Every Night (Part2)

As I turned the corner she stood there in the entrance of my room, listening carefully.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t want you to hear that.” I told her while trying to hold back the tears.
“What happened?” She looked confused.
“Oh, nothing we’re just not allowed to disturb my dad.” I said with a relieving breath.
She pranced into my room, excited, and sat down on my bed. She had already changed into her pajamas and was ready to play games and explore my home. I however was ready to sleep, ready to disappear under my sheets and never return again.
“So, what happened?” She asked noticing my red face.
“Nothing, just tired I guess.” I replied trying to convince her everything was fine.

It was her very first visit to my house, and I didn’t want it to be the last. She was the only friend that I could trust at my house. She was the only person I truly believed wouldn’t judge me or my family. Just then my sister bursted into my room.
“They’re at it again,” She said before realizing Patty was over.
“Oh, sorry I didn’t know,” She said then ran right out of my room.
“What was that about?” She had anger in her voice by now.
“Nothing, I told you it’s fine,” I told her with the most reassurance I could scrape up.
“Mhmm, sure,” she said using those big brown eyes I typically cherished.
We had hours to kill before it would be anywhere near bedtime. At least dinner would be ready soon I told myself.

Sure enough my mom called upstairs, “Dinner’s ready!”
It was just what I needed, “Come on, I know you’re hungry, like always,” I said to Patty.
I knew that would distract her. We left my room, her first as a curtisy to all guests. As I shut the door behind me I saw my sister coming out of her room. She caught my eye with her expression of worry. We were both worried that Patty wouldn’t like what she saw. “It’ll be fine,” I told her with that same scraped together reassurance that she could already see through. “I promise,” I said even louder as if it would make the statement somehow more valid.

Dinner was awkward because every five minutes my dad would need something else and just shout it across the house for my mom to bring to him in the living room. Otherwise it was fine, I looked at her with this eye of mystery how she could sit there, happily eating dinner as if nothing was amiss. It seemed to mystify me, but either way I had to do the same. After dinner we went back upstairs immediately. At last the night was almost over, and I could relax in my room with my best friend, away from trouble.
“Come help your dad,” my mom said just in time to ruin my spirit.
“Coming,” I replied unwillingly.
My mom needed help moving my dad so that his back wouldn’t hurt in the morning. Paty tried to follow me downstairs and help, but I told her she couldn't.

Walking down the last step was always the hardest task. I already knew what was coming. There would be no ease that night. But I still had to smile and pretend like everything was fine, or like nothing bad would happen again.

“Take his boots off,” She whispered.
“Mom, please can I go upstairs,” I wined.
“I need your help, maybe we won’t wake him like last time,” She said as calm as always.
I slid one shoe off, then as I grasped the other, I saw him stir. Automatically I flinched. Sure enough he woke up just to see me curl into a ball of fear.
“What’s wrong with you? Can’t even help your mother?!” He yelled angrily.
“No, I swear,” I cowarded.
“Oh, and now you’re scared? Ha, I’ll show you what scared looks like.”
“No, please dad I’ll help.”
It was too late to plead. He was drunk as always so I could barely hear his slurred comments. He used the one boot he still had on this time. As I peeled myself off the floor I saw Patty at the bottom of the stairs, staring.

As soon as I could, I went back upstairs to my room. I didn’t know what to expect. Would she be mad at me? Would she want to leave? MY head was hurting maybe from confusion, or maybe from the hard hit on the ground. I opened the door slowly, I was more afraid of her than my dad.
“What’s going on?” She looked nervous.
“Nothing I’m not used to.” I said holding back my guilt for bringing her here.
“How long?” She said with strength this time.
“A while.”
“Why?”
“All different reasons, I never know why, it just does.”
“Well, are you ok, do you need to leave, or something?” I could tell she was still confused a little.
“No, I’ll be fine, I always am.” I looked down now because I hated these questions, the ones everyone asks when they don’t understand what kind of family you have. Typically when someone started to ask these questions, we would consider transferring schools again, but Patty was different. She wasn’t asking to be angry, she was asking because she genuinely cared. I know it’s hard for most normal people to understand me, but that’s what I liked about her, she always could no matter how strange or wrong I sounded. It wasn’t her fault she came over. It wasn’t her fault she saw me get hurt. It wasn’t her fault for asking those questions that I hated, she just cared, which I guess is a good thing.

“What does he do?” She was so curious, and it bothered me.
“Why do you want to know? It’s fine,” I was so used to avoiding questions like this is was almost second nature. There was a long pause as she began to understand. After a while she looked up at me with her final question.
“How often? “She asked uncomfortably.
“How often what?” I was aggravated and trying to avoid it.
“You know what I’m talking about, just tell me, how often?”
“Every night.”

Every Night (Part 1)

Patricia walked down past Marquette. I called to her, “you missed it!” She turned around in a soft manner as if she knew she had passed up the turn. She was overjoyed to finally see my house; in the two years we had known each other she never got to visit me. We turned the corner in unison. I was trying to direct her toward my house, but she insisted on acting like she knew exactly where it was.

She is about 5’11 taller than most girls my age, but the way she carried herself she only looked to be 5’9. Even though we were the same age, thirteen, we both walked as if the past that we carried said we were eighteen.

We walked the four straight blocks to St. Louis, made a left turn, and then continued on to my house. Her face was enlightened by the sight of the three story house. I unlocked the cast iron gate and let her in. I ran up the stairs, ecstatic to show her everything, my room, the kitchen, the mural in the hallway, everything. She gasped. I told her it was fine to throw her duffle bag anywhere, as she would be spending all night and the majority of the next day at my house anyway.

We had met three years before, at the summer camp next to my new school. My family was always moving around, but this would be my final school. From our first conversation we clicked. She was understanding and interested in things I had knowledge about; we never ran out of things to talk about. Her family life was perfect, two native polish parents that immigrated to give her a better life. She automatically understood me, she made adjusting easier, and continues to make me happy when I'm down.
As she put her bag down lightly next to the couch, I ran to the kitchen to get some water, the walk was tiring. I thought about settling her in my room, but she was still in awe of the downstairs, so I waited for her to get comfortable. I turned on the T.V. and put on a movie. She was more interested in exploring all the messy nooks and crannies of my home.

As soon as she walked in she gawked at the long stair case that leads to the upstairs bedrooms. Then turned her focus to exploring the first floor. Walking into the living room she took her time to touch everything from the worn out burgundy couch, to the TV. sitting in the opposite corner. She turned swiftly around the couch, a marking point to enter the dining room. The golden family table sitting dead center of the room caught her attention, only to be distracted by the large windows occupying nearly the entire adjacent wall. Further into my house is an archway that leads to an enormous kitchen that is dedicated to my mother’s passion for cooking. She was thrilled to whirl around the island in the center of the kitchen. What was normal to me, baffled her. I smirked. 

Once she was settled, I took her upstairs to my room, carrying her heavy duffle bag. When she entered she was more shocked by the dark walls than the actual size of the room.
 “It was my brother’s room, before he went to college,” I said.
She dropped down onto the bed, kicking off her gym shoes. She was the first friend to visit my house in years.

She was amazing, always there for me, to talk, to cheer me up, to encourage me. And she had those eyes, the eyes that are full of reassurance and only know how to tell you everything will be alright. Most people didn't understand our relationship. We seemed to never have anything in common, well on the surface at least. Most people can never understand the bond we have.

My mom unexpectedly entered my room. “How’s it going?” she asked Patty.
“Good, thanks” Patty replied with a smile.
“Good, well I hope you two have fun,” she said on her way out.
“So, what time does your dad get home?” Patty asked me.
“Oh, well hopefully not soon, because then we can’t go downstairs….” I replied elongating everything so that she wouldn't ask any more questions.
“Hey, we can watch a movie in the living room before he gets home, if you want?”
“Oh, ok.”

We left everything in my room, and raced down the stairs. I put on some comedy. Halfway through the movie my dad came home. The moment I heard his boots on the porch I jumped up, turned the T.V. off and told Patty to be quiet. He stood there, almost entirely blocking the door. He always intimidated my friends.
“This is Patty, and we were just going upstairs,” I blurted out in one breath.
“Fine, but get me a beer first,” He replied in an exhausted tone.
Turning to Patty I said, “I’ll meet you up there.”
He waited for her to leave. Then he swung his massive hand in a sweeping motion.
“I said get me a beer!” His voice boomed. I only prayed Patty didn't hear. In a rush I ran to get his beer,
the coldest one all the way in the back, just like always. My mom came down.
“Hey honey, dinner’s waiting, when you’re ready, just remember we have guests,” She said calmly.
“Yeah, just bring me the damn food,” he said while plopping down in the center of the couch satisfied with his beer in hand.
“Go ahead baby, I’ll get the next one,” she said gesturing for me to go upstairs.
Running up the stairs, I touched my face, to make sure it wasn't red anymore.

Independence

A principle that I personally live by is independence to the fullest extent. Independence is a simple value held true in the U.S. To be independent, is to follow your dreams, to fight for your rights to do what you please. I hold this value very close to my heart and chose to live everyday by it. Of course independence is limited by laws and what other values we hold as true. Our choices to do what makes us happy are all powered by holding our independence as a true value.

Doing what makes you feel liberated and happy will hold true no matter the circumstance. For example, in the book The Road by Cormac McCarthy, a father and son are living in a post-apocalyptic world in which very few values have been preserved. Most important to them is to refrain from succumbing to the cannibalism that seems to engulf them. Yet, independence is still respected.  Although under extreme circumstances, one may not see the evidence of independence thriving without society. People do as they please, and fight for the ability to live a free life.

To be independent is to be free and self-reliant. The man and his son are following their self-reliance, and are engaged in a daily battle to stay independent of other dominating people found along the road. Together they show that to be free of cannibalism, ravenous packs of murders, and starvation. 

Poe

Well, since I am unsure about this entry I have decided that it will be about Edgar Allen Poe's style.

Edgar Allen Poe wrote in the time of the romantics, not the lovable romantics, but the Romantic Period in which artists and writers revolted against an era of rational thinking. As one of those writers, Poe has a unique style of this imaginative quality. So far, I've read three of his works and in all three there is set forward a dark and gloomy almost as if the setting foretold or was connected to the main character. In some sense there is this incredibly complicated story being told with such detail and imagination that no one can understand it in just one read. He avoids blatantly stating what the true meaning is, but rather allows the reader's imagination to roam free. There is this constant use of conflicting references that reaches multiple audiences, while still conveying his allusive message. Poe is a true wordsmith for example, The Raven is known for its rhyme, imaginative, and idealistic qualities. His style is pronounced as its own because of the complexity in which his poems communicate messages at multiple level, unable to perceive with only one reading. This is why upon multiple attempts, one can only barely begin to unravel the gorgeous and elaborate style Edgar Allen Poe uses in his works of imagination.

What is an American?

To me an American is anyone who lives in this country, you don't have to possess certain characteristics or have been born here. If you are living in America today there is some purpose for you being here (legally or illegally). In fact those whom are here illegally are true Americans more than other people because they face horrific consequences, but do it all for the American dream. When someone asks me, what is an American? I say, it is us, the people of the united states who strive for freedom and independence, it is us the people who live here despite all the obstacles that face us. To be an American you don't have to live in conformity, or have papers, or even have a specific attitude. Being an American has to do with where you live, and the reason that you live there. People refers to others as less than if they don't have citizenship, but from my perspective, those whom risk their lives and waves their rights are equally as American as the ones born here. To be an American you can be your self, because no matter what some one, some where in this country will accept you. We should all (as Americans) be living the American dream rather than focusing on those whom are "not American", because at heart we are all just people who strives to live the American way of freedom.

The Modern Puritian

Do people stop to think what happened to the Puritans? Why don't they live in gated communities preaching the evils of our culture?The truths is, as the theocracy has disappeared, the people are yet to relinquish. They hid amongst us in out churches, on our streets. The only difference is that now we consider them crazy. As I walked down State st. this Saturday, I noticed a man with a speaker preaching hell and damnation. They scream the word of the lord with such passion.

Arrivals....There Goes the Neighborhood

"America The brave, still fear what we don't know."(Macklemore, 'Same Love"). The thought of encountering something new, some one different in itself frightens people. In times of war we call them invading forces, in times of peace, help. When the explorers came to America, instead of aiding or cooperating with natives they felt that they had a right to ownership. Excuse me, I meant WRONGLY believed they had a right to the "new world". Then again humans have nearly never been so idealistically open-minded. History books refer to this as colonizing, whereas Native Americans call it an invasion, enslavement, and theft. Their neighborhood, no entire communities were gone. Not only did they lose their neighborhood, but also their land, culture, and freedom.
To me, the explorers were entirely responsible for the clash that they had with the natives. A good analogy would be going across town to someone's house; being pleasant to gain entry, then declaring it was my home for I was superior. In evolution, no one organism is ever superior to another, they are all equal evolved into different forms of life. We are all human beings, equally evolved, yet some still believe one man can be superior to another. There is no superior, there is only level of knowledge. All people receive different levels and experiences of education, so even then there is no reason to call anyone's experiences or education superior to one another. We are ALL human beings, equal, yet one man claims land  over another for superiority consistently.
To me, Native Americans were robbed by the colonists, and tried to make peace, but nothing could prevent the clash of cultures during the birth of America.