April Writers!!!!

We are in the full swing of SPRING!!!!

This month we have our Featured April Writers.  Please read ALL entries, choose your favorites and leave your comments.  Remember to be kind, courteous, and respectful in your commentary.

Comment are due Monday, April 29.

If you are writer you may wish to comment on your fellow peers' pieces.  Otherwise, keep checking back on your page for comments and respond.

We only have one more month left on the blog.  Stay focused, positive,  and well-rested as we head into the last weeks of the school year.

xo,

Mrs. Solano

April Roll Call (2018) - The Kin ...

dragonmount.com

Self-worth--Andrea

More often than sometimes, I find myself wondering what I would be like if I had changed one thing about my past, or one aspect of my personality. You know how people always
ask the standard question, “If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?” And majority of the time I would answer with a self deprecating joke that slipped past my lips with a fabricated and forced smile, listing off my insecurities as easily as if someone had told a first grader to recite the alphabet to their teacher. Time and time again, there are many instances that I speculate what I would really change about myself. Would I really wish away the huge toothy smile I have begun to love? Or to hope I stopped laughing as gleefully and noisily as a child being swung around by their parent? 

More often than sometimes, I wonder what would’ve happened if I entertained the idea of someone telling me to screw off in middle school. Oh, the fun memories of learning people could be so cruel. Or if I forced myself into heteronormativity after being accused of being a predator in the girls’ locker room after being discovered I was a different sexuality of that from people I had entrusted and thought of as friends. Perhaps my life could have drastically changed, never knowing what it was like to hate myself if I had just kept my head down and didn’t go out of my

comfort zone. All these things wandered inside my brain like an explorer trying to navigate their way through the tangling and intimidating terrain of a newly found jungle.
However, I have come to an understanding of the value these past experiences had done for me. I know there is no reason to pity myself and feel sorry for the insecurities I have acquired. Although some days it feels like I’m nothing more than just a lump, a mass of flesh walking around, it does not mean that I should I be treated as such. The same goes for anyone else that may beat themselves up as if they were a broken toy someone threw off to the side. 

Kids want so desparately to fit in this messy society, crushing themselves when they discover they are a puzzle piece who was placed in the wrong box, whether it be fate or by accident. With this turn of events, individuals might turn to rediscovering themselves. More often than normal, people go and fall in love with different countries to achieve this goal. Even though a person, possibly, has not had the chance to travel, I find solace in traveling down memory lane, despite the many valleys and steep slopes, trudging along rocky paths and fixing wounds that have reopened.
And despite the odds being stacked against me, through homophobic comments made by “traditional” family members and racists who fail to see the beauty in culture and diversity apart from their own, or lack thereof, I will continue to find myself striving to harvest happiness and live life to the fullest. And it will be okay if I don’t know the answer to everything I ask or think

about. What matters to me is that I go forward with being curious and bright throughout my college life and into adulthood. 

From all my experiences and mistakes made up until this point, I have begun to understand what self-worth means to me. It is not something I am fearful of talking about (like some of my peers may feel). Self-worth is what makes everyone unique and special, regardless of the tiring obstacles one might endure. A strong sense of self-worth is being able to wake up every morning, knowing that even if yesterday was the toughest one yet, you were able to persevere and make it to another day. This word holds a great amount of value and should be treated as such, not in a way that is degrading and harmful but in one that is positive and worthy if each persons’ uniqueness. Societal expectations and norms are hazardous to individuals and prove to chip away at the self-worth of young adults the same way Michelangelo chipped away at the delicate marble of the Madonna of Bruges. T hings have to change and move towards a more progressive way of thinking in order for self-worth to improve and grow stronger. Knowing our values sets us up to excel and blossom into bright leaders for the world to come. 

More often than sometimes, people should know they have value and are not disposable items. And maybe, slowly, the world can be a more tolerable place. Self-worth is what will bring us as a society to a position of being accepting and nurturing instead of hateful and ready to lunge at anyone with a different mindset as you or I.

I Ain't Kevin Hart but Laugh at My Pain--Maeve

Oh, cancer. You b...beauty. Please, feel free to laugh at my pain.

17 years in the making and I am exquisitely positive that no matter what has
happened, and let me tell you, some crazy stuff has happened, there were problems, but everything was all good. Back in the day, immigrating from Canada to California, living in a two-bedroom apartment stuck on food stamps and in-and-out of the Pomona Swap Meet. To finally getting our own house on Decoy Lane in Fontana. Then, losing that house a mere year or two after in 2008 due to that grand old recession. After that, altering living with different aunts and uncles until we landed a condominium on East Avenue in Rancho Cucamonga. Oh, then losing my house in 2013 and being legally homeless from Thanksgiving to Christmas. Back to, finally, securing another condominium in that same complex. For the duration of most of my life, everything had happened there. My cousin drifting off in 2006 due to a fatal car accident. My grandmother flying away in 2011 due to my good old friend ovarian cancer. To, my uncle bidding adieu in 2015 from a heart attack. Through all this, I always had my family, always. 

It wasn’t until late 2018, I felt like Whitney Houston, I felt as if I had absolutely nothing. My two favorite people in the world left me forever, and they didn’t even get a

say. My previous caretaker and favorite uncle, Nazaire Domond, was diagnosed with lung cancer, three years ago on his birthday. Simultaneously, my godmother and one of my favorite aunts, Rita Domond, was diagnosed with breast cancer, about two years before my uncle. Throughout these five years, I watched an independent woman and strong man fall helplessly weak to a disease they didn’t ask for, yet their bodies felt the need to punish them for. They never ever did drugs, lead very healthy and organic lifestyles, and they even established their own gardens. After senior year started, the changes did too, slowly yet frustratingly quick. Following my birthday in September, my family was in a mess. My uncle was reported driving up to Big Bear and was claimed to have lost his memory and not have known where he was, even though he had a job scheduled up there. Shortly after, his rescuer called the ambulance and rushed him to a hospital where he was admitted and remained for no more than a week. At the same time, my aunt had returned from her healing trip to Haiti, shortly after, she was also admitted to a hospital. Unlike my uncle, my aunt remained at City of Hope. When my uncle came out, it was slow but almost as if he was transforming into a different person. Overtime, his muscles began to deteriorate and he began to lose the ability to swallow, eat, speak properly, make eye contact, and support his body weight. It was so sad to see a man almost six foot become skinnier than my 115 pound self. My aunt remained in the hospital, and I found no time to visit her throughout the week out of fear and sheer ignorance of the intensity of the situation, I postponed my weekend visits to the following weekends. Finally, I brought myself to visit my aunt one faithful sunday and during my entire visit she could not open her eyes and refused to eat her disgraceful and

tasteless hospital food. Days after my visit, my mom told me that she did not remember my visit and that I was running out of time and had to see her on the weekend. At this point, I knew but I didn’t want to. On October 19th, my aunt passed away. I found out the day later, my mom wanted to protect me from the news thinking I would break. I did but not in the way she expected. I became angry with her and my sister for thinking they could decide what I get to know or don’t, I became angry that people felt that I was weak. Worst, I became angry because I felt that I was weak, that I didn’t take advantage of every opportunity given to me. That month, despite prior deaths in my family, I attended my first funeral. I was broken but very numb. I only told four friends. I never let people know why I was gone or “busy” because I didn’t want looks of pity and people to perceive me as weak. I got so used to the changes. I’ve faced it, my life is crazy. While she was departing, my uncle was in-and-out of San Antonio Medical Hospital and his children, my closest cousins and prior roommates, Darren and Meghann, began living with us, again. Darren slept out in our loft, and Meghann and I shared a bed for almost three weeks. He finally was sent home, but not released, he was now in hospice. If you don’t know, hospice is “care that focuses on the palliation of a chronically ill, terminally ill or seriously ill patient's pain and symptoms.” Another one of my close cousins shared with me, “When you go into hospice, the chances of you coming out are slim to none.” We never let his kids know the details, but everyday after school instead of rushing to finish my AP Stats homework I went to Utah Court to see my second ‘papa.’ The man who let me live with him for a whole year in 2008 when our house was demanded back by the bank. The man who even when he was sick and his license was revoked by the

judge because of his medical condition, went behind the law and my parents’ back to drop me off at home because no one would be able to get me in time and he didn’t want me to wait. One random sunday, after church and our routine family get-togethers, we took the kids home to visit ‘papa’ like every other day. Meghann and I sang his favorite songs to him, P.Y.T. by Michael Jackson, Grenade by Bruno Mars, and Yellow by Coldplay. He couldn’t speak at this point, he was probably as skinny as my twelve year old brother, and was developing supposed tumors and lumps in the brain. He would use all his strength to squeeze your hand or try to force a sound out of his throat. Even though his eyes were shifting in different directions and couldn’t meet mine, he knew it was me when I approached and responded the best he could. My aunt told me he enjoyed my humor and didn’t care for pity; so, I told him the most outrageous stories at school. He loved hearing the drama, he just hated the one his life was in. After singing and talking to him, I began hanging with my siblings and his kids until we were called to speak to him because night was approaching. I remember we all stopped immediately, got up, and met familiar solemn faces in the living room. We watched as they attempted to move my uncle, from my mom’s recliner that we allowed him to ‘borrow’ and into his hospital bed. He was grunting out in pain and shortly after we said goodnight and doing our routine personalized handshakes with him, despite him not having the strength to do it back, he was placed on his hospital bed. One of my aunts who is a R.N. checked his pulse and vitals, she spoke out and in the most calm voice said, “Tatie, There’s no pulse.” (Creole to English Translation: Aunt). I remember being so calm yet panicked that night. My sister was mentally raging yet successfully remaining surprisingly calm and

Darren, my brother, and I seemed to be calm. My mom told me to take the kids and my sibling back home, immediately. The damage was done, on November 12 we saw ‘papa’ die. When we got back home, Meghann went straight to doing her freshman Honors English homework, Darren began playing soccer games with my brother, my sister was busy handling business, making calls, and all I could do was stress clean my room for the first time in what felt like forever to alleviate the pain. The funeral happened during Thanksgiving break and we didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving all together for the first time ever this past year. 

Like Biggie, I couldn’t help thinking it was all a dream. It almost seemed ridiculous to any outsiders, my father has sixteen siblings and my mother has eight and even with all of them in my extended family, I was obsessed with the absence of two. I learned that love is something that should always be shared because you never know when you won’t see the people you love most. It may be cliche but live like tomorrow doesn’t exist, because it’s not promised to any of us. It’s okay to just hold on for today and right now. Even though they are not physically present, my heart continues to beat for them. Live with no regrets because you never want to feel like me, like you didn’t do everything you could to share your love with them. I learned that I want to live my life with purpose, so even if I die tomorrow, or you, God forbid, people know that I was here and I lived to love. Don’t save your love, share your love, because all good things come to an end. 

P.S. Please feel free to come to me with any stories, comments, questions. Trust me, I’m pretty much an open book. Thank you for reading! God bless. 

Yours Truly, Maeve-Darly Domond

Pang--Dani

Looking down at my dainty fingers full of numbness -- wanting the need to wrap my
arms around my father and never let go. After what seems to be an eternity, I’m beyond delighted when I open my front door and suddenly see his smile which seems to cause the sun to shine and the birds to sing their songs of assuage. 

The first month is about getting to know his adventures and holding him close as I attempt to piece together a bond that is tenacious. Having him wake up from nightmares as he visions his brother’s dying, not being able to reconnect with their families. It’s filled with candor and pinky promises of a better future, assuring that I will be able to get to know my father. 

The second month is a little more challenging, as his nightmares worsen and seem like a complete reality in his PTSD infected mind. I try to speak to him and comfort him by vowing that if he looks in my eyes, everything around him won’t be as disastrous as it is on the battlefield. I hold his hand with one of mine while I then hold out one of my other fingers for his finger to touch. It was at that moment when touching one another’s fingertip, became a symbol

of “i love you”. In this month, it becomes clear that he is finally home with his two daughters that never want him to leave again. 

The third month. It’s filled with laughter and sweet serenity that was longfully craved while I grew up. Yet of course, time seemed to take its toll again after my father spent every waking second of being alive this time, to get to fully know my sister and I. As having lived through it my whole childhood life, I knew that soon my father’s vacation would come to an end. 

The fourth, fifth, and sixth months flew by as I counted the days since I saw his gleaming smile once again. A call was made. A daughter’s heart shattered knowing fully well that her source of happiness was once again going to be taken from her. I always thought, “what’s the whole point of him coming back again, just to leave a few months later?” I looked at him. Standing mute. I saw his damaged soul piercing from his eyes onto my fraudulent smile. I walked up to him and held out my finger for the second to last time, as we arrived to the airport soon after for his departure. He is wearing his uniform with pride as he is preparing to help protect this country once again. 

A snapback to reality and I open my eyes brimming with tears streaming down my cheek. I’m still looking down at my dainty fingers, as I lift my head up to really focus on what is occuring. My dad has always taught me to be strong, but at that moment, I couldn’t follow that lesson. He sets me inside my mother’s car as she is about to drive away but stops himself just for a short while. It was the first time I saw my father cry. I gripped his fingers as my little hands

couldn’t fit his yet and held on tightly not wanting him to disappear again. As my mother starts driving away, I remember my hand sliding off of his touch and screaming from the top of my lungs that I love him. The tip of our fingers were the last to touch. And as we pulled away from his sight, I felt like half of me was absent. 

It is now April 2019, and I am overjoyed to say that I now know my father and I am thankful that I am his daughter. He taught me to always remain humble, don’t quit, work for what I want in life, compassion, basic manners, and most importantly, he has taught me how to love. I will soon be following in his footsteps, as i’m working on joining the U.S. Marine Corps and having honor, courage, and commitment. I hope that one day, he will be able to look at me in the eyes with happy tears, and say to me that he is beyond proud of the woman i’m becoming today, as he holds ME tight this time, not wanting to let me go.

"I Had a Dream..."--Gabriel

I lay in bed with a thousand thoughts running through my head. None of them peaceful. It was Sunday night and the day before exhausted all the life in my eyes and body. Not because the physical tasks of the day had been strenuous, but a mental war had been waged in my head by religion. I had a feeling of who I was but every Sunday that was stripped from my being. The words scourged my back and the cross I carried grew too heavy. I could not allow myself to continue to fall to my knees in agony every week. As a child, I had prayed to God to change who I was. I had questioned my purpose for being born this way, in a way I could not understand. No one else understood that I had no choice in this matter, it was not a lifestyle but rather cycle of confusion and self-hatred. The torture inflicted by others for being gay was not one I could have possibly wanted but was bestowed upon me for a reason I could not understand yet. And I thought maybe I could tonight. I prayed again— maybe tonight He would answer. I doubted it though. I thought a God so just could accept me in his arms in Heaven, but I thought that maybe being pestered by homophobia every Sunday was a sign telling me otherwise. I could not understand why a God so just could let me live with this fear of no matter how holy I could live, that any of these attempts were futile because my final destination would be and always would be Hell. I hoped the God I was taught about in catechism was forgiving to me. But I had dreams that my life would be so much better than the one I lived. I closed my eyes. 

I opened my eyes to see myself standing above a valley blooming in the warm, brisk cusp of late spring and early June. A vineyard stretches in all directions only to be stopped by the embrace of the nearby brown brush hills. A small adobe structure resides in the center-right of the valley. I stand above a sepia colored world alone.
I bask for awhile, letting the warmth and light of this early afternoon air titillate my skin. I close my eyes. Despite this gesture of relaxation, the sun invites itself beyond my eyelids and illuminates crimson flesh. 

I feel myself lift from the ground, effortlessly and weightlessly, and soon the mellow valley air brushes my exposed flesh as I descend into the valley below. Although I’m moving swiftly, I see vividly every detail and texture that nature has born and I feel each individual drying grape leaf scratch my feet as I motion toward the adobe structure.

My feet meet earth again and I stand in front of the line structure that I can now perceive as a house. My hands glaze the warm clay walls baking in the sun and absorb the emptiness of the valley pulsate into my hand. 

I find myself in this foreign world but find peace and comfort as if I lived here my whole life. Although this structure before me stands, like an oracle, the house tells me no man has ever stepped foot on this soil. This vineyard is not mapped on any map, has been explored by no human or animal, and is even unknown to God. I, alone, belong to this vineyard and it belonged to me. Untouched by civilization, untouched by the laws of God, I made it my home. It was the ultimate liberation. Unlike the fallen rebellion of Heaven, I had made my peace with God but had to live a truth I could not live on Earth. Here, I found that truth. I stand in this world alone, peaceful. 

I awake in a cold sweat, dumbfounded by the world I had just visited. But all at once, I realize it to be a dream and with great disappointment and agony, I lie awake with my eyes closed in the dark— without the crimson filtered flesh and without peace. I lay in a world alone, lost. In my thoughts, I had decided that I would attempt to understand my situation tomorrow night and if not then, then maybe another night, but I had a feeling this war would continue for many more years.

Why Them Over Us?--EJ

So this is a story of how I learned not to give a single damn about what people think about me and how I live my life and how I saw what unconditional love really feels like. So this story will get deep, so I was born in the Philippines and lived there for a good 7-8 years, so I grew up there knowing that, that is the place is where I will grow up in and live my life. I had a loving family, a mom, a dad, and five siblings, I had a good life. (Here’s where it get deep) My dad left us, he cheated and at the time I didn’t know what was happening I was only 7 or 8. The time that really set us off was at a family reunion. We went by ourselves without our dad and we were having a good time, seeing all the uncles, the aunties, cousins, etc. Yet, he comes and brings his new “girl”, she goes and talks to all our family like she has known them for years and started to talk major crap about my mom and say that she assaulted her, (note my mom doesn’t get violent, she’s a pacifist) All I remember was that my mom told me that we are going to go home now and leave the place. At the time, I did not want to go because I was having fun with my cousins and all. Yet she grabbed my arm and we went to the car. Once we got outside and went to the car I started to see and hear her cry. I did not know why but then I heard them talk about my dad and what he did and I won’t forget that day because that’s the day that I started to ask myself, “why them over us?” You had a good life with us and we had a great time together, I was your little man, (I’m the only boy), why did you have to do what you did? I felt like a piece of trash, not wanted, used. I did not want to live anymore, live a life where I will just be thrown out by my own dad.
Then we moved, my mom and I packed up our things and moved here to Rancho Cucamonga California to live with my sister. At this time I just turned 9 but the question still followed me even though I was thousands of miles away from him. When I was in elementary, I saw people with there dads and I was asked where mine was, I would say I have no idea, he’s somewhere. This period of time for me was very stressful, now looking back at it, I just move and I had to assimilate to a new culture, new language, just new everything. It would’ve been easier if I had that father like figure there with me to help me out, but no all I had was my mom, my sister, and her husband. When I went to middle school everything turned to the worse, I started to get depressed, sometimes suicidal, just because he chose them over us. That was my excuse at the time, he left me so I don’t know how to live life. Yet, I found a loving group of friends, I found God, I found out that I don't need my biological dad to be the father figure, I can see that the people who were once strangers, turned uncle became like my dad.
These people who were once strangers taking time out of there day to go and teach me the life lessons that I would have missed out on if I never turned from being that “emo” kid in middle school to the person you(the reader/my friends) see now. So earlier I said that this is a story about how I learned not to give a single damn about what people think or how I live my life, well It was because of all of this that I was able to learn that. I won’t let others actions dictate how I live my life, I will do as I please. Do it in honor of my Mom. She is my rock and she will always be there for me. She never left me even though sometimes I told her to just leave me, that I didn’t need her. She showed unconditional love to me. I know like this story is me ranting (and I kinda am) but that’s how I get my point across. Well, I want to leave you with this, whatever people have done to you, don’t let it dictate your life, don’t let it consume you like how

it consumed me, almost causing me to lose my life, (I never did anything pass cutting trust me). Y’all have a good one and sorry if this seems like a rant, God Bless!

How to say goodbye to your friends when highschool ends 101--EJ Franco

With our senior years coming to a close, I would like to stress the importance of making the most of what we have left, and who we have left.
Tip 1: Make the most out of what little time you have
It all started with that bittersweet feeling of taking senior pictures with a cap and gown, where we didn’t even feel like seniors yet. But here we are feeling the same way, we aren’t ready to say goodbye yet. One thing we’re never guaranteed is the gift of time. The famous latin saying of carpe diem has been passed down generations, but the only time we recognize the importance of its meaning are the times when we need time itself. Finding a reason to get outside of the house once in a while to spend time with friends can make your things to do list with your friends much shorter, because even if that list lasts forever, the time we have to accomplish things on that list does not. Have you ever wanted to like streetrace with a friend and be extra like that when in reality you’re just going home with a bunch of people, yeah, been there done that. Have you ever wanted to make cringy tiktoks with friends to get famous, well I hope not, but if it makes saying goodbye to your friends easier, then by all means, chase that clout. 

Tip 2: Forgive those who have the tragic flaws of being human
Everyone has that one person in their life that has contributed to the negatives of high school memories, and one of the hardest things to do is to find that tiny little area of peace within yourself to forgive that person for whatever they have done. For whatever situation you have been in, just know that your friends are an important reason why you are able to get through the

rough times so that you can enjoy the happier aspects of life. Forgiving that person, or multiple people, can be one of the hardest things to do, but it also seems ironic to close a chapter of your high school life, with an open ended chapter of your never ending grudge against someone. Forgiving them for their tragic flaw of being a human is totally fine, because we can’t please everyone, and we were not created to be perfect beings either. If it’s a special situation where your friends are the ones who you must forgive, I guess that just means that you’ll have an even easier time of saying goodbye; not to be negative, but you’ll meet people who are just right for you in the future, whatever that might be.
Tip 3: Tell that one guy/girl they’re cute
I honestly feel like one of the most annoying things that adults say to us inferior high school students is that feelings in high school don’t exist. It trains our brains to live in fear and to stray from letting our hearts decide for themselves, whether that be learning from getting knocked down by a rejection (and getting back up of course), or the harder thing to do, saying goodbye to someone special, someone you won’t see for a very long time. Relating back to tip 1, part of clearing our conscience is getting things up and out into the real world instead of dreamsical fantasies, like the daydreams I have about that one girl, or five. My chemistry teacher once told me that she respects me for having the guts to even ask a girl out in the first place. In fact I might even be stupid enough to make that mistake twice, like soon. Telling that one person how you feel can make you look like a total idiot, but it also gives you the opportunity to find out the way they feel too, if it goes exactly the way you want it to go, you might as well buy a lottery ticket. Also, if you want more tips on how to do this, there is a tutorial by Chad Leron-Madsen on how to slide into DM’s in Mrs. Cogswell’s blog.

Tip 4: Say hello!
When high school is over, one of the main things that we also must understand is that high school may be over, but the friendships we cater last forever. Saying hello once in a while even when you don’t see your friends once in a while can make the difference of being an antisocial loser like me, or being a super duper fun person to be around, the kind of person you don’t ever want to say goodbye to. The most important thing we have to remember is that every tip before this one is not necessarily true, because it’s not about having to say goodbye to someone after highschool ends, it’s about understanding that saying goodbye is a choice, because whatever you choose to make last forever, I promise that it will, I really really do, as long as the others promise that too. 

March Writers!!!!!

Welcome Back and Hello Spring!!!!


We are in the last stretch of the semester with Graduation on the horizon!!!  This is an exciting time for all of you.  So, while you are studying for AP exams, completing projects, reading novels and writing essays, take some time this week to relax and read the Blog :)

We have 12 submissions this month.  Please read ALL of them.  Choose at least three of them and leave your thoughts, comments and helpful feedback for the writer.  Your comments are due Monday, April 8.

Happy Reading!!!

xo,

Mrs. Solano

Petrichor--Alexis

Cindy Gordon
Cindy Gordon’s husband didn’t love her anymore. However, Cindy decided two first class tickets to Hawaii would change that. If she could get him back to where they swam with turtles and tried octopus for the first time, she knew they’d fall in love again. So, early Monday morning, Cindy woke up to give him a surprise birthday present. She knelt down by his ear and whispered “Happy Birthday!” Slowly, he sat up rubbing his eyes. “I told you I didn’t want to celebrate.” Cindy replied, “I-I know, but I couldn’t wait to give you your gift!” She pulled out the tickets and laid them in front of him. Blankly he stared at the tickets without saying anything. Cindy smiled and said, “We leave in an hour, and don’t worry I already worked everything out and packed our bags.” After a moment he let out a deep sigh and said, “I have a 7:00 A.M. shift at the hospital. Did you call and tell them about our little trip?” Cindy’s smile faded and she shook her head. Scoffing he said, “Looks like you didn’t work it all out then.” Cindy quietly mumbled sorry and began to walk away. Letting out another sigh, he said, “Cind, wait. Maybe Diane can cover for me.” Wiping a tear away, she turned around, “Yeah, maybe.” Cindy knew Diane would do anything for her husband. Cindy Gordon knew her husband didn’t love her anymore. 

Diane Walch
Diane Walch was supposed to have Monday off. Unfortunately, a 6:00 A.M. ringtone woke her up. “Hawaii? With her? You said you were going to leave her and now you’re going to Hawaii together?” she said half awake. “Mondays are my days off, I have to take Sam to school, you know that.” Listening to his excuses, she closed her eyes. “This is the last time, and I’m not talking about filling in, I mean believing you...love you too.” Reluctantly, Diane got ready and ran downstairs. “SAM, BREAKFAST!” In an instant, a little boy in a stained t-shirt and mismatched socks came running down. Diane shuffled through her purse looking for her keys and said, “I just got called into work, I’m so sorry. I know I said I’d take you to school but do you think you can ride your bike? I can ask Ms. Walters next door if she can take you.” Sam shook his head, “Her car smells like cat litter, I’ll ride my bike.” Diane giggled, “Be nice! And please take Kindle, Elm has no sidewalks.” She said she loved him and closed the door, but all Diane Walch could think was that she was supposed to have Monday off. 

Eric Carter
Eric Carter had a crush on Stacy Steinbeck since sophomore year. For as long as he like liked her though, he had never talked to her, until last week. “Hey, it’s Eric right?” she said as she leaned against a locker. Confused Eric asked, “Yeah?” Stacy smiled and popped her gum. “Well, Eric, you know Jason Mendes? He’s having a party Sunday night and I’m going, you should go to.” Standing up straighter Eric smiled and said, “O-Ok.” “Great, just make sure to bring a few cases of beer and chips, Doritos are my favorite.” “Yeah of course, I’ll be there,” Eric said and nonchalantly folded his arms. Eric kept his word. He snuck out, stole his dad’s Mustang, bought the beer and chips and arrived at Jason’s, where he found Stacy Steinbeck making out with some somebody and a beer already in her hand. Eric wasn’t shocked, but it still hurt. After deciding to not let his beers go to waste, Eric had a few and then drove home, or tried at least, the pouring rain didn’t help much. While turning onto Kindle, Eric hit a few cars before crashing his

dad’s into a tree. The rest of the night became a blur. All Eric Carter would remember is the sirens, his dad’s crushed Mustang and that he no longer had a crush on Stacy Steinbeck. 

Zoey Cooper
Zoey Cooper was a “big girl.” She could tie her own shoes and pour her own juice, even screw the lid on. On Monday morning, Zooey was sitting in the back of her dad’s Mercedes on her way to school. As her dad turned on Elm Street, Zoey’s cup fell down knocking the not so tightly closed lid off, spilling fruit punch all over her dad’s seats. “ZOEY!” Her dad yelled as he quickly turned around to pick up the cup. Zoey cried, “I’m so sorry daddy” over and over right up until the moment her dad’s Mercedes hit something in the road. After seeing the little boy lying still on the ground, Zoey Cooper became a “big girl.” 

Sam Walch
Sam Walch loved the smell of rain. He was on his way to school Monday morning and meant to take Kindle Street. However, due to an accident, he had to take Elm Street. He made sure to stay as close to the front lawns as possible. It had just rained the night before for the first time in a while, and Sam had almost forgotten the scent. While pedaling down Elm Street, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. It was just for a second, but it was enough. Sam opened his eyes just in time to see a Mercedes coming quickly towards him, impossible to avoid. It would only be a moment in time, but it would be his last. Many would blame Elm Street for not having sidewalks, but they’d never know it was much more than that. It was Cindy Gordon wanting her husband to love her again. It was Diane Walch not having Monday off. It was Eric Carter having a crush on Stacy Steinbeck. It was Zoey Cooper being a “big girl.” It was Sam Walch loving the smell of rain.

Father, Stretch My Hands--Alexia

The most painful goodbyes are the ones that are never said or never explained.
Walking into the room I was greeted with hugs and smiles on everyone's faces, I was happy. Then, my surroundings shifted and confusion filled me. Instead of this sunny day it was now this gloomy atmosphere where the last rose had died. Everything happened so fast and none of it made sense to me, for I was so young and innocent to understand the meaning of death. The realization of never seeing my father again and creating quality memories with him had yet to hit me. I sat in the front pew of the church observing the dark scenery, seeing the wet faces, and hearing the mourning in my relatives voices. I didn’t realize someone so close to me would now be moving so far away from me, eternally. As the years progressed my being began to face the reality. In elementary school the teachers always had the students make cards for mothers and fathers day to give to the respective parent. Every year my brother and I would end up giving the father day cards to our grandpa because he was the only male figure that my brother and I saw periodically. One year though different than the others, I asked my mom why my brother and I had to make the cards if we didn't have a dad. She exclaimed that not only was she our mother but she was our father too. I had never realized that my mom had took the role of the double parent standard and did everything in her power to make my twin brother and I happy. She spoiled us and ensured we were always taken care of. My mother took the part of the mother and the father role. Yet there was always this longing

question of the importance and significance my dad had played in my life. My mother never brought my father up after he passed away, never asked us, my brother and I how we felt about the situation but, I’d like to know more about my father and the importance he played in the short four years he spent with me. I want to meet the family I never knew on my dads side, to hear the significance he played in their lives. I've learned that sometimes life is short but the story behind it is endless. Discovering more about my father will help me discover more about myself, my characteristics and the dad that many people say I resembled.
The topic of my father being gone comes to be so uncomfortable that it's been fourteen years since the death of my father and I never have asked my mother what the cause of my fathers death was. I've never really gathered how my mother dealt with the death of my dad. I sometimes wonder if the death of my father ever meant anything to my mom. Perhaps my mom is just an isionalist and isolates herself from fact that he’s gone. He may be gone but that doesnt mean he has to be out of the picture. As years passed I always wondered if I knew my father was previously ill could I have done something or said something that would have prevented his death. If I had prayed would God had rescued him from this illness. The surprise of his death still shocks me today, if I had known he was ill maybe I would've tried to make even more memories and fulfill his last wishes, but I didn't know. I didn't know i wouldn't see him again. From what i've heard many say my dad was stubborn and always saw the positive in life, in fact many say I

resemble him. Sometimes in moments of silence I picture my wedding day where my dad would walk me down the aisle but then the cloud crushes knowing he's gone.
I’d like to know more about my father and the importance he played in the short four years he spent with me. I want to meet the family I never knew on my dads side, to hear the significance he played in their lives. I've learned that sometimes life is short but the story behind it is endless. Discovering more about my father will help me discover more about myself, my characteristics and the dad that many people say I resembled .

Routine--Caden

At 4:45 a.m., waking up to the smell of coffee and subtle hints of cologne had become
routine. I was never allowed to use my own bathroom; my older sister had completely taken it over, forcing me to use the shower connected to my parent’s room every morning. As I walked past the dense smell of espresso, through the kitchen and living room, I’d flick myself in the head in hopes of not falling asleep. I approached the opening leading into my parent’s room and, as happened every morning, his bright and smiling face would greet me. Living in the mountains was no easy feat, especially considering the fact that my dad and I both had to drive 30 minutes to town each morning (work for him, school for me). He never failed to say a heartfelt goodbye, making sure I knew how much he loved me before heading out. I’d sleepily return the goodbye and tell him to be safe on the icy roads.
The sun was never up; zero period made it seem like I was living most of my life in the nighttime. I drive along the 40 Interstate from my house in Sedillo to my school on the Southeast edge of Albuquerque, going 35 mph as thick snow and quick wind attempt to tear open my car. This was routine. I was listening to the same CD as every other morning (I only had one CD, my car didn’t have aux). I had memorized every single lyric, every interjecting “yeah”, all of the harmonies to the choruses. It was always a long drive: so long that sometimes I could listen to the whole CD! However, this was not routine.
As I take the exit leading to school, I gaze upon the massive, brilliant lights illuminating the stadium. We were really going to practice outside? AGAIN? Nevertheless, I hold my tongue, knowing that I was doing what I loved. It’s over in an instant; we did the same thing we did every other morning. Throw a rounded wooden stick at a piece of circular kevlar, let it rebound, and repeat. Repeat in such a manner that each strike has EXACTLY the same amount of velocity as the one before it. Each stroke has even space between it, creating what we call “rhythm”. We carry this rhythm inside of us, creating an “internal tempo”; a separate heartbeat.
It’s all over; we go inside to put away our equipment and get warm in our enormous coats. The bell rings to go to first period...I sketch a few bars of music in my chemistry notebook... then second bell... falling asleep in World History as snow gives the windows freckles... third bell... this was all routine. Almost everyday except Tuesday I would go to work until 8, count by the hours while the scent of vinegar glass cleaner burns my nostrils. Go home, shower, do homework, go to sleep... I had done this all before.
But where did the unexpectedness of each individual day go? What did I aspire to be? How was I going to live the most fulfilling life possible?
These questions haunt my mind as I continue to go day-by-day... I’m losing time... hour by hour... where did the day go? Shower, do homework, go to sleep...
But wait. There is so much out there... so much that I need to experience...
What is going to happen after High School? All I ever hear about is people failing to accomplish their dreams; under the illusion that as long as they have a stable job with lots of money, they will be happy. Maybe that is the case for some, but not for me. No. I want so much

more. But how am I going to do it? It’s so competitive... I need to have connections... there will always be someone better... I can’t possibly do it... I should just give up...
Take a minute. Catch my breath. Watch as the dancing snowflakes scatter lightly against my window; inhale deeply as the scent of wet pine fills my nose. I’m overthinking again. As I unravel the thoughts that have been tangled in my mind for months, I realize how much I have been taking for granted. The thick scent of espresso, a warming goodbye...
Though our time on Earth is limited, our willingness to achieve is not. As humans, we often allow our lives to become so hectic that we forget what makes us who we are. Along with this, we forget to treat those around us with kindness and respect. Hold on to your individuality and love one another. Find the bright side of all situations, even if failure seems definite.