Liz, thanks for setting me up with Brittney!" Don't mention it. "I really like her! We're gonna hang out again tomorrow!" Splendid, I'm so happy for you. "Hey Liz, you looked like you were having fun too." I'm a good pretender. "I thought you said you weren't into James. You sure looked like you were!" I'll kill you Matt, just say one more word. "Just kidding! But I am glad we both got to go to the dance!" I really didn't want Matt's enthusiasm right now, I wanted him to notice that I had a kitchen-table full of cookies that I was plowing through, and to sit down and talk to me about what was wrong. "Well, Brittney just texted me to see when we're gonna hang out next. So I'm gonna go home and talk to her." How cute, a couple who has mutual like for each other. So it does happen in real life. Could have fooled me.

Just When I Thought There Were No More Fish In The Sea...

I worked last night at a bball game. I'm an usher and I just have to stand by the door to the reserved section and check tickets. It was about half an hour before the game, and nobody was really there so I was just chillin' by the door to my section.
This black guy, about 35 or 40 years old, who was really friendly kept on saying stuff as he passed me. He finally just stopped and talked with me. He said he was the driver for the other team, so I asked if he was from Illinois, and he said no. He had just driven them from the airport in Las Vegas. I asked who he was going to cheer for since he had no loyalty to either ofus, and he said "I'll cheer for the team with the prettiest girls." I pointed at the cheerleaders and said, "Well, we have some pretty tempting options down there." He looked me up and down and said, "I'm already staring at the best option here."

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy (progressively getting faster) He's gonna be like that, is he?

I said something about how he was going to embarrass me, and he said, "I'm just saying it how it is, Lady L (which is what he decided to call me instead of my name), I just call them as I see them. And if you get bored during the game and need somebody to talk to I'm going to be sitting right over there," pointing to a seat conveniently within winking distance.
Unfortunately for me, we are required to stand by our section's door the whole time, and if they didn't require it of us, I would have made it a new rule for myself. What a champ, hitting on a 19 year old. And Dad says that Jenna is the prettiest of his daughters. Well, this just might give him a run for his money.