“Yesterday my life was completely normal. What happened? It is a question I ask you, not one you ask me. However, I will play along and tell you how the events took place, to the best of my knowledge.Maybe Erin can help me,”
The man glances at my friend, and I see she has a striking resemblance to him.
Both are tall and have green eyes. He has hair more on the brown side, while hers is obviously black. I don’t why I am noticing this, but it feels important.
The man looks weary. He has the face of a leader, Hard, with just a hint of emotion. And weary.
I want to tell him what I know, but I also want information.
He nods. He gets it.
So I start.
Maybe I should tell you who I am, right?
How about a glimpse into my life when it was completely normal?
You don’t know anything about our past, or our future.
You know even less than I did, sitting there talking about something I didn’t understand.
So here we go.
I just needed to give myself a break. You get obsessed with something and then that’s all you think about. You live your life , and you do normal things, but you just think of nothing else .Every TV show, conversation is connected to it. You tense up when someone is viewing your work.All of the sudden you believe you are better than the social game, intellectually, because someday you will be someone. It makes you happy, but in a weird way. You work, but you believe, why not? It is a strange thing.
I am a writer. It (to me) is a craft. You are building people,(and more importantly emotions) in a world so different from a real one. But you have to make it real. It’s like reading a book, and you have the power to make whatever you want happen. You have to make it realistic. And you have to know what real authors do in real books. But it is bliss.
Anyway, I needed a break. And I needed to talk to people. Untangle the constant knot in my chest. Live, not only for the future, but for the present. Because hey, I may never get here again. I will never be 16 again. About then I had a dream.
I was on a tightrope high in the sky, and I was too focused on not falling to notice the stars. Most people don’t even notice they are in the stars. They just complain about the fact that they keep getting higher and higher. Well I was in the stars, and I realized that and made myself see them clearly , even though I was hanging on to my tightrope with my hands.
That tightrope is thin and about to break, but I don't even notice. I am held up by a girl with short brown hair who I seem to have known forever.
“ Your so stupid,” She laughs.
But I smile at the stars and say “ Can’t you see it?”
“ Of course I can see it.But you won't keep seeing it if you fall.” I pause to think that I can not stay up here forever and wonder what I shall do when I fall.
“The day will come and the stars will be gone. Isn’t that what always happens?”
“ Yes, that is what always happens.”
Why does that always have to happen? It is wonderful up here, even if I am on my tightrope. At some point I will be on a tightrope with the sun, blinding me and making me more likely to fall. And If I want to give up and fall from the tightrope? I will have a chance to climb up again, and I will take it, because you always do.
The sun is beautiful though. It is something I felt I had never experienced. There is always joy in life, even if the sun will come I will still have the people I love. I will still have them to balance on the tightrope with me.
I woke and buried my face in my pillow. Not because I was upset. because I was still walking on the tightrope in the stars.
The girl on the tightrope with me was Erin, my best friend who never failed to notice the stars, but was not so good at the tightrope.
I don't really think any of us were, we were small and tired, with nothing to do but a burden in our chest, homework and our easy lives that we overestimated. I don't blame myself for overestimating it though, because it was my entire world. You know, when your entire world is so easy, but this is the hardest you've known, you struggle. I struggled in sixth grade, in seventh grade, and in tenth grade. Every year I tried to fix my huge overflowing binder, but failed and failed over and over. A perfect way to describe it is like a burden in your chest from your easy life making you cry and sleep and press your face into your pillow every morning to groan.
Making you run and panic and scream and run some more. You have to chose between educational worth or social worth. I like educational because I will have a life after this petty little game goes away (if it ever does).
So, Erin. The only person in the world that would talk to Max. Max is ridiculed; Max doesn't even care etc. I met Erin in kindergarten, the best place in the world. She was small with hair that kinda framed her little head, and it was dark brown, almost black. I talked to her for the first time during the second week of school. I was cruising through life with my head held back and the wind blowing my hair past my little head. It was color day, she was wearing a white sweater that made her hair look darker by comparison. We sat in silence at our little worktable, coloring our animals white,( why would you color something white if it already was white? I was in kindergarten.)
The she looked at me and said, “ Do you wanna play at recess?”
I was surprised, I had seen many other people at recess, but I never had any friends to play with. I also wondered how she had come to this conclusion. I had been silent the entire time. But after thinking a bit I agreed.
“Sure. What would you do?”
“I don't know. You just seem like an interesting person.” Interesting? I hadn’t said a word!
But I met my new friend Erin Hanson at the twisty slide anyway. She jumped into the slide and she stuck, because the slide was dry and worn.
“ You should slide down this in the snow! You go down so fast! It’s like being in a rollercoaster! I should know, that was me last year! I went to disneyland!” her face looked bright and clear, exhilarated at the very thought of going down a slide in the snow.
“ No Way!” I went into my boyish mode. “did you go through the water slide? I heard the one there is the best!”
She smiled, and I realized that no one had wanted to talk to her about a waterslide all week. The best way I can remember her face is triumphant.
“ Momma was right! Someone would talk to me! Will you keep talking to me Max?
“ Sure Erin.” I didn't think much before saying that, but it lasted me a very long time. I still talk to Erin, even rely on Erin. The little immature girl she was is long gone, to be replaced by a sad but realistic person. Much like me. A person that believes she can do something but is not stupid enough to believe she has already accomplished it without any work. She proved herself to be an amazing friend. It was like you had someone that would always listen to you, and say the right thing back to make you happy.
So that fast forward about eleven years, and imagine me sitting at a lunch table talking to a much older version of Erin Hanson. She looks at me and goes
“UHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! WHY? I FORGOT! I HAVE A TEST TODAY! URGHHHH!!”
“Wow, you're usually not this crazy.” I say tiredly.
URGHHHH!!!” and down the hallway at a crisp pace, making me smile. She usually wasn’t this crazy, but lately as things got even more stressful- I wasn’t surprised. When Erin was nervous, she tended to do that. I tended to place my head on the lunchroom table and be tired.
It was like she had endless energy. What time did she wake up this morning? I have my next class with erin, and I was glad. I could provide moral support for her test, which I had studied for AND WAS NOT WORRIED ABOUT.RIGHT. HOPE YOU BOUGHT THAT. And despite the fact that I am an emotional wreck, I still completed the test and received a B, which is good enough.
So my life,a day before it changed.
That night walked home, and Burst through my kitchen door. My mother looked at me strangely, and I assumed it was because of the fact that I was not walking through the door in my usual manner. I had tried to contain my excitement, because it is finally happening! I was 16, and I had sent some writing to a publisher, and they accepted! I came into my house and forgot the way my parents are. I closed the door and looked at my mom. She had light light brown hair that was tied up in a ponytail, and was wearing a t-shirt with a clever phrase on it. She plopped down on the couch
“ I guess your school day isn't that much exhausting. You're too happy for this.”
I left for my room, my face burning with excitement. They accepted! My life was finally doing exactly as planned, running along the course of getting somewhere and being someone. But more importantly, I was on the verge of people reading my soul. I feel like when people are reading my writing, they are reading my soul, which is why I tense up when anyone looks at it.
Can you see how efficiently I can convey my soul? Do I have every little detail of my thought process? It takes a lot of work critiquing, you set up the mood etc. What are you writing about? Is it a conversation of evil, between the villain and his servant, or of nobleness, between the villain and the protagonist, who shows the villain what right is (and more importantly the reader. The villain can be flawed beyond all repair, like Voldemort from Harry Potter). Is the character wandering into the woods, and they are not dead, but you know that they are complete, if you can read the signs. There are a million different ways, but each one is an organized piece of your soul, good and evil, desperate but strong.
And now, these people will read my soul. I Imagine it that way, because writing is very personal. So the first thing I did after leaving my parents house is to take the request. I wanted to send this to them, but I can't think about that now. All of my soul is brimming out in new pages, new thoughts new ideas.But it always makes you wonder when you are taken into the story, how much can I convey with simple actions? A story is something that can be analyzed and decoded. Each move means something. It means the world to the writer.
But I was interrupted, right about then, by my mother.She opened the door and gave me a look, like she caught me red handed at something.
“What are you doing today Max? That thing that makes you so happy?”
I couldn't resist sharing my ideas with the world, mother. How could I resist sharing them with you?