“It’s an interesting story, but a straightforward story,” said Green, at age 54. He was enjoying a cup of McDonald’s coffee that he had doctored with an excessive amount of sugar. He doesn’t seem to think that his story is very unique, although it contradicts many existing misconceptions. Green was born in Southern Philadelphia on December 10th, 1957. He grew up there in a two-parent household with his step-siblings. Although his father died when he was fourteen, Green claims to have had a very happy childhood.

            However, that doesn’t mean that life was perfect.

            “Drugs were a part of my life since I was fourteen,” Green explained, “It was part of my community.” That marked the beginning of his descent.

            At seventeen, Green moved out of his parents’ home and began attending community college in Philadelphia. He earned a degree in pan-African studies and minored in communication and journalism. From there, he attended Temple law school for two years. Then he took a leave of absence. He never returned. He was strung out on cocaine.

            “Being homeless is awkward,” explained Green, “and it’s extremely awkward if you’re doing drugs.”

            This is the resounding theme in Green’s story. Although he has been clean for the majority of his years, his slip-ups have landed him in a bad place. How does a man with twenty three years of education, an intelligent man who graduated with honors, end up being homeless? That has to do with addiction.

            Green moved to Williamsport, Pennsylvania in an attempt to get clean. He attended many narcotics anonymous meetings, but could never fully rid himself of the burden of addiction.

            “And that’s what got me to this mission this time,” Green stated. He has been staying in Harrisburg at the Bethesda Mission, which opened in 1914 and strives to provide food, shelter, clothing, and help to homeless men in the area. December 29^th, his tenth day at the mission, was the last of his stay.  Green could have blamed his situation on the economics, but the true problem is something simpler: drugs.

            Green came to Bethesda under the influence, meaning that his stay is only ten days. Although grateful to the mission, Green seems unsatisfied.

            “A shelter is just that. It’s not a home,” he said, “but if it wasn’t for this place, where would I be?”

            Green wants a place to call his own. At Bethesda, he lives with ninety other men in a large dormitory with bunk beds. When he arrived, the mission was so overcrowded that he had to sleep on a mattress on the floor. It’s impersonal and less than ideal. The Bethesda Mission is much more secure than other shelters he’s visited, in which you risk being robbed or beat up, but is still no substitute for a home.

            His plans for the future are vague, but he seems to at least have an idea of where he is going: He’s going to stay clean. Green plans to drive tractor trailers in order to earn enough money to rent a room in an apartment building. He believes that setting up a support group, coupled with his strong faith in God, will help him to overcome his addiction.

            “I have hope in God,” said Green firmly. Faith wrung in his words. Just God? That’s all? “That’s all I need,” he replied.

            As a very religious man, Green puts a lot of faith in God. At a point where he truly had nothing, he found it in himself to ask God for help. From then on, he claims to have complete faith. Recently, he was working on getting his Master’s degree in Theology from the Reformed Presbyterian Seminary in Pittsburgh. He wishes to help others understand the dangers of addiction, and send them on the right path. He even taught about drugs and alcohol at the Allegany County Jail for six years. But the bridge between his successful life and his life without a home is addiction.

            “See, drugs don’t discriminate,” said Green, “Addiction don’t care that I’ve got 23 years of education. It don’t care.”

            His addiction has robbed him of his belongings and forced him out of his home on more than one occasion, and yet he stays hopeful. Green lives for today, never allowing himself to think about what-ifs, yet has one plan for the future. He will stay clean.

            “The question really is: what am I going to do today?” said Green. And what is that? “Drink my coffee, go back to the mission, take some cold medicine, and lay down.”

            Do you want the secret to success? Do you want to know the easy way to secure every job that you have ever even thought of applying for? That’s right; you don’t even have to send in an application. If you properly utilize my nine step refuse to lose program, you will simply wake up in the morning feeling more awesome. Job offers from countries you haven’t even heard of will pour in and pollute your inbox like owls on the roof of 4 Privet Drive on Harry Potter’s 11^th birthday. It’s that intense, I promise you. And as a limited time offer, I’ll drop eight of the nine steps. Yes, you heard me. One step, one hundred thousand job offers. What do you say?

            Just stick with me, kid, and talent scouts will be all over you like teenage girls on a life size cardboard cutout of the Biebster. So, the first eight steps are about things like self-deprecation, which we in the business like to call butt kissing. But we can save a lot of time by skipping those steps, because I can teach you everything you need to know about cajoling in one simple sentence: treat your prospective boss like a cheap date. Pop your collar, spray yourself down with Axe Dark Temptation, and bring a condom. Now we can move onto the really important stuff.

            Step number nine is certainly the most important of all. Although it is difficult to master this technique, spending a little time practicing each day can produce results that will forever change your life. But be warned, this method is not for everyone. It’s dangerous, as most awesome things tend to be. As dangerous as covering yourself in heroin and walking into a narcotics anonymous meeting. This step is serious business. It’s not for the weak of heart. If you commonly experience seizures, please do not proceed.

            So here it is, plain and simple. Step number nine states that you need a move that will blow all other candidates out of the water. When your future employers sets eyes upon your delicate figure, the voice inside their heads should scream, “This guy is awesome!” or at the very least, “Run away!” And you want to know how to make their red flags go off? I’ll tell you. You need a handshake that is unlike anything they have ever seen before. It should involve props, a theme song, and at the very least, sound effects such as “bang!” and “wooooooosh!”

            If you’re anything like I used to be, you’re a boring, timid, nobody. If you’re anything like I used to be, the thought of shaking hands is terrifying. Once the moment was right and my opponent’s hand was spotted in an outstretched position, I lost control. The space time continuum began to contort, slowing time while my heart beat raged on in ridiculous rhythms, sometimes bearing a striking resemblance to “Another One Bites The Dust.” Any former control I had over my body was lost, and as my hand slowly approached theirs, my mind spun itself in circles. Beads of sweat polluted my brow and my hands grew clammy until, alas! Moist, floppy contact was made. My hand turned to mush. It was all over.

            Trust me, friend, you do not want to be in a position like that. It’s impossible to recover after vomiting all over your interviewer. Things just do not go smoothly after such a move. You don’t want to be the timid nobody. You want to get noticed. You need to get noticed. You really need that job, don’t you? Do you want to go back to living on the street? Cat food isn’t so great after your third or fourth can, is it? No, it isn’t. So, as I was saying, it’s important to make an impression. You need to imprint yourself upon their minds like Jacob Black on Bella’s new born child. The time is now. No excuses. Just get out there and be a winner.

But on the bright side, I have other stuff to post because I’m taking journalism. Woohoo. (These will all be different posts, but I’m just going to post them all at the same time.)

Meaningless.

An endless parade of ants. Their goal is simple: transport the varying amounts of crumbs and foodstuffs back to the colony. Feed the queen. After this task is accomplished, the ants die. Their life span is so miniscule compared to that of a human’s that one may believe that it is meaningless. A human may trample two or three of the ants, forever ending their journey, and not spare a thought in memory of the poor departed souls. But there is something special about this interaction that the human must eventually recognize: the purpose of a human’s life is no grander than that of an ant’s. Are human lives not insignificant compared to the age of the universe? Are human goals not equally trivial in comparison? Yes, life is certainly meaningless.

            In Existential Psychotherapy, Irvin Yalom quotes a thought provoking suicide note. It involved a group of morons who work tirelessly to move a pile of bricks from one edge of a field to another. Their work never ends, but one day, a moron stops and asks himself what point there is in moving the bricks back and forth continuously. What is there to gain? And from that day on, he was never quite satisfied with his task in the way that he used to be.

            While many may not realize it, this is the condition of human life. All actions are tedious and ultimately unnecessary. The workings of everyday life rarely produce true happiness. Humans are trained to work their nine-to-five jobs for a worthless reward, much like a dog trained to obey by receiving praises from a clicker. Objects such as money or fame, which humans all too often seek and devote themselves too, are worthless.

After all, what is gained when all is lost in the end? Regardless of the prestige one gains and accomplishments one makes, everything is erased with death. Billions of people have lived and died without causing impact, their lives meaningless. The memories held by the deceased’s loved ones will eventually fade, their ideas will dissipate, and no part of them will remain. Any perceived meaning in one’s life no longer exists after consciousness deteriorates.

But the definition of purpose varies from person to person. What one perceives as meaningful might be pointless to another. However, regardless of the goals and ambitions held by an individual, all of their endeavors remain meaningless and will eventually prove to be in vain. Life is a struggle, it’s not particularly pleasant, and everything is lost in the end. Even the religious believe that life is merely a step in order to reach something greater. For instance, Christians believe that life on earth is only a precursor in order to achieve eternal peace. But what purpose would that existence serve? There is no meaning to eternity, because all intention is lost in the turning of the time. Nothing is truly accomplished, whether life lasts forever or for simply a fleeting hour.

Even Macbeth believes that life is meaningless. Although one probably shouldn’t accept Macbeth as their role model, his words demonstrate a universal truth. After confronted with the news of his wife’s death, he states that it does not affect him because it would have happened at some point inevitably. In fact, Macbeth says that “life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player / that struts and frets his hour upon the stage / and then is heard no more. It is a tale / Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, / signifying nothing.” Life may seem like a complex and important matter while living, but in the end, it is devoid of meaning.

Materials, beliefs, endeavors, emotions. All are temporary. They fade in time. They are meaningless. The only possible meaning found in human life is that of happiness. However, he who realizes that life is lived in vain also must recognize that his own enjoyment is meaningless as well.

This one was fun to write. My journalism teacher always quotes Macbeth at me now. Hah.

Megan

Okay, yeah, this is going to be a boring one. I wish I had more interesting assignments for school I could post, or at least more time and dedication to actually write some fun stuff. But I don’t, so deal with it. xD Here’s a “position statement” I just turned in on the topic of stem cells and stem cell research.

Stem cell research is a controversial topic among many, and I find myself torn between the pros and cons as well. The potential benefits of stem cells used to treat diseases are extraordinary, but you must ask yourself: do these extraordinary benefits outweigh the costs that must be paid to achieve them? A lot of money has gone into the research of stem cells, so a literal cost has already been paid. But the cost I’m referring to has more to do with the morals and ethics which revolve around the research and use of this new medical development.

            First, let’s discuss embryonic stem cells. Although these cells may have a greater possibility to treat disease and injury, an embryo must be destroyed to get them. Many who support embryonic stem cell research may argue that the embryos destroyed were created in a Petri dish and were never destined to become a child. However, the DNA in that embryo was unique and a living child with a personality and a mind would have been created from it. Although it may not have been considered a life at that stage, it would eventually become one, and I consider it ethically unsound to destroy it. Someone in support of using embryonic stem cells may also argue that the embryos are obtained from left over zygotes created to help couples having trouble getting pregnant, and the potential lives would be destroyed anyway. However, I don’t support in vitro under any circumstance when it results in an apathetic disregard for life, so that argument doesn’t apply for me.

            In regards to adult stem cell research, I see much less fault. Before starting this unit in biology, I was wary of all things related to stem cells, but now I understand that lives are not always taken to achieve the desired results. In this case, I think it would be beneficial to put time and money into the research of adult stem cells, because of all the potential cures to injury and illness they could present. The adult stem cells which are taken from the bone marrow, umbilical cord, and other areas, although not as adaptive as embryonic stem cells, are a better alternative for they don’t take a prospective life by destroying an embryo. I’ll admit that many scientific discoveries, no matter how much good they may do, leave me a little bit apprehensive. When we begin to tweak genetics and interfere with life and death, I can’t help but worry about the repercussions. For that reason along with the animal testing that must take place in order to ensure safety, I’m not one hundred percent in support of these treatments. However, I can certainly see the advantages and have to weigh the pros of lives saves due to the use of stem cells and the cons of lives taken due to embryonic research, animal testing, and the risk of the implications in the future. In short, I support the use of stem cells when that use does not take advantage of embryos, animals, or other living beings.

Blah blah blah. I’m trying. I just want to keep this blog alive.. add the posts, ya know? Hopefully this summer I’ll add some more.. only a few more months. Thanks for reading.

Megan

Darkness

I am inviting,

Clever, musical, I do not

deny entry to man,

though he will shun me.

Though he will shun his brother.

I have no

prejudice, I am your

friend. Though you have

banished me to

back alleys, empty corners,

kept me at bay.

And you think your

bright inventions, your

newly lit corridors,

will keep you safe

forever. But I am here

in these abandoned corners,

in the back of your mind.

Though you deny me,

though you push me away,

I am here.

And when your inventions fail

and the lights go out,

I will emerge.

You are the shadows,

I have seen your destruction

from my secluded cages.

I know your pride,

your lengthy hours at work,

your solutions to the

problems that your earlier

solutions have mothered,

your meaningless endeavors,

your sullen failures.

I know you.

Though you feel as if

you’ve won,

I have seen your destruction.

Your goals will

Only seek to harm your brother.

I have seen your destruction

though you have denied me.

I am here,

though you are desperate to

keep me at bay.

You are the shadows.

I am the darkness.

And when your inventions fail

to obscure your true form,

I will be here

to welcome you home.

I know it isn’t written in iambic pentameter and it doesn’t sound poem-y but I DON’T GIVE A CRAP. xD Can you interpret it?

Barbara Bright, Michigan’s droll and monotone news anchor, the reason 50% of Michigan’s men over the ago of 30 fall asleep in front of the television, droned on about the most recent death in a series of murders. Even an event so horrifying and dreadful and this could sound like a lazy stroll though the park when retold by Ms. Bright.

“Unfortunately,” Barbara drawled, her left eye-lid drooping, “the detectives have yet to find any evidence linking these murders to any one person or group. In fact,” she continued while obviously stifling a yawn, “no clues have been found at all. If anyone knows anything about these murders, the police department and all of the HBL37 news crew ask that you bring the information forward as soon as possible.

“Thank you for listening to Friday night news at 9, I’m Barbara Bright, from HBL37, signing out.”

At the end of Barbara’s spiel, Jaden rolled her eyes while muting the television and wondered why that lady hadn’t been fired yet. She stood up, forcing Mr Finigan, the family cat, off of her lap, and walked a few feet from the living room to the kitchen. The fluffy white feline weaved between Jaden’s sock-covered feet and lept up onto the counter to try to catch any left-overs before they were disposed of.

“Stupid cat,” Jaden murmured with another eye-roll and half of a smile. She held out her half-eaten tray of microwave mac-n-cheese and shook her head when Mr. Finigan turned his nose up.

“Of course, nothing but the best for Mr. Fluffy. Never a microwave dinner for you, sir,” she said affectionately, scratched the cat under his chin, and set him gently on the carpeted floor. Mr. Finigan stalked away, unfed.

Jaden immediately regretted chasing the cat away. He had been her only company all night; her mother was working and her sister was on a date, or something…

AND that’s as far as I got. I wrote it sometime last summer and just found it. Haha here’s another. It’s shorter, don’t fret…

Where am I, and why am I here? What do they want from me? What did I do to get here? My head is spinning, my heart pounding. Everything is moving slowly but time is slipping through my fingers. I need to get moving, everyone is counting on me. My family is counting on my. My family… Where are they? I have to save them. I have to save the day. Someone needs me. I’m needed. The excitement causes my heart to skip beats, creating an unsteady beat. My breathing is labored. Someone needs me.

And then my alarm clock went off.

FAIL. Hahaha, sorry, that’s just so cliché. Jeez. Okay, next time I have no idea what to write, I think I’m going to cook up a “What should have happened” story to pick up at the end of Breaking Dawn. Would that infringe copy right? Maybe I could change their names a little bit..

Thanks for reading

Megan

Which is why I haven’t been posting here too often. I’m trying to find the passion, develope the determination, and crank one out (Hah) but I guess we’ll see how it goes.

Megan

Milk; “it does a body good.” But does it really? You can’t always believe what the television states, no matter how convincing or catchy the commercial. The truths of the dairy industry, the real facts, aren’t as black and white as you may have been lead to believe. What if I told you that drinking milk can cause all types of health problems and diseases?(1 and 2) If I said you can get all the nutrients you may think you’re getting from milk from other sources?(5) If I told you that drinking milk actually has little benefit for bone density, and sometimes can even hurt your bones?(5) Although these claims may go against what you’ve been taught in the past, new research and experiments have suggested that milk may not be so user-friendly after all.

You’ve probably always been told that milk is good for you, milk builds strong bones, that you should get three glasses of milk a day, right? I’m not saying that people who drink milk are unhealthy, or that drinking milk greatly affects the health of a human. I’m sure a lot of people over 60 years old would attest to the fact that they’ve been drinking milk their entire life and have not suffered from extreme illness. However, you may be surprised to learn that milk really isn’t the perfectly healthy drink that it’s been promoted as. As mentioned before, milk can cause a wide variety of diseases and health conditions.(1) I’m sure one thing that comes to your mind is lactose intolerance; and you’d be right. A great amount of the human population is lactose intolerant, some with varying degrees of this illness that haven’t even been diagnosed.(3) But there are many other health problems that you may have never associated with the consumption of dairy products. To begin with, drinking milk is linked to many different types of cancer; including pancreatic, prostate, breast, and ovarian cancer.(1) The consumption of casein, found in milk, is also shown to speed up the development of these kinds of cancer.(3) In addition to that, milk is shown to cause rheumatoid arthritis, osteoporosis, diabetes, and heart problems.(3) Surprised? Skeptical? I can understand any skepticism; you’ve probably been told all your life that milk is great for you; and it is, in moderation, but recent science has shown that consuming too much milk can have a negative effect on health.

So, you may still be skeptical. That’s fine; I might not believe it either if someone started throwing facts at me without explanation. So, let’s start by explaining how milk causes heart problems. The source of heart problems caused by consumption of milk can be traced to homogenization. This is the process in which milk is forced very quickly through very small spaces to break it into smaller particles so that it doesn’t separate into milk and cream.(4) The problem is that these small particles are then small enough to penetrate the walls of arteries, entering the blood stream and eventually causing heart problems.(4) Doesn’t sound very appetizing, does it? Then there’s casein. Casein is a chalky substance found in milk that’s extremely hard for humans to digest.(3) In fact, casein is so tough that it’s used to make glue. Imagine that. I’ve mentioned casein earlier; it’s shown to speed up the growth of cancer cells. Additionally, a germ in milk was linked to 80% of all rheumatoid arthritis cases,(3) the high amounts of saturated fat and cholesterol in dairy products can cause obesity and diabetes,(5) and thanks to new scientific research, osteoporosis and multiple sclerosis can now be linked to the consumption of animal products.(4)

Convinced yet? Maybe? I mentioned earlier that drinking milk hardly affects bone density at all.(3 and 5) Although this may be a surprising fact, it’s true. When milk is pasteurized, it’s heated to a very high temperature to try to rid of bacteria and harmful microorganisms.(3) However, these temperatures cause the molecules of the milk to become fragile, which prevents many of the nutrients in natural milk from being absorbed by humans.(3) In addition to providing miniscule nutrition, pasteurized milk doesn’t guarantee the elimination of all viruses and bacteria.(3) What a waste! The truth of the matter, no matter how disgusting it may seem, is that unpasteurized milk from healthy cows is a much better alternative to pasteurized milk. Along with the pasteurization taking away much of the nutrition from milk, things like raw turnip greens, watercress, cooked turnips, and seeds contain more calcium than dairy products to begin with.(2) Other vitamins in milk, such as vitamin D, can be obtained from other sources like grains, fruit, and exposure to the sun.(5) So if other, healthier alternatives to dairy products are available, why risk developing the health problems listed above?

If you haven’t assumed that I’m a vegetarian already, and I thank you for keeping an open mind, I’ll tell you now that I am. In fact, I hope to some day to go vegan. It makes little sense to me why humans use animals like we do if the product really isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Trust me, I’m not trying to “brain wash” you; I’m only trying to share facts that people may not know so they can form their own opinions. These are true studies being done all over the world in which many different people have reached the same conclusion; milk isn’t a necessary part of anyone’s diet and can potentially do more harm than good. Along with all the other reasons why not to drink milk, don’t you find it strange that we’re the only organism to drink milk as adults. And that milk isn’t even from our own species. Another animal doing something like that would be looked at as unbelievable, so why are humans any different?

The sources I used to collect facts for this post:

1. http://www.naturalnews.com/026778_cancer_pancreatic_cancer_meat.html

2. http://www.jyi.org/volumes/volume6/issue3/features/lee_and_wei.html

3. http://www.vegetarianusa.com/feature_articles/kitchen/milk.html

4. http://www.healthguidance.org/entry/9973/1/Negative-Effects-of-Dairy-Products.html

5. http://www.pcrm.org/health/veginfo/dairy.html

Thanks for reading

Megan

CHAPTER ONE:

People are people. It’s as simple as that, really. People are different in the same way; we are all happy sometimes, and sad other times, and we all breathe. All these people on this here bus are definitely people.

    The automobile has been chugging along this road for a while now. It’s really not a good place to take a nap. I don’t remember what I’ve been doing for the past two days, other than napping, but I suppose it doesn’t matter. Looking out the window reminds me of watching a movie. The boxed screen flicks from scene to scene. This movie is about love, I think. The birds in the window are singing with each other, and what better to sing about than love? Ah, love…

    The screen starts whipping from scene to scene too quick for my dear old head to handle, so I set it back on the head rest. Maybe I could finish the movie later.

    I wake up with a start. Where am I? This isn’t my house… and who are these people? I’ve never seen them before in my life. I whip my head around to look at all these new faces. Why are my cheeks wet? I pull my sleeve over my hand and scrub my eyes. No more crying. When I return to my exploration of the faces, I find someone I recognize. Across the aisle, a pair of deep green eyes stare into mine. Nova…

    ”Sir, are you all right?” Ask the green eyes. I spread a grin across my face like butter. The grin felt right at home, I’m sure. My face is a nice face, a face that a grin should love to call home. Welcome home, grin.

    ”What are we doing here, girly-woo?” I ask, my voice swaying in pitch in a way that always made my Nova giggle wildly. The grin ran off when it noticed that my response did not get its usual giggle or even a grin in return.

    ”Nova, what’s wrong with your grinning face, pumpkin patch?” I bellow, the words bouncing off the walls of the bus and causing a few folks to turn their heads. The green eyes blink in response. I try to summon up my grin, but it is still running scared.

    ”I’m sorry, what are you talking about? Who is Nova?” whispers the green eyes. When I look even deeper into those eyes, reality hits me like a speeding freight train, or… a flying brick… or… or a bus load of people who are all different in the same way and who are all trying to get to different places together.

    I stand up, my cheeks wet again, and I possibly murmur an apology. I bobble down the aisle. The view of reality from a few moments earlier is being tugged away. My eyes seek out an empty seat, and upon finding one, my old, tired body drops down into it. I look down at my moccasin-covered feet, two different socks sticking out of them, and feel myself relax a bit. Then something coming down the aisle towards me catches my attention, but not for long. I have time to think about the pretty trees outside of the window, maple trees, I think, and the little child at the front of the bus. I wonder where my Christmas sock was, and for a second I wonder what I was doing away from home. Then I look up again and see the green eyes. Such nice eyes they are, but somehow different than I remember…

    ”Sir,” begin the green eyes cautiously, “are you all right?” I wonder why in the world she might think otherwise. I look down to examine myself. Heck, I think I look pretty healthy, except for my belly. I promptly stick out a finger and poke it. Then, realizing that green eyes was staring at me, I look back up.

    ”What did you say, lovie?” I ask, and take a better look at her. Yes, definitely something different.

    ”Are you okay? Did I say something?” she asks, and touches my arm lightly. I look at her hand, and then at her face.

    ”Oh… oh, my. Well… my oh my.” is my only response. This is probably why she continues to stare into my eyes, and then slides into the seat next to mine. I’m glad for the bout of clarity, but feel an aching in my heart because of it. This girl with these pretty green eyes is not my Nova. Not mine at all.

    ”Do you know where you are?” She asks me, and when I nod she pats my hand. Green eyes is a nice girl. “What’s your name?”

    ”Walter,” I tell her, “Walter Allen Watercresse. And you are?” I stick my hand out nearly the whole way across the small space between us. A smile plays on her lips and she slides her hand in mine, her arm barely extended.

    ”Millie,” She replies, and we shake hands.

    ”So what are we doing here on a bus, my girl?” I asked her, returning slowly to my bubbly old self.

    ”Oh, I don’t know,” she replied, most likely doubtful about trusting her personal life with an old man whose mental state is questionable. I understand. Kids these days. I turn away from the green eyes and look out the window. The movie is different now. The scenery has been replaced, and the lights dimmed. I suppose we’ve been sitting here a while in silence, green eyes just looking at me, and me watching the new movie. I decide it isn’t too interesting, so I start talking. I don’t know if I was talking to her, or if I was just talking to myself. Or maybe I wasn’t talking to either of us.

    ”The sock was gone one morning,” I tell her. She doesn’t stir. 

    ”Just, ya’ know, not there. I suppose the drying machine ate it, as it does sometimes. You can’t blame it, though; it’s in its nature. Eating socks, I mean. It couldn’t have known that this wasn’t just any old sock. Anywho, the Christmas sock was just gone one morning. And Nuttah said she would knit me another, but I told her not to bother. It wouldn’t be the same, ya’ know, girly?” A nod in response, and I continued. “Nuttah always bothered me about wearing just the one sock, but I told her not to worry her head about it. I like it better this way. One sock. One Nuttah. Just right.” Green eyes stare into mine. Blink. I stop talking because I lose track of what it was I was talking about in the first place. I rest my head against the window and close my eyes.

    ”Who is Nuttah?” Ask the green eyes after a long bout of silence. I had long forgotten what I had told her minutes prior.

    ”My wife,” I answered flatly. She just looks at me for a while.

    ”And where is she?” she asks softly, possibly already anticipating the answer. The green eyes look soft and sad. Probably a lot like what mine look like.

    ”My Nuttah. My wife. She’s… not here anymore.” The green eyes close and turn towards the floor. She pats my hand again, but I don’t feel it much, really. My eyes glaze over and stare out into space. And then I can’t stop the words from pouring out. “My daughter Nova. I thought… you remind me of her so much. I can see her in your eyes. They’re both gone. She… she died… in a car. In my car. She was fifteen. Only a girl, ya’ know? Life can be cruel, sweetheart. Life can be cruel.”

    I lose my train of though and begin to look around. A woman who I don’t remember seeing before is sitting across the aisle from us, clearly listening to what I had been talking about. Her short black hair dances lightly on her cheek on account of the wind coming through the open window. It looks like a little ballerina, I think. I’m not sure how long I’ve been staring at the little ballerina, but now I realize that there is something else on the woman’s cheek. A tiny drop of water. It rolls slowly down her cheek and almost reaches her chin before a hand comes out of nowhere and swipes it away. Then it is replaced by another. I feel like I’m watching myself during the events of my story, and a drop of water slowly glides down my cheek as well.

    My eyes meet the green eyes again, and her voice in my head tells me to keep talking. Or someone’s voice. “My wife, Nuttah was driving my Nova to school in the morning. Nuttah was already fifty-three years old. It was five days after Christmas. And it has snowed, so the roads were slippery I suppose…” Deep rattling breath. “They slid off of the road, and hit a tree. And it when I got the call at work, it was as if everything stopped. People looked at my differently from then on. As if they were wondering how I could have let that happen to my family. The world is cruel, sugar. Very cruel.” She nodded again. Although she was surely not much older than my Nova had been, she obviously knew how cruel indeed it could be.

    ”At the hospital, they told me my Nova was already gone. And I remember crying in front of all those people in the waiting room. But they were crying too, or they would be, so no one stared. My Nuttah died in surgery a few hours later. The waiting room was peach, and there was white carpet. The ceiling light was yellow, and the lady at the counter was pudgy and wore a sad smile for the entire time I was there. There was a door… a door…” My words tapper off, and I lay my head back against the head rest.

    Green eyes sighs. She sets her head lightly down on my shoulder.

    The doctor walked out into the waiting room and pulled off his mask. He wasn’t smiling, and he wouldn’t meet my eyes. When he did look up I could see perfectly the message that he was sent to deliver. “Her last words were, ‘a turtle always knows where its home is.’” He had said, in a soft voice that was obviously well practiced. But it didn’t help. What does that mean? Where was my home, now?

    ”What did you say you’re here on this bus for again?” I mumble, and then wonder if the words were even understandable. But they must have been, because after a few seconds she tells me, “I didn’t say.” I smile a bit and close my eyes. “Well, my dear,” I say in a serious tone, “A turtle always knows where its home is.”

CHAPTER TWO

I don’t know where I’m going. I mean, I know where the bus is going. I just don’t know where I’m going. Far from my home, I’m sure. Far from the graves of my family. Far away from everything I know. I guess I’m going to the moon.

    Don’t go thinking that I’m trying to escape, though. I miss my wife, and I miss my daughter, but I know that I’ll see them soon. And I know that they wouldn’t want me to be miserable. So I think of them often, but not mournfully. I’m not running away from their graves. Not running away from the place that they died. I’m running towards something else. I got onto this here bus in order to try to really live the remainder of my life. I wanted to see Old Faithful. And now I have. I wanted to see the Black Hills. Now I have. Everything seems so clear and simple to me right now, although I know it won’t last for long.

     Right now my head is resting against the cool window. This is my normal position for early mornings because I am usually the only one awake. I think well in the morning, when there isn’t much to distract me. So it’s been my usual routine for a while to wake up before the sunrise and sit to watch it. I can barely make out the purplish-blue coming over the horizon in the distance, but I decide to step outside.

     We are in Idaho, a town called Orofino. There isn’t much to do here, but the bus stopped last night to let us have a rest. I walk out of the bus and prop myself up against the tire. I face the sunrise which is now red-orange. I can feel my midday haziness sweeping over me like a blanket. My thoughts are becoming more transparent, but I still know that it’s a beautiful sunrise.

     A noise from behind me wakes me from my light doze. A woman walks down the steps of the bus and sets herself down next to me in the dirt. I stare at her cream colored pants, which will surely be light brown when she stands up.

     “What are you doing up so early?” the woman whispers, pushing a strand of her stringy black hair behind her ears. I stare into her eyes, trying to recall her name which I probably heard many times before.

     “Enjoying a wonderful sunrise, pumpkin head!” I said in a voice far from a whisper, and smiled at her. A stirring is heard from the bus, and she turns her head towards the noise worriedly, but I wave it off. “If you could be so kind as to tell me your name, again, darling, I would love to invite you to get some coffee.”

     Looking back at me, the woman replied, “Chanhassen.” I smiled and hoisted myself up, using the side of the bus to steady myself. Then I offered my hand out to her, both of us knowing perfectly well that I wouldn’t be much of a help getting her on her feet.

     “Well then, Chanhassen, would you care for some coffee?” I asked, my voice carrying a little farther than she probably would like. She smiles, nods, and stands up. We walk a few blocks down the street to a coffeehouse and can smell the brew from outside on the curb. I take a deep breath and try to get my heart to slow down. A small walk is a lot for a little old man.

     After getting our coffee, mine black and hers with sugar, we take a seat at a small booth. I face her and fiddle with the sugar packets. I stack them, unstack them, stack them again, and then unstack them.

     “You know,” she says, “it’s strange how close the lot of us have gotten. We’re so different. I would never have thought that we have so much in common.” She smiles. I smile back and take a big gulp of my coffee. It burns the back of my throat but I don’t mind that much.

     “Do you remember when you were telling that story to Millie? Last week. You told her about your wife… and your daughter. Do you remember?” She asks in a soft voice. Although I don’t remember exactly what had been discussed, I nod my head. She sighs and a sad smile appears on her lips.

     “And do you remember me crying?” she questions, and I nod, expecting her to continue, but she just looks down into her coffee mug.

     “You found my story heart wrenching, did you, deary?” I raise my eyebrows and her sad smile grows wider but sadder.

     “I know about loss. A lot about it. I know how it feels. I know how you must have felt. Your story just reminded me about myself, and that jerked loose the tears.”

     “I don’t believe you could have possibly known how I felt, darling.” I said with a voice full of experience but completely free of skepticism. “Do you have a husband? Any children?” I ask. 

     “Both, yes. My daughter’s name is Sal,” she replied.

     “A living family, bumble bee? What have you lost?” I stop playing with the sugar packets and look into her eyes. She seems at a loss for words, or possibly trying to figure out whether or not she should explain it to me. “You can tell me,” I assure her.

     “I was pregnant. A little bit ago. But I lost the baby.” She looked deep into my eyes, which I felt glaze over, but I forced myself to focus. “And before you tell me that I hadn’t ever met my baby and couldn’t possibly have loved it; let me remind you that you have never been a mother!” She says hurriedly. I stare at her a while, taking in all of the features, marks, and bumps of her face.

     When I realized that she was waiting for an answer of some sort, I said, “I wasn’t planning on telling you that, cupcake. And I truly am sorry for your loss.” Short and sweet, because I’m not sure what to tell her. I tried to think of comforting words, but drawing a blank, just let my mouth hang open. I remember back all those years ago when I had first lost my daughter. Words really had no effect on me. She looked appeased, and the sadness of her smile was fading. Then I finally came up with something that would be sure to help.

     “If you plan to start a flood, then take out the dam. But if the dam never existed, then all you can do is try to escape the waters.” I say in a sing song voice and tack on a smile to the end. She just stares at me. I seem to get this reaction a lot, but I’m sure that my words could help her if she took them to heart. A person can find help and encouragement in anything if they look at it the right way. After a few moments of silence, possibly the awkward kind, she takes a deep breath.

     “So, let’s not dampen a lovely morning with such sad talk,” she concludes, closing the subject, and putting on a smile. The sun was now fully in the sky, and we are both finished with our coffee, so we decide to head back to the bus.

     While we walk the few blocks back to where the bus is stopped, she tells me more about her miscarriage. It devastated her. I can understand the feeling, even though it is true that I never was, nor will be, a mother.

     All the passengers are surprisingly awake back at the bus, and we are planning to head out in a few minutes. I walk over to the bus driver, have a brief conversation with him, and then walk back the way I had come. I stroll into a small store near where the bus is parked and skim my eyes along all of the clothing. Looking out of the big window at the front of the store, I see everyone boarding the bus. I grin and begin to whistle to myself.

     A few minutes later, after more browsing, I glance out the window again in time to see the bus backing out of the space that it had been crammed into. I walk out of the store as the bus passes me by slowly. I see many shocked faces peering out the windows at me, probably wondering how on earth they could have left Walter behind. I chuckle to myself and wave, trying to make it clear to them that I was perfectly happy being left behind.

     I continue to wave as the bus passes me completely, gets on the road, and disappears out of sight. I trust that the driver will have told everyone by now that it was my choice for this to be my final stop of the trip, and that I wish everyone the best. I begin humming again and walking down the sidewalk, crossing my feet every step and letting my arms hit my thighs.

     A turtle always knows where its home is.

(I realize you won’t exactly understand the plot, but oh well.)

Thanka ya for reading

Megan

A simple walk through the park, a simple stroll. A simple hello to a passing stranger, a shy greeting from across the pond. Without a lick of light to aid the eye, fear may arise and try to control the heart. Press it, pull it back, dear child. When fear controls your life, what have you left to decide? When, without a doubt, the dark is too strong and the strings holding your heart in place are quivering in fear, calm them, console them. All will be well. After all, what harm can come to you when you’ve nothing to lose?

Some may disagree, but along the dark paths through the deep forest, when all hope feels lost and limbs start to weaken, that is when you are strongest. This is the truth. Hold it, caress it as such. Let it slip into your heart, to toy with your mind. Consider. When life gets hard, when things change from simple and calm to harsh, cruel, and often ugly, remember that things will change. Nothing ever stays the same. Nothing. The mind is strengthened when the body is weak, the heart is renewed and reclaimed a thousand times every day. If you deny it, you simply do not acknowledge it.

 Which is what brings me to this abandoned pond, miles from anyone I know, oceans away from anyone I trust, where I’ve been talking to the geese and combing the water’s hair for hours now. This isn’t where my story starts, of course not. A story starts at the very beginning, at a birth, or even before. At a conception. But none of that is relevant. And if it is relevant, then, at least, it is discarded, forgotten, and uncared for. For our purposes, this is the beginning.

Whatcha think? I’m too lazy to make a new poll, because it’s not like they’re worth much. So just leave a comment.

Thanks for reading,

Me