First of all, what's up? How's your life goin'? Mine's been uber busy, even though I procrastinate like crazy. One thing's for sure, and that is that LuLu is one tired panda. And that's no joke.
So one of my many super-duper projects this year has been to write a short story for English on someone who's impacted your life. Minimum of three pages, must be at least five-hundred to six-hundred words, yadda yadda yadda... the norm. But I chose one person who I don't particularly spend a whole lot of time with at all, yet he somehow made a huge imprint on my outlook of things. Anyway, hope you all like:
English 2 - Period 3
September 24, 2010
Stricken: A Cute and Somewhat True Story
My entire life has always been fed on thrills: What’s happening today? Who am I seeing? Will this impact my future? I’ve thought about having those chilling moments where events and the people in them change you, but with my style of living, that rarely occurs, so I learn to cherish them. Although, you’re never quite ready when it finally happens, when someone or something decides to jump into your world and you have no control over how things turn out. And sometimes, even your deepest outlook on emotion can be changed…
My second period class—which happened to be English—was about my all-time favorite, and most anticipated class I attended throughout my freshman year in Mortan Ranch High School. Nothing made me happier five days a week than breezing into Room 1026 every morning and end up laughing my head off at my fellow students’ childish antics, taking in an atmosphere filled with anime posters, ‘n’ shelves of comic books, and socializing freely within the confines of my desk, still managing to achieve grades that neared absolute perfection. This was my haven, my one opportunity to act out, out of the total of seven hours I spent completely muted and only allowed to listen and repeat everything the teacher lectured to me inside my other six periods. Even without friends, the scent of freshly-filed paper and newly-sharpened pencils inspired ideas to flow from my mind and into my writing, never ceasing to stimulate and entertain me. The whole space was a playground.
However, one person struck me as more than just another funny personality. For both our sakes, I will not reveal his name or identity in this particular story for I’m sure he probably wouldn’t appreciate it. Hopefully my description of him will be enough. Things kicked off slow at the beginning of the year. At first glance, the guy seemed apathetic, only concerned for his own responsibilities and how he should go out projecting them in a dry, sarcastic manner. I normally have no opinion on these types of people, only that they’re there, and we’re forced to acknowledge his or her presence. Yet as he began to speak to us for the first time, introduce himself, did I realize I’d made false judgment. His words obviously proved to be passionate, and he simply just liked being here, unlike others who’d already lost motivation for school. That day, everyone agreed on a way to get to know each other by jotting down one word that would describe ourselves overall on a post-it note, and sticking it on the chalkboard. The majority of the class chose silly, general adjectives, like “awesome”, or “smart”. I picked “conservative”. He was surprised to find that any of us actually knew that phrase. He’d asked who wrote it, and I raised my hand slightly, modestly. There was only a grin at first, then he defended my choice by admitting that he was once the same way about things. And that’s really where it all began, and all it took to gain curiosity.
It was only gradual, though. I wasn’t going to make wacky assumptions based merely on a first impression. Being skeptical, I proposed that this was just another teenage hormonal phase and poor Alyssa was trapped inside and heavily guarded by daydreams. Reasonable, probable. But that never stopped me from imagining things, wanting to talk to him about casual topics. And it didn’t take long to grasp the fact that these were sensitive, caring thoughts. Nothing romantic, nor sexual. These were pure no-alter-motive ponderings forced upon me and by then there was no hope left. I’d gone mad, questioning myself on how I’d acted in his perspective every day, what I’d looked like. My world revolved around his, and it was a miserable stress I wasn’t quite accustomed to, couldn’t fully wrap my brain around how all the details suddenly mattered.
And what the heck did he do? Again, a fraction of his personality was just that he was there, and did what he was supposed to do in life: exist. Was there really any reason to be effected? If you think about it logically, there isn’t. I’m talking about your average, funny guy, normal height for his age, not too thin, not too pudgy. Although slightly aloof, there was nothing that made him unique. In fact, he kind ‘of reminded me of my father. I shiver at the thought…
Am I some sort of freak? Hardly. Stalker? No. Despite my strange new respect for this person, I always spread a great distance between us. We spoke the required minimum: questions about our current assignment, the occasional “Hello” and “How you doin’?” Bonding nonexistent, we normally kept to ourselves, but it was still a peaceful relationship. There was a large level of understanding, to sum it all up. We could figure things out without even talking back and forth, and finish each other’s sentences. And after months of silently contemplating, I could no longer ignore the rapid emotion beginning to emerge and fill my heart. Time in our class together seemed shorter, and my “near perfect” grades were slipping precariously towards a ‘B’, which is drastic in my case. Resolving my little predicament needed to happen in order to finally let go and get my head together again. I didn’t show it much, but I was nervous; anxious. Struggling to end this parade of pent up feelings because I am not the type of young woman who let’s smaller situations, not to mention personal ones, get in the way of my academic success. Yet, he was so extremely protective of me, I sometimes wondered why this was. Every time some maniac of a kid accidentally flung a paper ball, pencil, crayon, or whatever it happened to be in my direction, he’d automatically transition into a weird, serious mode and tell them all to behave. The man might’ve just felt sorry for my having to cope among fifteen some-odd other rowdy peers, being the only good one in the mix, but I’ll probably never find out for sure.
However, near the end of that school year I came up with a small, practical way to express my internal rants in a format which fit perfectly with my subtle nature I call my personality… I uh, wrote a letter. Explaining all this crapola in a few short, compact paragraphs was a tad difficult but still wasn’t too hard considering all there was to do was speak my mind. Each statement was direct, and I wanted to let him know who this little girl truly was under her thick mask of shyness, that she was absolutely not someone to feel sympathy for. And beneath her unhealthily-widened, conservative bubble was the ability to love, because I loved him. Drastic, yes, but like I said, it had to be blunt; to the point. I wasn’t gonna waste my last opportunity to communicate here with a bluff, twiddlin’-my-fingers message. So I said it, er typed it. My hands normally cramp after English period.
That day, that last day of ninth grade, was probably one of the best and suckiest few hours spent in this whole building. Terrible, because I ran out of clean jeans, ended up wearing short shorts and heels and got caught by the security guard. When it turned out they ran out of scrubs altogether, I realized I used up my chance to find and give the letter to him on nothing. Plus, it was finals week. There were more important things to do. So I gave it to a friend to give to him, since I wouldn’t be attending English that morning. Out of this whole crazy ordeal, just not showing up to his face was the part I regret most of all. Yet for some reason when Haley (said friend) met back with me in the hallway after lunch that afternoon to let me know the deed was done, well… I went running. Or at least I tried. The fearlessness and determination which once racked my system that morning prior was gone unfortunately, and with my heels still click-clacking loudly in time with my newfound stride, there was little escape in that narrow strip leading to the freshman exit. I panicked. He couldn’t see me now that my presentation of the stupid thing was already blown. Nuh-uh. Just a few more steps, you’re almost there…
However, treading out of the English hallway right on time, was him, looking downward, at my note. I didn’t even have to squint from my great distance away to recognize the large, cursive font I chose for the term, “Sincerely”. And it didn’t take him but one glance up to notice my standing there… so why was a standing there? Eyes widened, I trembled. My mind wanted to take in the surroundings, seal myself in place, but my body fought the reaction and bolted. I delved into my coat pocket and plugged myself into an MP3 player I brought just in case he thought to call something out behind me. Turning the corner, feet pressed forward, I leapt out the double doors, eager to meet the navy blue Chevy already parked outside the building. The gentle heat of this year’s rising summer did nothing to help my chilled face which I’m sure lost all its color.
Secretly I wanted this to happen, to punish myself for these egotistical doings. It wasn’t enough, though. The guilt sunk in as soon as my seatbelt clicked in place. Just like my heels clicked together when I stood a few moments before. When I ran off, turned the other way, and let him give no say in this whole situation. Foolish. Child-like. He thought you were different; better than that. I spent the whole summer break thinking about how he may have reacted if I’d just stayed and let it fold out on its own. However, in some cases, it’s best to leave things to the imagination. The man is so difficult to read, who knows what he’d thought personally. I might not ever find out for sure. We may cross paths one day and give each other knowing looks like we used to do, but will a chance like that ever come to pass again? I wouldn’t bet on it. After all, with my style of living, they rarely occur. That’s why I’ve learned to cherish them.
Until then, this story is discontinued. It is of truth, but then it is also a lie. If you think I should be acquired help for this little social problem, I’d not suggest you visit the room number provided, it’s a fake. And rest assured every story I’ve written is a tad negative. No worries on my part or yours. I would suggest, however, that you keep any predictions or information you may have as to who this person is to yourself. As much as I realize and attempt to reverse my shy qualities, it’d be an awfully embarrassing, and not to mention inappropriate way to bring this back up again, especially in his own perspective. Only thinking of him… but then, when do I not?
Does it look okay? At times I felt there wasn't enough detail. Ah well, it's already turned in. Lolol. M'kay, I guess I'll get back to being too busy for my own health again. Which by the way, it feels amazing
outside. Got my windows let open and everything. I suppose autumn came right on time this year.
But I'll save my ridiculous banter for Twitter. Bye, y'all.