Property of C. B. Conrad (cont'd part 4)

"Do you know the difference between education and experience? Education is when you read the fine print; experience is what you get when you don't." ~Pete Seeger 

That evening, I sat numbly in the living room in a large armchair with the old journal in my lap. It was closed—I didn’t want to race through it on my first night. This was all I had left of my grandmother. Cherishing what little remains seemed the only thing to do. I traced my fingers along the embroidered floral cover, nothing really crossing my mind except the texture of the leather journal.

Suddenly, the back door slammed and I startled upright and out of my thoughtless state. Alec came into the living room and threw himself down onto the couch. I eyed him from across the large room for a moment before he said, “Does it feel cold in here to you?”

I shrugged and watched as Alec stood up again and walk out. It was not cold in the room. Perhaps when the wind blew through the windows there was a slight chill, but I felt comfortable. Alec came back in a few minutes with a long sleeved shirt on. He had another drink in his hand when he sat back down.

“So how’s the book?” he asked.

“I haven’t really read any of it yet.”

He let it drop and began staring off into the distance.

“Did you know there is supposed to be a meteor shower tonight?” I asked.

“I did not.”

“Is the area around here good for watching stars?”

“I suppose. I think your grandma has a telescope in the attic if you wanted to stay up tonight.”

“It could be fun. And if you wanted to stay up with me, I would kind of like to get to know the guy I will be spending most of summer with.”

“I’ll stay up with ya,” he laughed. “Can’t guarantee soberness or quality conversation but I’ll stay up with you.”

“Do you really drink a lot?”

“Some days I do. I did really like Charlie. She was a great woman. She was teaching me to play piano. Old people always love to pass on their skills to younger generations.”

“My other grandma was supposed to teach me to knit but she never got around to it before she passed.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I think this summer I might teach myself.”

“Cool,” Alec said. “I will not be joining you on that.”

“I can teach you piano,” I told him. “I know how to play.”

Alec raised an eyebrow. “Really? Well, I suppose if you want. But not tonight.”

“Well, yeah,” I said, probably a bit more sarcastically than I should have. “Do you want help getting anything from the attic?” I asked quickly.

Alec noted that I could join him, but he probably wouldn’t need help carrying anything. I decided to follow him up to the attic, one I had not known existed.

In my grandmother’s bedroom, the walls were paneled with wood. A section of the wall I hadn’t noticed before had been left bare. As if on a spring, Alec pressed against this part of the wall and the paneling here proved a door that opened to a set of stairs.

“Crafty,” I noted aloud.

“Charlie asked me once to get me something from up here. Took me a half hour to find the door,” Alec joked.

“Well it certainly is hidden well.”

The stairs creaked and there was no light switch until you reached the top, and even then it was only a light bulb with a pull string attached. The telescope rested under a sheet covered in dust and as soon as Alec pulled the sheet, the dust leapt into the air and danced about, trying to find a new place to settle which hopefully did not include my lungs. Alec and I did end up coughing a bit as the untouched dust covering all surfaces of the attic was kicked up. Alec picked up the pieces of the telescope and ventured back downstairs.

I walked over to the window that over looked the backyard. The small circular window, cloaked in grime, was difficult to see through however I could just make out the distinct areas of the yard. When I turned back around, a black and bronze trunk caught my eye. It was locked, of course, but appeared to not have been touched in years. I pondered its contents, imagining numerous possibilities but I made a mental note to ask Alec about it later. Perhaps he would know where the key was or what lay inside.

I pulled the string attached to the light bulb and carefully made my way back down the old stairs, sure to close the paneled door behind me. It occurred to me that it may be possible that my grandma had left other secrets hidden behind paneling such as this. Although, I thought it disrespectful to go tearing through the rooms searching walls, paintings and rugs, trying to investigate this house of secrets. But then again, perhaps Alec knew. After all, I had very little inclination as to how long he was employed here and how much Grandma had told him. It must have been a great deal for she seemed keen on Alec for her own reasons. She always had her own reasons for doing things, even when no one agreed with her.

In the backyard, Alec had set up the telescope and was throwing sticks and firewood into a large chiminea.

            “It might be hard to see much with a fire,” I suggested.

            “Meteor showers can’t be seen much before midnight anyway,” Alec said, lighting a match. He touched the match to some newspaper and threw it into the pile of wood. “I figured a fire might be nice.”

            Wishing I had bit my tongue, I said “It is nice, thanks.”

            Alec said nothing to this but went back to his small house. He opened the door, gave a whistle and his dog pranced out the front door. After doing its business, the dog—careful to avoid the fire—curled up near my feet as I sat on a bench in the garden. I scratched her ears and then looked to Alec who was lighting a cigarette. I supposed that I shouldn’t judge, given I’d just met the guy, but smoking had always seemed to me a nasty habit. My grandfather had smoked, along with other things, but in the end it was the smoke that killed him.

            Granddad had picked up the habit while at war. Stress and combat took its toll so to cope, Granddad turned to smoking and alcohol. I knew my grandma was never thrilled but we all have our burdens to bear and Granddad was never one for sharing. So I bit my tongue and said nothing about how smoking had killed my grandfather and that Alec should take better care of his health. I’m sure, like so many others, he had his reasons.

            As if reading my mind, Alec looked over at me and said “Smoking kills, don’t ever start.”

            I chuckled. “Never. They’re too much money anyway.”

            “Truth.”

            I leaned forward on the bench, closer to the fire, loving how fire pits smelled and reminded me of the summers when my dad would set up a fire pit in our backyard and let me invite friends over. Alec stretched out in the grass and started staring at the sky. There was little to see yet, so I moved over to the telescope. Naturally, I pointed it to the moon first and then began to scan the stars aimlessly, looking for nothing in particular other than something I could use to strike up conversation. Then again, Alec had yet to strike me as a conversationalist.

            Alec knew little about the sky, even though he had either visited or lived in many areas where he could see it clearly every night. I found out he traveled a lot. He lived in Colorado and Florida, visited Arizona and Vermont and had family in Chicago. He liked Canada but couldn’t stay there. When he moved to North Carolina, he met my grandmother and this is where he had been for a year. Even with all this moving around, he had a nursing degree and had managed a fiancé. I did not learn her name or how they ended it. He was too drunk. Instead, I learned how they were to be married and have kids, until he lost everything, and moved to this little town. Then he fell asleep in the grass.

            I let the fire die but pushed the embers around until late into the night. When the meteor shower began, I was far too cold and lonely to enjoy it. They stars shot across the sky in brief beautiful bursts and arched as if they would wrap around the Earth and come back again. When it became half past one, I moved over to Alec and sat in the grass next to him. Rubbing his arm gently, I tried to wake him up.

            He didn’t move.

            I grabbed his wrist and tried to get a pulse. His skin was soft and my fingers sunk into it more than they should have. I couldn’t feel a heartbeat. I grabbed his scotch glass and dumped the contents into the grass. I put it under his nose. The slightest bit of condensation formed on the glass. I reached for my cell and called 9-1-1.

            There were soon sirens and lights in the driveway and EMTs rushed with a stretcher into the backyard. Alec was soon hoisted into the van and I followed them to the hospital. They stopped me at the double doors and I waited in the reception room. An hour passed. Then another. Soon it was five in the morning and my eyes were blinking open and closed in the waiting room chair. Finally, someone in in scrubs came out to me. They told me that it would still be some time before I would be allowed to see Alec. They didn’t tell me anything, other than it would be in my interest to go home and get some rest. When I returned home, the sun was just about coming up and my father’s car was resting in the driveway. There was one light on in the living room and I could see his silhouette reading a newspaper. He was going to kill me.

            The door creaked open as I stepped into the house and I could hear the paper rustling as my father folded it back up and put it down. I trudged slowly to where he was seated with his hands folded and stern countenance facing the frame of the entryway. He removed his reading glass when I entered the room and placed them on the table next to him.

            “Where have you been, Liz?” he said calmly

            “Dad, I’m sorry but-”

            “Answer the question!” he snapped, shattering the silence of the house.

            “I was at the hospital.”

            “For what?”

            “Grandma’s live-in help passed out last night I couldn’t wake him up,” I tried to explain.

            “Yes, I see the scotch has been drained since last I was here. Your grandmother didn’t drink it.”

            “I didn’t either, Dad.”                                               

            “Clearly someone else did.”

            “I’m not lying.”

            “No?” he said. “How can I trust the daughter who takes off in the early morning to drive hours out of her way, to a state she doesn’t know, to a house where a man lives, whom she doesn’t know? Elizabeth, I’m disappointed in you. Not only have you broken my trust but you broke my heart not going to your grandmother’s service.”

            “I couldn’t be there.”

            “No, you couldn’t because you were already hours away.”

            “Dad you have to understand that-”

            “No, Elizabeth, I don’t have to understand. What does have to happen right this moment is you packing up and getting back in your car and coming home.”

            “Dad I’m not leaving.”

            “Oh yes you are.”

            “No. Look, I have this summer to grow up before I go to college. I want to grow up without you hovering over my shoulder telling me how.”

            “You want to be a big girl who makes her own decisions?” My father said sarcastically. “Maybe you should have thought about that before running away. Now pack your things, let’s go.”

            “I’m staying. Grandma left me a letter saying there is something about this house that she wants me to discover and I have to honor her by doing it. She left the note with her care-taker because she must have known I would come down here alone to grieve. Dad, I’m not coming home yet. I have to do what Grandma has asked me to do as her final wish. You owe it to her as well as me.”

            My father, angry, stood and walked out the door into the backyard to fume and think it all over. It would be, of course, bad parenting to allow me to stay, yet he knew I was responsible enough. If he needed further proof, I took Alec to the hospital instead of just dragging him to bed last night. But I would not tell my father that Alec was a twenty-two year old nicotine-addicted alcoholic living in the guest house for the summer. It would not be one of my stronger arguments for my case.

I crawled my way sleepily into the kitchen and made toast while my dad kicked around the backyard. After nearly fifteen minutes, he returned inside. Sitting across from me at the table, he said, “I will let you stay on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You will show to me just how much staying here means to you by trading this for school. You come home at the end of the summer and do a year at Community College under the major of Criminal Justice. There will be no going away and no writing program until the following year if you find you truly hate Criminal Justice by next May.”

He was trying to call my bluff. And then, I was trying to call his. In trying to convince me that what I have stumbled upon here was so insignificant, he was willing to forcefully make me quit my dreams of being a writer. He knew how much writing meant to me and was trying to test me to see if I really had my priorities straight. But then, I r wait a year and take all the necessary classes like math or history at Community and switch before even reaching the courses for my major. I wondered if he knew this.

“I know you think you know what’s best for me,” I began, “But the fact of the matter is, I have gotten to an age where what you think my future should be doesn’t matter. I’m not about to go waste my life doing drugs and partying. What grandma left here for me means more than I know yet and I want to figure it out. I will come home at the end of the summer and curtail my plans for the future if that is what you want.”

My father was turning red in the face. “No,” he said. “You’re coming home right now.”

“Why?” I yelled. “Why do you think you always have control over what I do? You gave me a choice and I chose what you didn’t want to hear. What don’t you want me to find in this house?”

 And for some reason, that struck a chord with my dad. He slammed his hand on the table top and said, “Fine, stay here. But if you unearth the devil don’t come to me asking for redemption.”

My father stormed back outside to the backyard and I went to the bedroom to sleep. I tossed and turned for hours trying to fall asleep, but I was angry and confused. Was there something he didn’t want me to find in this house? Did he know what was contained within the pages of the journal? He had to. There was no way he would be so aversive to me staying here without knowing something I didn’t.

Before finally passing out, I remembered still not hearing his car pull from the driveway. I wondered whether he was going to stay with me in this house or try to hide whatever evidence he could find of what happened by the fountain in the yard. So just before slipping into subconscious, I grabbed the journal and placed it beneath my pillow so that my father would not be able to take it from me. 

(to be continued)

Kids These Days

"I'm not concerned with your liking or disliking me... All I ask is that you respect me as a human being." ~Jackie Robinson 

The thing that bothers me most about my generation and those below me is the level of respect, or lack-there-of for others. I honestly do not believe respect is something that is taught to kids anymore. 

Not that there a right or wrong way to parent, but I was raised "right" or "proper". I was taught to respect everyone I meet, no matter how much I like or dislike them. Too often have I encountered people my age that have no idea how to respect their peers-- and I'm not talking just about the hoodlums on the street corner. No, well educated, college schooled young adults from decent backgrounds and merited accomplishments disrespect those whom they are closest too.

This is a huge problem for society because how can you learn to respect yourself when no one respects you? How can you say that every individual deserves self respect when those around them show no respect or validations of feelings and opinions? Sure, everyone is entitled to their own opinion, everyone has a right to feel how they want, right or wrong. This is not the issue. The issue lies in others not respecting the opinions and emotions of their peers because they don't agree with them. Not agreeing has never merited disrespect. Look at Congress for example (yes, I know, she's getting political). Congress does not agree on issues but instead of saying "You're wrong, dumbass!", they provide logical arguments to persuade the other party to see things their way. This way, they are not invalidating the issue, but rather using logic to prove there may be another solution.

Now I'm not saying Congress has it perfect. Trust me, they aren't my favorite people either. But the message is still the same. Fighting is perfectly healthy (of course I do not mean physical fighting), as long as you still respect the one you are fighting with. Respecting others' feelings and opinions is crucial to compromise. 

When I was in second grade, my "best friend" Danielle flipped on a dime and started hating and bullying me. Everyday, I came home crying and my parents said to "Kill her with kindness". When you've been hurt, this is a lot harder than it seems. And in second grade, you don't have enough of a worldly concept to be able to fully grasp this. However, one day it was rainy and we were the only two at the bus stop. I had an umbrella and she did not. At age seven, I stood for five minutes debating whether or not I should share my umbrella with a girl I was afraid would call me names and kick me. In the end, the bus came and I never had to finish my decision, but I was learning that no matter how much hatred I harbored for this girl, I still had respect that she was a person with emotions and opinions. I'll never know if she would have bullied me or thanked me for offering my umbrella and to this day I wish I would have offered it.

Maybe it's my own experience with being disrespected that makes this such an issue with me. I hate being talked over, as if what I am saying is too trivial for the other person to listen. And I hate when people say, "You don't feel that way" or "You're just pretending to feel that way for attention". Nothing boils my blood more than that sort of disrespect.

I had an incident with my mother four years ago on this matter. I told her I was feeling like she didn't respect me or appreciate everything I did since my dad and sister moved out. And she told me that I was making it up and that I was an ungrateful bitch. That was what began my depression. And I know I'm not the only one out there who has been disrespected to the point of depression.

Now I'm in a situation with people whom I thought were my friends and whom have stopped respecting my feelings and opinions. I don't want to "Kill them with kindness". I want them to hurt. I want to be the biggest bitch they have ever seen because when you mess with a lion, you get the claws. Is this the right thing to do? No, of course not, and I know the right thing to do is to just be kind. But they don't deserve it. 

But how do you measure how much someone deserves to be respected? You don't. It is not anyone's job to say who deserves respect and who doesn't. Whether you have been hurt or simply don't like someone, that is no excuse to show disrespect. So hold the door, listen to what others say, come to a compromise, say excuse me, apologize, and share your umbrella. Showing respect exemplifies the highest level of character. No one ever thinks a respectful person has poor character.

And just because I feel like this ties in, I'm going to end on another quote:

“Watch your thoughts for they become words. Watch your words for they become actions. Watch your actions for they become habit. Watch your habits for they become character. Watch your character for it becomes your destiny.” ~Lao Tzu


~E J Royson

In Case Anyone Asks:

                              A confession has to be part of your new life. ~Ludwig Wittgenstein 

No, I'm not alright. I am no form of "okay". And there is not much left to do to make it right.

I have spent the last five years suffering from depression. I think it is safe to say, I am very good at hiding it. I have cut myself and have come very close to having an eating disorder. I have never been medicated and I will say whatever I have to so that I can get out of therapy.

I have spent the last three years lying about who I am and I think somewhere along that road I forgot who I actually am. And now I have no where left to turn.

When my parents divorced, I was also undergoing a lot of social changes through high school. When my mom decided to starve and abuse me, then kick me out onto the snowy front step to wait and freeze while my father came to pick me up, I couldn't handle it. I "broke my wings" so to speak. Court appointed therapists and being forced to go see them have tainted what I think of our justice system as well as the psychologists who say they want to help. They did nothing to help my psyche and only helped my mother have more opportunities to abuse me. When DYFS finally got involved, only then did my pain with my mother begin to cease.

Living with my dad and step mom wasn't bad, they just didn't know how to help me. Then, because I was tired of hearing "I'm so sorry about what you're going through," I began to pretend I was fine. I lied. I lied and said I was happy. I lied and said it stopped hurting so much. I lied so that no one would begin to wonder whether something should be done about that sad, sad girl in the corner.

Then I changed schools. Stepping into one of the most notoriously caddy high schools in South Jersey at the beginning of Junior year, I was forced into an environment where everyone had grown up together, outsiders were frowned upon and it was okay to stab others in the back. Did I want to do this? No, but my mother had made that choice for me when she left me on the front porch.

The people at this school seemed fake to me. I saw their smiles and listened to their stories about how much fun they had partying and realized, the only way to fit in within the walls of this hell hole was to be fake. So I began to pretend.

It was the acting chance of a lifetime. For two years, I pretended to be someone I wasn't. I went from a quiet, shy, brilliant minded, witty and kind girl to a sarcastic, crass, unfeeling bitch. And somehow, I was able to make friends. It never occurred to me what this would do to me in the long term. I never thought I would lose myself so easily. But I did.

The friends I made in high school, I lost. True to their fake environment, they were fake friends. Once I went to college, I lost contact with most of them. Friends from my younger years and very few from high school I still consider friends but the majority are lost. When I did go to college, my theatrical act followed me. And once again, I made friends.

Somewhere deep inside, my morals were securely intact and I did not go making friends with the wrong sort, or maybe I did, but that's yet to be officially proven. I did not enjoy the company of party-goers, I did not enjoy the company of druggies, I did not enjoy the company of those who did not go to college to learn. The friends I did make were, for lack of a better word, nerds. They were quiet, they were fun and they knew what it was like to be an outcast. We made a good group. But as my act persisted and I began to realize that these people did not know who I was at all. I began to realize, the friends I made in class- where my act did not persist- would be appalled by the person I was when I was out of class.

So here is my confession to my "friends":
-I am not a whore. I make a lot of sex jokes because I want people to laugh and like me. It has come to a point where my mind has become perversion enough that it will take a while until I can return to the witty humor that I once had. But I am going to try.
-I am actually pretty smart. I'm not trying to toot my own horn here, but I'm quick. I can pick things up faster than most people and I have only pretended to be dumber because my high school social life demanded I knock a few IQ points off. Because I have pretended, I have found people believe my idiocy to be true. I have a great memory and am great with logic. (I mean hell, I'm in college with a 3.8. There has to be something between my ears.) When people belittle my knowledge, it frustrates me because I know the actuality of what they are trying to explain to me. I am tired of being talked down to, so I am returning to who I was.
-I am not as loud as I have pretended. I have spent so many years with my voice being silenced that any opportunity to speak out, I take. When people talk over me, when people cut me off, when people tell me I'm wrong, it frustrates me. So sometimes I talk just to have my voice heard. I have spent far too long trying to say something brilliant and having people disrespect what I am trying to say. So I will write people notes because it feels like the only way I can say what I have to so that I may have my voice heard. Too often are my voice and opinion ignored. I am going to stop talking just to talk and only contribute when I have something important to add to the conversation.
-I do not dislike anyone for how they identify, their race, their religion, their gender, the color of their hair or anything. If I dislike someone, it is because I dislike their character. Far too often have people called me a racist, homophobic, etc. because I dislike someone. If you are not a good person, you are not a good person. I couldn't care less how you identify yourself, if you have bad character, I will not like you. I try to give everyone a fair chance but I suppose everyone deserves one more. But only one more.
-I was raised that every action one makes is an example of the respect you show others. I am not a neat-freak because I am OCD, I was taught that being untidy was disrespectful. I am not loud, not because I don't like loud things, but because I was taught being obnoxiously loud is disrespectful. I offer what I have, not because I think what I have is better, but because I am trying to respect and make others' lives better and more convenient. I will go out of my way for a person because for me, this shows you respect them. I will make it more clear that I am trying to respect others so that it does not come off as being a "stuck-up, rich-girl bitch."

Because none of my current friends realize this about me, I fear I have no one left who knows who I am. Suffice it to say, I am having an identity crisis. I have spent so long pretending to be something I am not, because my teenage years forced me to make friends in an unwelcoming environment, that I have lost everything about me that has made me "me." And now everyone hates me. And I have no idea how to return to who I once was.

My final confession is that I will no longer try to be who you all thought I was. I will no longer be trying to be that girl who was a sarcastic, crass, unfeeling bitch but instead will try to return to that quiet, shy, brilliant minded, witty and kind girl that I used to be. Good people liked that girl. I never had to pretend for anyone of good character. So while my "friends" are off thinking I'm some sex-craving, loud, self-centered monster, I will be working once and for all to defeat my depression. I am going to turn my life around, find friends who appreciate me for me and pull me head out of the sand. My bitchy self is being dragged out to the dumpster tonight. I am returning to myself, I am returning to Juliana.

This is "Jules", signing off.

Here, the Dark I Know Well

Take me from here,                                         The stories the walls hear

This place I know too well.                                of broken hearts and confusion

The spaces and faces                                        could fill novels and shelves

 and this love where I fell.                                 feeding optimist's delusions. 

 

The sun sets late here                                       There's one way out of here

and the sun burns my eyes                                 a small tunnel leading to light

they say it's perfect                                           this is where the lost try to escape

but they don't hear the cries.                             hurting others in the fight.

I fade into darkness here                                   It's a vicious cycle in here,

where those saddened refuge,                           in this darkness where we lie

where those with lost love                                 fighting to feel love once more

die waiting for their rescue.                              until eventually we die.

                                              Take me from here

                                       and we will walk hand in hand 

                                       to the place they all talk about

                                         that perfect, promised land.

The Reality of Such Situations

"I've always thought that people need to feel good about themselves and I see my role as offering support to them, to provide some light along the way." ~Leo Buscaglia 

It is a curious thing, love. So easily does it lift one up and yet so harshly can it tear one down. It is what humans crave throughout their lives. Unknowing of the nature of our existence, we constantly look for someone whom we may call our love, our partner, our spouse and our best friend. 

One of the largest hot-spots for romance is a college campus. Incoming Freshmen students look at each other with big eyes and open hearts, now accessing a new part of the world in which they hope to find love. Mistakes are made and lessons are learned but hidden behind the curtain of such stereotypes are a few who look on each other and find what may be the most raw emotions of them all.

In my experience, I have found a good friend, a good lover and he is who I turn to when I need a hand. I love him greatly and spent an entire year with him but he has not returned to college to be with me. There is a distance between us and I can feel our relationship dying. Phone calls and web chatting can not replace what we had and in no way does it provide any sort of an equal substitute. So despite any sense of morality, I have turned my attention to a friend, who could not care less about me. Instead he loves another who would never return his affections. Such is the life of a teenager, yes?

He has told me so much and I have given him good advice. I have held when him when he has cried and tried my best to make it known that I am there for him, and that I am there more often than the girl he likes. Sometimes I think he sees me but then he is in my apartment fretting about the girl who would turn him down. It seems so much of my wisdom and energy is spent on trying to help those who look for love in the wrong places.

It is difficult for me to express any of this in words to my friends because, of course, I still have a boyfriend and I do in fact love him very much. Life has just begun to pull us in separate directions making our relationship strained. While love does have to be true, it also has to be accessible and while I am guilty for this, I believe I have found a more accessible arrangement. But such "arrangement" will never see me the way I wish he would. Instead, I will hold him when he cries, tell him what he needs to make him stronger and hope that maybe someday, it will click with him that I have been nothing but attentive to him.

Today, the girl he would love came to our apartment for she is friends with my roommates. My friend who likes her had been watching TV with us for a bit and I saw him freeze when she walked in. But she almost completely ignored him and talked about a guy she flirted with downtown. So, hurt and insecure, my friend came to me to talk. We talked and he laid on my bed, evidently more upset than his words could ever express. I rubbed his back and stroked his ego, telling him all the things that made him great. He pulled himself together, hugged me and went back into the living room to try once more to connect with the girl.

It's a tad painful in this situation, even though I am aware that I shouldn't be putting myself in this position anyway. To love someone and lift them up at any cost only to have them pine after another has to be one of the most painfully numbing things I have ever experienced. I'm at a loss for what to do so I suppose I will just whisper my secret to the internet and pretend that it is protected for if I uttered a word of this aloud, I fear the repercussions of rejection and judgement that would follow.

~E J Royson

Rest-Stop Romance

"We are the perfect couple, we're just not in the perfect situation." 

Everyone wants to tell me how to handle my life, my emotions. Everyone wants to weigh in, not let me make the same mistakes that they did. Everyone wants to tell me those ignorant phrases like "it will get better" and "hang in there" but they don't understand the paroxysm, that heart wrenching pain that those stupid phrases cause. I don't want to hear it even less that they want to try to use those words for comfort. I imagine that at some level, they know they aren't helping one bit but they do it anyway.

If I could do it over again, I can't say that I wouldn't fall in love with him because loving him was the happiest time, the easiest time, the first time I really trusted someone to be there to catch me when I fall- and with my history, believe me, I fall a lot. I wouldn't trade the memories with him for the world but I can't fathom how I will be able to keep going without him. The saddest part is, it's not like we aren't together, we just aren't with each other. Long distance relationships are notorious for never working out in the end.

And yet, everyone is telling me to hang on, yet I look at is as, "what is the point if it is going to end anyway?". The wasted gas and mileage, the lost time just traveling are just the tip of the iceberg. It is one thing to be able to talk to each other in a relationship and no one knows more than me about how important that is. But it can't be everything. I don't want to repeat the jokes I heard or told- I want him to hear them and laugh with me. I don't want to tell him about the drug addict who asked if I knew where to get a high, I want to exchange weird glances with him after the druggie walks away disappointed. I don't want to spend our date at a rest stop off the interstate eating fast food. I don't want to live without him, I want to experience life with him.

But I can't, because we're so far apart. And people don't understand how painful that is, not even him.

I can't keep doing this. The only way I can imagine getting through losing him, is to lose him completely and move on- to distract myself. But I can't break his heart and I know he is the same in that regard. I'm just going to have to wait out the sounds of shattering glass as this slowly tumbles in a downward spiral. The end seems so far away and is going to be so painful. And I'm only going to be told "It will get better" and then someone will end up a fistful of my emotion in their face.

~E J Royson

Property of C. B. Conrad (con't, part 3)

The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible.

~Oscar Wilde

     When Alec disappeared back into the guest house, I went back upstairs and finished exploring the second floor. The master bedroom was beautiful, with a canopy bed and a cushioned window seat overlooking the gardens. I could imagine my grandmother spending much time on the window seat watching my father play in the gardens.

     Turning away from the view, I walked over to my grandmother's dresser where sat her perfume and jewelry. I sprayed a bit of her perfume into the air and let it take me back to my childhood when she would hold me the nights I couldn't fall asleep. As much as I loved the master bedroom, I wouldn't dare sleep in here and disrespect my grandmother's memory. 

     A guest bedroom down the hall was where I placed my bag and collapsed onto the bed. A blinking light on my phone showed my father had left me a message. He wanted me to come home for the funeral. I rolled my eyes and pulled out the journal my grandmother left me.

     I looked at the photo of the fountain and then out the window at the gardens. Every fountain was identical and there was no distinguishable difference between the areas surrounding them. I sighed and looked at the next page in the journal. 

My Darling Elizabeth,

     Enclosed within these pages are the stories my beloved daughter wrote before her untimely death. I hope that you can see through the tales and that you are given new insight into what life was like those many years ago. I remember telling you about the times I would sneak into the basement where my father made wine and my siblings and I would steal grapes until daddy yelled at us. I would love you to read these stories with the same eagerness in which you would listen to those which I would tell to you.
     While I may not be with you any longer, know that I will be watching over you. Remember when I would tell you how I would protect you? If you're walking and a streetlight goes out, it is my way of telling you danger is near. And if you are ever with a boy I don't like, I'll have a bird poop on him. My grandmother used to have similar ways of protecting me so it is only fitting I do the same. I love you little Lizard, my only wish is that you find love and live happy.
     Love always,
          Grandma Charlotte Betty Conrad

     I read and reread the letter, imagining my grandmother reading the words to me herself in her soft, loving voice. As tears welled in my eyes, I slipped the note back into the journal and left the room. I went back into the kitchen and opened the fridge. I don't know what I was expecting to find, but it was empty.

     "I cleaned it out a few days ago. I can make you a sandwich if you want but you'll have to go to the grocery store," Alec said.

     "Thanks," I told him.

     Alec lead me out the back door and into the hot summer sun. Across the garden was a small one story house. Inside was quaint, undoubtedly decorated mostly by my grandmother. The windows were open and a light breeze was blowing through the curtains. There were four rooms: a kitchen, living room, bedroom and bathroom. It was perfect for one person. A dog sat on the couch and perked up its ears when I entered the house.

     "What kind of dog is that?" I asked him.

     "Shiba Inu," he said. "She's a good girl."

     I scratched the dog's ears, smiled and turned back to Alec who was shifting through his fridge. Over his shoulder, I saw most of it was beer. I wondered whether or not he was trying to drown a memory or just entertained a lot. 

     "Grilled cheese okay?" he asked.
     "Yeah," I looked around the small house. There were pictures of him and a young girl who I assumed his sister. Next to that was a photo of him with another girl. His arm was around her and she was looking at him with big eyes.

     "I forgot that was out," he said, taking the frame and putting it face down. "Sorry."

     "Who's the girl?"

     "She's gone so it doesn't really matter."

     I wasn't entirely sure what he meant by that but I dropped the issue.

     "So why is a pretty little girl like you running away from home?" Alec asked.
     "Not to sound like an entitled little brat, but my dad doesn't exactly get me."

     "Oh really?" Alec chuckled.
     "I'm starting college in the fall and he is mad that I applied to a writing program instead of law school. On top of that, I applied to school down here so I wouldn't have to come home."
     "Well, he might have just wanted something he thought better for your future and is going to miss you."

     "He grounded me for the summer," I told him.
     Alec laughed and flipped the sandwich over. The butter on the bread began to sizzle in the pan and I walked back over into the kitchen.
     Leaning against the counter, I said "Sorry, I didn't mean to rant at you."
     "It's cool," he said looking over at me. "I remember what it was like at your age."
     "Cause four years makes that big of a difference," I jokingly muttered.
     Alec smirked and slid the sandwich onto a paper plate. "If you want, I can drive you to the grocery store later. I need to pick up a few things anyway."

     "That would be great," I smiled. "This is ridiculously good for just a grilled cheese sandwich," I told him.

     "I used to work in a kitchen in a really nice restaurant. You pick up a few tricks along the way."
     "That's pretty neat. I'll bet the ladies love you."

     "Well they certainly don't complain," he joked. "You go ahead and finish up, I'm going to shower real quick and I'll meet you in the driveway."

     "Okay," I said. Alec disappeared into his bedroom and I finished my sandwich.
     I went back out into the gardens and looked around at the fountains. None of them were running and the water was sitting stagnant. I wondered which was the one from the photo. I ventured behind the garden and saw a small pool and a gazebo. My grandmother really had a wonderful home. 

     I went back in the house and exchanged my flip-flops for converses and then I sat at the kitchen table making a list of things I would need. Out the window, I saw Alec lock his front door and head for the driveway. I folded the piece of paper into my back pocket and slipped out the front door. There was Alec, leaning against an old Dodge Charger in a black tank top with his aviator sunglasses. This was going to be an interesting summer.

(to be continued)

Property of C. B. Conrad (cont'd, part 2)

"Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning." ~Winston Churchill 

     I looked the boy up and down, trying to determine what explanation would appropriate my presence in my grandmother's house when I hadn't spoken with her in so many years. His hair was light brown but the summer sun had streaked its bright rays through it, making parts look almost golden. His skin was tanned and his green eyes were shielded behind aviator sunglasses. He must have been close to six feet, if not a bit taller and he looked like he had played rugby for a time, having strong arms and broad shoulders.

     I tried desperately not to stumble over my words but all I could manage because my heart was pounding from excitement and fear was a shaky "Hi, I'm Liz Conrad, Charlotte's granddaughter."

      The boy removed his glasses and put them on top of his head. He eyed me questioningly, then stuck out his hand. "Alec," he said shortly.

     "Alec... who?" I inquired.

     "Lane," he said. "I was Charlie's care taker- house and health. I have a nursing degree as well as a vacuum cleaner."

     I chuckled and the boy put his glasses back on, turned and went back down the stairs.

     "Wait," I said, following him. "What are you still doing here? You know she died right"

     "No, I live under a rock," he said sarcastically. "Yeah, I know she died but she paid me through the end of the summer and I will be here helping the family take care of her stuff because that was the last thing she asked of me. Also, I'm contractually obligated."

     "How noble," I said. "So wait, how old are you?"

     "Just turned twenty-two, yourself?"

     "Eighteen."

     "It's a fun age," he told me. "Barely legal and all that."
     My heart jumped into my throat when he said that and I tried to figure out what he meant. Alec brushed into the parlor and poured himself a drink. He looked up at me and narrowed his eyes. 

     "I don't serve minors."

     "I wasn't going to ask."

     "Oh wait, you said your name is Liz right? Short for Elizabeth?"

     Now it was my turn to narrow my eyes. "Yes," I said slowly. "Why?"

     "Your Grandma Charlie left something for you. She left letters for a lot of people and was always writing in her last days. She wanted to make it up to people she had hurt and all but she left you something else. Wait here."

     Alec put his drink down on the wood table and ran upstairs. I stared at the glass dripping condensation onto the antique piece of furniture. Looking around, I found a coaster and put the glass on top of that instead of the beautiful furniture. I didn't know if he was just careless or simply had that much disregard.

     I heard his feet thunder back down the oak steps and he rounded the corner into the parlor with a journal in his hands. It looked old but the cover was beautiful and as I looked over the first page, my grandmothers cursive was the same as I had always remembered it, but I was not about to read it in front of this boy who was still eyeing me questionably. I knew whatever she had to tell me was something I should read in private because her words would move me to tears.

     "So are you going to her funeral tonight?" I asked Alec.

     "Figured it was more a family thing. Should I take it you're not going either?"

     I looked down at the ground in silence for a moment before answering, "I had planned on just hiding here the rest of summer but I think my dad still has a final say on that, especially if I'd be staying in the same house with some guy."

     "Guest house," he said. "I don't stay here. So if you wanna hide and throw ragers, smoke, I don't care- it's not my house. I have the lease until the end of August then I'm out."

     And for whatever reason, I was sold on staying here. It would take a lot more than my dad driving down here and hauling my sorry-behind home to make me leave, even if it meant getting cut off. It was only a few months, and I'm sure with my dad not being home all that much anyway, I could convince him to let me stay. There were so many secrets about my grandma that I wanted to uncover- like this one photo taped onto the inside cover of the journal. It was of a fountain in the yard and in red ink, she had written the word "here". I had no clue what it meant, but I'm sure reading the rest of the book would help me figure it out.

(to be continued)

Salt on the River

"I have no right to say or do anything that diminishes a man in his own eyes. What matters is not what I think of him but what he thinks of himself. Hurting a man in his dignity is a crime." ~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry 

       Only after the fact did someone tell me to know my self worth. Of course, that stopped me in my tracks as I realized that my self worth had been taken away from me long before the faceless man could whisper that in my ear. When I think about it, I had self respect before anything happened but now I question every decision and die a little inside whenever my lover looks me in the eye. I feel like someone has physically branded the word "cheater" onto my skin. Sometimes I feel the word burning on my heart, sometimes on my lips and sometimes on my lower back. It's like a scar or a bad tattoo- something that you did once in your life and you wish you could be rid of it. But it's still there. It's not like I wanted to. I just caved into the pressure and the constant pushing for me to go against my morals. 

He was my ex-boyfriend's friend and I had been at many parties with him where my light-weight date would drop early and the rest of us played games like strip-pool. Even back then, I could feel his eyes burning on my skin. Even back then, he was pushing me to go further than I wanted. But my god did I want to kiss him. Maybe it was his daring blue eyes or the way he carried himself but I had these sinful thoughts telling me that he must have been good. 

But then summer was over and I was going to college, away from the daring blue eyes and my now ex-boyfriend. I started school and started a new life with new friends and a new lover. And everything was fine. I had no temptation, nothing blatantly staring me in the face daring me to reach outside my morals. 

  Then it was Thanksgiving break and I was being forced to make the two and a half hour drive home. On the way, my phone buzzed, and then again fifteen minutes later. I pulled off onto a rest area to use the facilities and to check my phone. One was a text from my old boyfriend who needed help writing a paper. The other was a text from Blue Eyes asking if and when I was home and would I like to get together. My heart jumped into my throat even though I know it shouldn't have. I had a happy life at school with a man who made me happy, in and out of the bedroom, which was a luxury I hadn't had the fortune of ever having before. I replied to my ex first, saying I would gladly help him write a paper and then replied simply to Blue Eyes that I would be home in the evening. 

I returned home and settled in, enjoying my father's home cooked meals that were gourmet even before having been forced to eat the slop of the school's cafeteria. I video chatted with my boyfriend that night and got to meet his mom for the first time. He had such a wonderful family and everyone seemed so loving. I realized that I had found someone with whom I could see a long future. After hanging up, my phone buzzed again, this time my ex asking if I could come over Friday morning. I agreed and then went to bed. 

Thanksgiving came and went and the craziness of my Step-Mother's Irish family seemed tolerable this year, or maybe I was just becoming accustomed. Friday morning I went over my ex's house to help him with his paper. After a few hours of slow progression, namely due to his parent's fighting or his mother interrupting us every five minutes, we decided to work over my house. My parents weren't home and my ex sat at my desk while I unpacked my summery clothes and packed the winter ones to bring back to school. He finished within the hour and we laid on my bed. I showed him a new skill I'd learned while at school- the epitome of nerdiness- the rubix cube. He was impressed but then he rolled over and looked me straight in the eye. "So, do you wanna have sex?" he asked.

This question of course came about two hours after me telling him that I was in a relationship so thankfully, he wasn't all too dejected when I raised my eyebrows and said no. But we did however go to the mall. We met up with some of his friends and to be frank, I wasn't having that great of a time due to the fact that the boys were all trying to pick up girls. Blue Eyes was there trying hard to get girls' numbers. Here's a tip: Black Friday is a bad time to pick up girls at a mall.

My ex had to leave early after receiving a call from his mother but Blue Eyes offered to drive me home. I knew this was a bad idea but agreed to it anyway. Too often at parties had my tongue slipped and I'd hinted to how badly I wanted to be with Blue Eyes. And he knew this. 

I clung to the door handle as Blue Eyes sped wildly down the highway. It was close to eleven in the evening now and I worried about the police but Blue Eyes had other thoughts on his mind. He turned to me and asked, "Ever given road- head before?" 

My jaw dropped and I answered with an appalled "No, I like living, thank you."

"I know you like me," he said after a moment. "Don't even try to deny it." And then his hand was on my thigh and my heart was beating a mile a minute. "I know you've thought about me."

I didn't say a word and I nervously pushed his hand off of my leg.

Blue Eyes laughed and put his hand back on the steering wheel. "Remember that one time," he started, "when we were in the basement playing strip pool?"

"Yeah," I responded quietly, now regretting that poorly made decision.

"God, when you took your shirt off, all I could do was stare at you."

I could feel my face burning. "Yeah, well I still played better than the rest of you," I joked nervously.

"I wish you sucked more, then you would have lost your shorts," he said, his hand now back on my thigh.

"Yeah, well I had to maintain some of my dignity."

"C'mon," he said, "You're hot."

"Yeah, not really," I muttered. "Besides, I had a thong on and I was not taking off my shorts with only that underneath." Immediately I regretted saying that because Blue Eyes' hand slid up my thigh.

"What are you wearing right now?"

"Wouldn't you like to now," I said sarcastically.

"I would," he said, then he took his hand from my leg and flicked on his turn signal. "You want to go home just yet or would you rather chill for a bit?" he asked, his voice losing the sexual tension that had been there not moments before. Maybe it was all in my head?

"I could chill for a bit," I said hesitantly. 

"Cool," Blue Eyes said driving past the entrance to my neighborhood and down the road. He went to pull into a parking lot and moved to park under a streetlight.

"Cause this isn't sketchy and obvious," I said to him.

"You have a better idea? We can't hang at my place."

"The old Sam's Club has been empty for a while and I've parked in the back lot sometimes," the words spilled from my mouth and my stomach dropped. 

"Well, isn't someone a dirty girl," Blue Eyes joked, making me wish I had the courage to ask him to just take me home. But soon we were driving back down the highway, then were parked behind the building and I wanted to disappear. 

Blue Eyes and I talked for a few minutes before things got heavy again and his hand was on my thigh once more. "I want to kiss you right now," he said. Before I could respond, his hand had taken my chin and he was kissing me. My right hand was still gripping the car's door handle and my knuckles were turning white. It wasn't a sweet kiss, it was aggressive and demanding and I didn't know what to do. His hand slid up my leg and I pulled my face away from his and tried to pull back.

"I can't," I told him.

"Why not?"

I sat for a moment before saying, "Morals."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't just go around with guys in their cars," I said.

"We don't have to have sex," he said. "I was talking with your ex earlier and he was saying you give pretty good head."

"I can't," I said again.

"C'mon," he pushed, sliding his hand from my thigh, under my shirt and up my chest. 

I tried to pull away again and insist, "I really can't."

Blue Eyes let go and opened his door and got out. He opened the back door and sat down in the back seat. "C'mon," he said, patting the seat next to him.

  I looked at him for a moment, and he did not look ready to move from where he was to drive me home. He patted the seat next to him again and I gave in. I got out and sat next to him, as close to the door as I could.

The gap between us closed quickly as he moved on top of me and starting kissing me again.

"I can't," I said for the fourth time, trying to get out from underneath him.

But he didn't stop. Soon, I was shirtless and he was undoing his pants. "I want to know if he was right about you giving good head," Blue Eyes said to me.

"Look, I really can't. This is a bad idea."

"It was a bad idea suggesting to park back here," he said, half joking but there was a twinge of a threat in his voice.

"I'm really not that good at it," I said, trying to dissuade him.

"Then use your hand."

I sat for a moment, my heart was pounding and all I wanted to do was run away. But I couldn't cross the highway to walk home and I had no one to call- my parents were asleep by now. I slowly reached over, obliging, hoping it would be over soon enough.

After a moment, Blue Eyes said, "You're going to have to spit."

"I don't spit," I said. "It's gross."

"Well it sucks when it's dry. Just spit"

"I don't spit," I repeated.

"Well then, do something."

And then I caved.

As I had hoped, it was over quickly. I didn't let him come in my mouth but it got all over my hand instead. All I wanted to do was to get home and wash my hands and then wash my mouth out. He drove me home then and as soon as the door shut behind me, I burst into tears.

I didn't see him again during that break and I was more than glad. I felt guilty as hell and whenever I looked at my boyfriend, my stomach knotted and I wondered whether to tell him or not.

I eventually decided not to tell him. It wasn't like it would ever happen again anyway and I didn't want to hurt him or put doubts in his mind. He was protective enough as it was.

Then for a while, I was okay. The semester ended and I received and overall 3.75 GPA. My parents were so proud of me. Then Christmas came and my sister came to my dad's. After my parents split, things stopped working between my mother and I, but that is a whole other story. I lost my sister and brother to the fight I had with my mother and this was the first Christmas I would be seeing my sister in four years. Everything was wonderful. I got a keyboard that I could take to school so I could play piano while away. My boyfriend and I were video chatting almost every evening while playing online video games together. 

A few days after New Year's, I was on my way to bed and had just laid down when my phone buzzed. I checked it, hoping it was my boyfriend but it was Blue Eyes again. He wanted to know if I was home on break. I told him yes but that was all. Then he wanted to hang out. He said he needed to talk to me about something.

I didn't want to meet him but he was insisting. So I put on my clothes and sneaked out the door. I hopped in my car and went to pick him up.

"So I was on Facebook the other day and it turns out someone has had a boyfriend since the beginning of October," he said after I picked him up.

"I thought that was common knowledge," I said. "It was on Facebook."

"Well I think you owe me now," he said. "Wouldn't want anyone finding out about anything."

And then we were parked behind the building again. Only this time, I was shirtless in the winter air, being pushed against my car.

"I'm cold," I complained. Blue Eyes' hands were freezing against my bare chest.

Blue Eyes looked down at my breasts and said, "I guess you are."

Then we were in my back seat. He was taking off my pants and then undid his. "Hop on," he said.

"I can't," I said.

"Why not?"

"Morals," I said, feeling this was the exact argument that got me nowhere in November.

"Shut-up," he said. "Hop on."

"I'm really no good on top," I said, pulling my bare legs into my bare chest.

"You'll be fine, just hop on."

"Really," I begged, "I'm not good at it.

"Fine," he said, climbing on top of me. But my car's backseat was small and he couldn't maintain his balance. He sat back and said, "Why won't you just ride me?"

"Because I'm really no good," I told him. I began redressing and he sighed, giving up and putting on his clothes.

I drove him home and then went back to my house. As soon as I laid back down in bed, I began to cry again.

I didn't see him again on that break either. I went back to school, started new classes and was having a great time. I was enjoying my boyfriend so much. He was so kind to me and always made sure I finished before he did. He would bring me food in the cafeteria and would hold me when I cried. I had never had such a loving boyfriend before and it killed me whenever the past un-buried itself. I was still trying to forget when my phone buzzed again.

"When are you coming home?" The text from Blue Eyes read.

"Not until spring break." I answered.

"You still owe me for not telling me you have a boyfriend."

I didn't respond to that text, so he texted again. "Send me a pic."

I thought for a moment how I could nicely tell him to fuck-off and then sent him a picture of my middle finger.

"Not what I meant," he responded. "You don't want your boyfriend finding out, do you?"

So I did what he asked. Granted, it was kind of amusing taking pictures of myself. I hated their purpose but I felt kind of sexy. I called my boyfriend down when I was finished and we went to bed together.

He couldn't stay afterwards because he still had work but that was okay. I sent Blue Eyes the pictures and didn't hear from him for a while.

A few weeks later, he asked for more. I sent him others from the gallery I took the first time. Then he started requesting types of pictures. I told him I had repaid whatever debt he thought I owed and Blue Eyes dropped the subject. I didn't see him over Spring Break. I didn't even see him for a few weeks after the semester ended. It was over. I could breathe a sigh of relief and just enjoy my boyfriend's company. 

  Then my boyfriend told me he couldn't come back to school in the fall and my heart broke in two. I knew I wouldn't be able to handle a long distance relationship. I looked back at what had happened with Blue Eyes and I knew it would happen again with someone else. After all, I thought I was a horrible person. I was a cheater and what if something happened at school and I did it again? I was sad at first, then I was angry. How could my boyfriend just not come back? We would argue on the phone for hours on ways for him to be able to come back but eventually he just withdrew and joined community college. I was upset, but I told him I would try to make it work.

Then wouldn't you know it, Blue Eyes texted me again. He asked how things were with my boyfriend and in a fit of rage I said "Horrible, I don't even care anymore." I pressed send before I even thought about what I was saying.

And then it started again.

Blue Eyes would text me, wanting to hang out and I tried to make excuses. One time, he just needed a ride home from work and I gave it to him, trying to be kind, hoping that we could just be friends. While on the drive, we talked about music and life and were friendly to each other. Nothing sexual came up at all and I thought maybe he was okay just being friends. A few weeks later, he texted me again, wanting to hang out. I agreed, hoping that we would just talk like we had in the car.

It was late at night and we went down to the Delaware River and sat on the banks looking over to Pennsylvania. We talked for a bit before he leaned on top of me and kissed me.

  "Look, I'm really sorry," I said. "I can't."

"You did before."

"But I can't now."

And he pushed for me to go down on him for a good ten minutes until I claimed the tide was coming in and that we should move. He wanted me to park behind the building again but I drove him home instead.

Then, foolishly, when he texted me again a few weeks later, I agreed to go back out with him. I just didn't learn my lesson. After he picked me up, he starting driving down the highway. We drove past the Old Sam's club. Blue Eyes kept looking at his phone while driving and I clung tight to the door handle. He wasn't really talking to me and him looking at his phone terrified me because it wasn't like he was the best driver to begin with.

We were back on the river again but this time he was smart enough to find an area where the tide couldn't reach us if it came in.

And then he pushed.

And he pushed at me.

He started kissing me and took my shirt off and I thought to myself, "This will never be over. Maybe if I give him what he wants for a change, he will drop it." Because that's what worked the first time. I had sent him pictures as a "repayment of his" stupid idea of "debt" and he had backed off for a while. Maybe it would work this time too.

So I caved in.

I was on my knees, he was pulling my hair, muttering "Oh God," and the only thing I was thinking was how much I hoped he would come on the ground instead of in my mouth. 

But he didn't.

I pulled away and used my hand as his salt began to mix into the dirt and sand of the river bank. And then he pulled up his pants, took out his phone and started texting.

All I could think was "He just got a blow job and he is texting. TEXTING. He is a fucking asshole." 

What drew me to him in the first place was the attention he gave me, but now I realized he just wanted someone to give him what he wants. I gave him the leverage to do that. I gave him my self worth. I gave him an easy target. And he branded me a cheater.

Now I'm sitting typing this while the word cheater is burning into my flesh. If he texts me again? I'll tell him how much of an ass he is. I will tell him he is a lousy kisser, and it wouldn't be a lie cause that boy was all teeth. I will tell him he has a small dick, which wouldn't be a lie either. I will tell him he is a lousy lay- anything so I never have to put him in my mouth again. I don't want to ever have to taste his salt again. I want it to wash into the river and go out to sea because I am not coming home for breaks again after this summer. I am going to find an apartment to lease for next summer. If he tells my boyfriend? Then que sera, sera. It's not like I have the confidence to be in a relationship anymore anyway.

I let Blue Eyes take one of the most important things from me. He took my confidence. He took my self worth. All because one night I played strip pool. All because I couldn't say no. All because I guess I'm a sucker for pretty eyes. I'm sitting, typing this and realizing I can never go back. I can never take back what I did.

Then one night I'm playing a video game online, feeling lonely because my boyfriend hadn't called. I was talking to a guy out in Colorado and he asked if he could do anything to help me. I said, "Keep me online so I don't go call someone." 

He didn't understand what I meant so I told him about how I had cheated and was thinking of calling Blue Eyes because I was so damn lonely.

And he said, "Know your self worth, girlie. You're beautiful."

But my self worth was gone and that girl in the mirror had an ugly scar across her past that she would never be rid of. 

Never let anyone take away your self worth. Stick to your morals, even if it means losing someone you counted as a friend. If they don't want to stand by you, then they're a lousy friend to begin with. Never give someone power over you because all too often will they abuse it. There is so much in life that if you give away who you are, you will never be able to enjoy life's treasures again. Keep that in mind, always.

~Elana Juli Royson 7-14-13