"Look, Dad, a crystal! Look, it's really shiny!" I almost throw it at him in my excitement.
"What is it?" I ask impatiently the moment it touches his hands.
"It's quartzite, see the lines? Those are inclusions."
"One day, you'll teach me." The voice echoes through time.
"It doesn't feel smooth." I look down and throw it back, determined to find something more beautiful.
"Dad, help me find beach glass!"
"You go ahead, sweetheart."
All of the memories blur together in the chilly classroom. Was that one day? Did we find something more beautiful? Are these memories mine or do they belong to someone else? They belong to a different time, of that I am sure. There was a time, a brief point where we were a happy family. Maybe solely a moment. I sit on the beach and look left and right, I look down to my wrist and to my empty hands. I get up and walk slowly over to the children I'm watching, "How's it going?" They giggle, pleased to be on the beach rather than at camp. I was so hot that day, I remember, turning a page, digging out from under a pile of autumn work. Was I hot that day? Was that the hottest day of the summer when the children were begging to swim? I simply don't remember. Have I gotten so busy that all of my days have blurred together, marked solely by the progress of my work?
I see his hand, finger pointed. I feel his breath on the back of my neck, "24." I turn around, looking up.
"How do you know that?"
"One day you'll teach me."
His voice echoes through time and I look around my table at the faces examining me over their stacks of pancakes. I find no traces of the timeless echo.
I look around, the smell of pancakes filling my dorm. I had forgotten, had not heard the ripples through time. I still find no trace and I realize that I never used to like pancakes.
"This is Anjelica." He says proudly. She doesn't know who I am, just that she should.
"This is my daughter." He says proudly. She already knows, I just wish she didn't. This memory fills me with shame.
"Daddy!" No one answers.
"Look what I got you! Come give me a hug!"
"He took that out of his food money." Her voice breaks my reverie. My mind begins to race and my eyes threaten to spill over again.
"Do you remember that?"
"No," I panic, "Why don't I remember that? I should remember that." I furrow my brow and look away.
"I don't remember anything." I say, crying.
"I should have turned out differently." I pause, "I should have been a completely different person." I whisper to myself, knowing the walls would never tell of my secret confession.
"I'll see you soon, right?"
"I'll talk to you soon. Love you." He rushes.
"Yeah, I love you, too."
I feel rejected.
"You'll come to see me soon?"
"Um, yeah. I love you." I rush.
"I love you too."
So many people have come and gone. Some left bigger holes that I would ever admit. Some I thought were irreplaceable, but I look to my left and to my right and smile. There's so much love in my life.
"One day you'll teach me." The voice echoes on.
It was love that put me here.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
Non-Sequitor
Once upon a time there was a fish. This fish was not like ordinary fish, he could talk like a person, eat like a person, breath like a person. The only thing he couldn't do was love like a person. One day an attractive stewardess saw this fish and thought he was really cute! “Great success!” thought the fish. So they went on a date. The hot stewardess noticed that the fish was making no advances on her. “Phooey!” she thought, “this fish must be sick, we wouldn't touch me with a 6 meter stick.” Later she would tell her friends, “I decided the only solution was to seduce him.”
So she took off her top, and took off his bottom, and immediately realized the source of the problem. It had nothing to do with her hotness or worth. It all was a factor of his minimal girth.
“Now what to do?” she pondered. She thought of the problem, and struggled and fought. Then the answer came to her in a flash, “I'll become a fish with a mighty fine ass!”
So children you see, how the solution was won.
It wasn't so much that she had been blind to the truth.
It was just that she had seen the truth differently.
So she took off her top, and took off his bottom, and immediately realized the source of the problem. It had nothing to do with her hotness or worth. It all was a factor of his minimal girth.
“Now what to do?” she pondered. She thought of the problem, and struggled and fought. Then the answer came to her in a flash, “I'll become a fish with a mighty fine ass!”
So children you see, how the solution was won.
It wasn't so much that she had been blind to the truth.
It was just that she had seen the truth differently.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
A poem for the weekend
There are jelly fish in my brain
I don't know how they got there
I've tried to blow them out
And catch them in a paper
But they just gurgle
and stay put
Except at night
A night they like to see what's outside
and they seep out through my nostril
to say hello to the world
leaving goo on my pillow
and goo on my face
They like to pulsate in my head
and take little nibbles off my brain
it makes it hard to think
or move
or do anything but sleep
maybe I should swallow a turtle
or a sun fish
I don't know how they got there
I've tried to blow them out
And catch them in a paper
But they just gurgle
and stay put
Except at night
A night they like to see what's outside
and they seep out through my nostril
to say hello to the world
leaving goo on my pillow
and goo on my face
They like to pulsate in my head
and take little nibbles off my brain
it makes it hard to think
or move
or do anything but sleep
maybe I should swallow a turtle
or a sun fish
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
The First Church of the Wrath of Baby Jesus (Right Reverend Gardner)
Welcome to the First Church of the Wrath of Baby Jesus, where we respect the old-fashioned ways, even if we think they weren't quite old-fashioned enough for our tastes. Here the fear of God is still top dog, on account of all the other dogs being complete pussies.
Baby Jesus doesn't put up with your shit. If weekly fire and brimstone sermons don't get you to shamefully hide your sins from society like a normal human being, then by God, once the Wrath is done with you, you won't be able to tell your ass from your elbow. What's more, you'll like it that way and be grateful for it.
The Church of the Wrath tells only Truth. We're not gonna bullshit you and tell you everything's okay when it's not. In fact, we'll probably start screaming before you even know there's anything wrong. Join now and get in on our limited-time offer to become part of our Canned Goods and Bullets Drive. How does it work? Donate thirty dollars a month to the Church for our stockpile of canned food and ammunition, and then when civilization goes to Hell in a handbasket and the world begins to burn, we promise we'll skip over your house when we begin trawling through the neighborhood for food and supplies.
Come to the First Church of the Wrath of Baby Jesus: We're not weird like the others!
Saturday, September 5, 2009
My Father’s Years of Coltrane, Miles Davis and Billie Holiday as I Watch from the Stairs
My Father’s Years of Coltrane, Miles Davis and Billie Holiday as I Watch from the Stairs
I stared from those stairs for years
watching my father sadly suck in that smoke
Autumn Leaves echoing up into the stairway,
swelling and with each passing moment
leaving, leaving me.
Like a passing stranger’s glance in all its glory
it looms, drunk on power, only to slowly burn out.
Voices of yesterday,
singing from the tombstones across the bridge,
strung from poplar trees,
cry of their troubles.
Like the dead pigeon that lays in the gutter
with its bulging eyes
rooted in hot asphalt, dirt and pebbles,
the music that twists and twists
till I feel nothing.
Monday, December 15, 2008
"Deep Waters" : a short story
A few weeks ago I read a short story that I wrote for Writing 101. I made a numerous amounts of edits for my portfolio, and since I don't know what to do with it now that the grading aspect is over, I've decided to post it up here. I hope you all like it, it's supposed to be extremely descriptive and for the record, I've accepted the fact that it's pretty amateur.
"Deep Waters" by Jessica Adamowicz
Sunshine slipped through the vertical blinds and illuminated the dust dancing in its path. It trickled across various items: an empty wallet, scattered junk food wrappers, and piles of cracked CD cases on the floor. Although barely visible, there was a faint silhouette from under the old twin bed that very closely resembled a pile of photos. If the silhouette proved true to its image, the photos would be dusty and torn as if they had been removed from the walls in a fit of rage. They would also have captured days of deep unhappiness, of a life that did not belong to its artificial face.
The air in the room was dry and cold, the grimy window a permanent barrier to all things beyond the confines of its navy blue walls. Yet every morning, light fought its way to the furthermost corner of Adam’s room, stretching across his face and seeping beneath his eyelids. This would normally be the most intense exposure of light to Adam’s skin until the following day, just like any other. Being a resident of the “sunshine state” of California, avoiding suffocation from this golden toxin was difficult. But for now, Orange County was home to Adam and for a few minutes a day, the tenacious nature of morning could be tolerated. After all, it had been his idea to move there. The respect his parents once had for him was great, and he was grateful that they were at least able to love an image of a son they thought was their own. A “spitting image of success,” as they had called him. They had thought he'd be the most handsome face of tomorrow, but little did they know that he would rid himself of the face they taught him to create from fronts, lies, and deceit.
He opened his eyes and stared into the blurry abyss of his room. “Where the hell did my glasses go?” He spoke aloud, as if his room were a young sibling mischievously hiding them within the dense fog of his sight. They were his window to the world which he separated himself from. But there was no sibling to hide his glasses, just the carelessness of a stoned teenager unable to concentrate the night before. Smoking pot was ironically the only habit Adam never learned to kick, the only connection he had to his days of acting paramount to social standards. And it had also been what torn the relationship between his parents and their only son, upon his mother's discovery of the glass figurine that was actually his favorite bowl. It was shaped like a fish, and the sound of her smashing it would be the last thing he would ever hear from his mother. From his father, there would always be the scream of silent disgrace.
He sighed, sat up, and took the beanie off of his head, revealing a mess of oil and sweat. Adam looked to his desk near the door for either a comb or another beanie, whichever he could find first. Still blind without his glasses, he needed to get closer to the desk to be within range of distinguishing the disarray of objects from one another. As he began to place his feet on the floor, the familiar feel of worn-out carpet was replaced with a searing pain comparable to an icicle that suddenly burst into flames, inside of his heel. The pain was followed almost instantaneously with a faint crushing noise. He had found his glasses.
“F**k,” he said, again out loud to his room. That moment would be the most distinct mark of all memories he would ever have. That day, a regular sunny Tuesday, would turn out to be not-so-regular. Tip-toeing to the door and dripping blood on the way, he spotted a black beanie and grabbed it along with an over sized black hoodie. Today, without his glasses, his clothes would at least help him blend into society.
Under the fluorescent bathroom lights, Adam’s face appeared more sallow than it actually was. His hollow eyes appeared bruised, his full lips red and dry from lack of moisture and a good night’s sleep. The girlish structure of his face was even more defined by his high cheekbones and the sunken flesh below them. But even without his glasses, he was able to recognize the clear blue irises staring back at him from the mirror. They were his only noticeable feature, one which he was ashamed of. Adam put in the contacts retrieved from within the medicine cabinet, which were for emergency use only, and was appalled at how much more dazzling his eyes appeared than usual. They were as cold and bright as a mountain lake in springtime. This was unlucky, for recognition by other people was not something he enjoyed on a daily basis.
The rest of the day followed as it normally would- Adam arrived to class twenty minutes late, slept through the next two periods, then resisted the urge to vomit all over the “WE’LL MISS THESE SENIOR MOMENTS!” posters hanging in the hallways. But on the way to lunch, he stopped. There was a photo on the infamous senior “wall of fame” that caught his eye. Behind a coupled icon of OCHS pop-culture, those bright blue eyes shone into the face of the camera. Earlier that month, he had been caught off guard in the middle of a yearbook photo-op, looking up just in time to see the camera’s flash. He felt a wave of disgust wash over him.
“You’re a senior too?” There was a girl standing next to Adam. He wasn’t sure how long they had both been standing there. He was confused, but his face stated otherwise. He did not respond. “Well gee, so sorry to disturb you. It’s not like I can help being the new girl when there’s only two months left of school. Nice to meet you, too.” Adam found himself both shocked and stunned not just by her reaction to his presence but also at the appearance of her alone. They were feelings unfamiliar to him.
She was strikingly beautiful and her voice was soft, even with the annoyed tone in her voice. Yet there was nothing about her appearance that could logically explain why he couldn’t look away from her, why he felt compelled to stare. As he took in her image his eyes met hers. Without his glasses there was no window to keep him from seeing them in such clarity. They were green like the depths of the ocean. He was lost in them, swimming in their emerald glory when her pupils contracted and she snapped at him, “Well what are you staring at? You creep! If you don’t want to talk to me, just say so. Don’t just stand there and look at me like I’m speaking Japanese! What is it with everyone around here?!” Obviously flustered, she turned and stormed off. Adam broke out of his trance and called, “Wait! I’m sorry, I just…” He couldn’t finish his sentence. When she looked back, her eyes drew him in again and he lost his train of thought. Her pupils contracted again, but this time he was able to draw himself together before she could turn away from him forever. He said, “My name is Adam. Yes, I’m a senior too, and you caught me off guard before. I didn’t know you were talking to me.” It appeared as though she was about to retaliate, but then she said, “It’s okay, I should be the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean to blow up on you like that; I just have been very unsuccessful at making any friends today and now I have to go sit by myself at lunch. I’ve considered not eating…I don’t think I can handle any more awkward situations.” The last statement seemed more for herself than for Adam.
“You can come sit with me, although my friends don’t have this lunch period. It’ll just be you and me, if you don’t mind.” The former was a lie; he had no more friends left in this school. They had all graduated or dropped out. With this thought in mind, Adam couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken so much to another person. But it felt good. Satisfying almost, as if he had just been relieved of some extreme constraint. He smiled, and she smiled in response. Adam was embarrassed, so he looked to the floor until he heard her speak again. “My name is Persia. I just moved here from West Virginia…my Dad was relocated for work.” This time as she spoke and Adam stared into her eyes, Persia’s pupils did not contract. He felt them focus on his, and synonymously there was dilation in both pair. He felt sudden warmth within his chest, and as he stepped forward to walk her to lunch, they did not lose each other’s gaze.
“You know, you have beautiful eyes,” they said in unison. Persia blushed, and Adam knew then that his life was about to change. This girl he had only known for a total of two minutes had opened his mind to a whole new world. It was one not of his past and where it was okay to be able to see, and be seen.
Without his glasses.
"Deep Waters" by Jessica Adamowicz
Sunshine slipped through the vertical blinds and illuminated the dust dancing in its path. It trickled across various items: an empty wallet, scattered junk food wrappers, and piles of cracked CD cases on the floor. Although barely visible, there was a faint silhouette from under the old twin bed that very closely resembled a pile of photos. If the silhouette proved true to its image, the photos would be dusty and torn as if they had been removed from the walls in a fit of rage. They would also have captured days of deep unhappiness, of a life that did not belong to its artificial face.
The air in the room was dry and cold, the grimy window a permanent barrier to all things beyond the confines of its navy blue walls. Yet every morning, light fought its way to the furthermost corner of Adam’s room, stretching across his face and seeping beneath his eyelids. This would normally be the most intense exposure of light to Adam’s skin until the following day, just like any other. Being a resident of the “sunshine state” of California, avoiding suffocation from this golden toxin was difficult. But for now, Orange County was home to Adam and for a few minutes a day, the tenacious nature of morning could be tolerated. After all, it had been his idea to move there. The respect his parents once had for him was great, and he was grateful that they were at least able to love an image of a son they thought was their own. A “spitting image of success,” as they had called him. They had thought he'd be the most handsome face of tomorrow, but little did they know that he would rid himself of the face they taught him to create from fronts, lies, and deceit.
He opened his eyes and stared into the blurry abyss of his room. “Where the hell did my glasses go?” He spoke aloud, as if his room were a young sibling mischievously hiding them within the dense fog of his sight. They were his window to the world which he separated himself from. But there was no sibling to hide his glasses, just the carelessness of a stoned teenager unable to concentrate the night before. Smoking pot was ironically the only habit Adam never learned to kick, the only connection he had to his days of acting paramount to social standards. And it had also been what torn the relationship between his parents and their only son, upon his mother's discovery of the glass figurine that was actually his favorite bowl. It was shaped like a fish, and the sound of her smashing it would be the last thing he would ever hear from his mother. From his father, there would always be the scream of silent disgrace.
He sighed, sat up, and took the beanie off of his head, revealing a mess of oil and sweat. Adam looked to his desk near the door for either a comb or another beanie, whichever he could find first. Still blind without his glasses, he needed to get closer to the desk to be within range of distinguishing the disarray of objects from one another. As he began to place his feet on the floor, the familiar feel of worn-out carpet was replaced with a searing pain comparable to an icicle that suddenly burst into flames, inside of his heel. The pain was followed almost instantaneously with a faint crushing noise. He had found his glasses.
“F**k,” he said, again out loud to his room. That moment would be the most distinct mark of all memories he would ever have. That day, a regular sunny Tuesday, would turn out to be not-so-regular. Tip-toeing to the door and dripping blood on the way, he spotted a black beanie and grabbed it along with an over sized black hoodie. Today, without his glasses, his clothes would at least help him blend into society.
Under the fluorescent bathroom lights, Adam’s face appeared more sallow than it actually was. His hollow eyes appeared bruised, his full lips red and dry from lack of moisture and a good night’s sleep. The girlish structure of his face was even more defined by his high cheekbones and the sunken flesh below them. But even without his glasses, he was able to recognize the clear blue irises staring back at him from the mirror. They were his only noticeable feature, one which he was ashamed of. Adam put in the contacts retrieved from within the medicine cabinet, which were for emergency use only, and was appalled at how much more dazzling his eyes appeared than usual. They were as cold and bright as a mountain lake in springtime. This was unlucky, for recognition by other people was not something he enjoyed on a daily basis.
The rest of the day followed as it normally would- Adam arrived to class twenty minutes late, slept through the next two periods, then resisted the urge to vomit all over the “WE’LL MISS THESE SENIOR MOMENTS!” posters hanging in the hallways. But on the way to lunch, he stopped. There was a photo on the infamous senior “wall of fame” that caught his eye. Behind a coupled icon of OCHS pop-culture, those bright blue eyes shone into the face of the camera. Earlier that month, he had been caught off guard in the middle of a yearbook photo-op, looking up just in time to see the camera’s flash. He felt a wave of disgust wash over him.
“You’re a senior too?” There was a girl standing next to Adam. He wasn’t sure how long they had both been standing there. He was confused, but his face stated otherwise. He did not respond. “Well gee, so sorry to disturb you. It’s not like I can help being the new girl when there’s only two months left of school. Nice to meet you, too.” Adam found himself both shocked and stunned not just by her reaction to his presence but also at the appearance of her alone. They were feelings unfamiliar to him.
She was strikingly beautiful and her voice was soft, even with the annoyed tone in her voice. Yet there was nothing about her appearance that could logically explain why he couldn’t look away from her, why he felt compelled to stare. As he took in her image his eyes met hers. Without his glasses there was no window to keep him from seeing them in such clarity. They were green like the depths of the ocean. He was lost in them, swimming in their emerald glory when her pupils contracted and she snapped at him, “Well what are you staring at? You creep! If you don’t want to talk to me, just say so. Don’t just stand there and look at me like I’m speaking Japanese! What is it with everyone around here?!” Obviously flustered, she turned and stormed off. Adam broke out of his trance and called, “Wait! I’m sorry, I just…” He couldn’t finish his sentence. When she looked back, her eyes drew him in again and he lost his train of thought. Her pupils contracted again, but this time he was able to draw himself together before she could turn away from him forever. He said, “My name is Adam. Yes, I’m a senior too, and you caught me off guard before. I didn’t know you were talking to me.” It appeared as though she was about to retaliate, but then she said, “It’s okay, I should be the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean to blow up on you like that; I just have been very unsuccessful at making any friends today and now I have to go sit by myself at lunch. I’ve considered not eating…I don’t think I can handle any more awkward situations.” The last statement seemed more for herself than for Adam.
“You can come sit with me, although my friends don’t have this lunch period. It’ll just be you and me, if you don’t mind.” The former was a lie; he had no more friends left in this school. They had all graduated or dropped out. With this thought in mind, Adam couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken so much to another person. But it felt good. Satisfying almost, as if he had just been relieved of some extreme constraint. He smiled, and she smiled in response. Adam was embarrassed, so he looked to the floor until he heard her speak again. “My name is Persia. I just moved here from West Virginia…my Dad was relocated for work.” This time as she spoke and Adam stared into her eyes, Persia’s pupils did not contract. He felt them focus on his, and synonymously there was dilation in both pair. He felt sudden warmth within his chest, and as he stepped forward to walk her to lunch, they did not lose each other’s gaze.
“You know, you have beautiful eyes,” they said in unison. Persia blushed, and Adam knew then that his life was about to change. This girl he had only known for a total of two minutes had opened his mind to a whole new world. It was one not of his past and where it was okay to be able to see, and be seen.
Without his glasses.
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