Once Upon A Reality: My Writing

The Sound of Rain
By Hannah Smith

When I was 14, I moved from the Oregon Coast. I visited every year during the summer for two years, and then I stopped. The year after I graduated from college, I spent the whole year at my grandparent’s house, only fifty feet from the beach, the dock and my old house.
My parents used to ask them why they have never moved, having lived there for their whole lives, their sole reason was that they loved the sound of rain, and couldn’t imagine living without it.
I am an artist and I know it. I love to paint. Paint pictures that sometimes aren’t even recognizable, or I will just go outside on my back porch and just paint what I see. I planned to an internship there, teaching art at a community college. This really was a perfect opportunity for me. I needed money and I needed experience.
So on June 2nd, I said goodbye to my parents and my dog. I packed and drove my rusty old red truck the 18 hours to Rockaway, Oregon.
My grandparents greeted me with a welcoming hug and a cup of iced tea, despite the wind and the cloudy weather. Apologizing profusely, grandpa left for his work at a nearby local shop, and grandma hurried to answer her on-call at the nearby hospital as a nurse. In a mere 16 minutes of arriving here, I was left in peace to unpack and find my way around the familiar rooms.
As it was only 7:00 in the evening, and barely starting to get dark, I decided to go on a walk down at the beach. Walking barefoot across the cold sand brought back a flurry of memories. 6 years old, running on the burning yellow sand with my dad helping me to fly a kite 2ce as big as I was. I laughed at this one, but cried at the next. I was 8, and had just been told that I couldn’t bring my seashell collection when we moved, and I had to leave it at grandma and grandpa’s house. And then I cringed as I remember my awkward stages, and visiting here, being 15, 16.
As I continued walking I became aware that the sun was setting. I rolled up my ratty jeans and the sleeves of my old sweatshirt, and then sat on the damp sand with my toes barely touching the incoming tide.
I sat there, amazed at what I had been missing out on all of these years. I never realized how much I missed the sunset taking my breath away.
I went back out the next night, again, and again. I painted the sunset, the sand castles kids built, half knocked over, and the ocean. The night before I stated my internship, I was sitting there, and a very familiar looking old golden retriever came up to me, licked my face, then plopped down next to me, his head resting on my lap.
The next instant I heard huffing and puffing, and a young man saying sorry between his labored breaths. I looked up, and it was as if everything stopped, the waves ceased moving, the wind stopped moving, even the noise was abruptly interrupted by the sudden silence.
“Cole...?”
“Cassy...?”
Asking in unison, then nodding in synchronization, the waves were silent, the dogs’ bark unheard, and peoples’ voices muted, almost as if it was a tribute to us, to our fateful meeting.
I stood up, and stalked off.
“Cassy!” he called, running after me, putting his hand on my shoulder.
“I can’t believe you just did that....what?” I snapped sharp enough to break a branch off the nearest tree.
“I just want to see how you are doing.”
“Just, just? No thanks. I don’t want to hear it.”
“Please.” Begging now.
Back in my room, I was freezing, sandy and sobbing. We, Cole and I, had been best friends when I lived here. We would spend hours at the beach, teaching each other how to swim, or having splashing contests and making sand castles.
As the seasons changed from fall to winter, winter to spring, I saw Cole running or walking, sometimes just sitting on the beach with his dog. One day, right as I was starting to go inside, he came up behind me, catching me unaware. My stomach twisted.
Before I could say anything, he began, “Cassy. I know you don’t want to talk to me, or even look at me. But I want you to know that the only reason I wouldn’t talk to you for the three months before you moved wasn’t because I hated you, no. No. I knew I would break down in tears if I even tried to talk to you. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that; I should have been strong, stronger. But I couldn’t, you were my whole life, you have gotten me through the toughest times in my life. When I realized that you were moving a thousand miles away, I acted wrong by pretending that it wasn’t going to happen. I’m sorry, and I hope you forgive me.”
Although he became choked up at the end, he stayed strong through his whole speech. Then he walked back from the direction he came. Me? I sit there, stunned. Now I get it, I finally understand. He didn’t hate me; he cared so much about me that he couldn’t let me go.
For many nights afterwards we walked the length of the beach and sat on the sand making sand castles just like old times. And every night I would lay in bed, falling asleep to the sound of rain I had come to love, and thoughts of Cole.
It must have been a funny image looking from behind. One girl, her dark brown hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. Sitting next to her was a huge furry dog, tail beating rhythmically against the girls back, head in the boy’s lap who sat next to the dog. The boy’s hair, blond, sticking up, wearing swim shorts despite the cold, but clear night, with a dirty white shirt.
But what really made them noticeable above all others was that the girl and the boy seemed to be having the time of their lives one second, then the next intensely contemplative and thoughtful; completely silent.
One night, as they were walking along the beach picking up shells and sand dollars, Cole reached into his pocket and pulled out a necklace almost identical to the one he always wore. She stared at it, recognizing it.
“Here, this is for you. I made it right before you moved, but never got the chance to give it to you.”
It started to rain as he clasped the necklace around her neck. Their arms came around each other, their first hug since she had been here.
“You showed me how to be myself, that the best person I could ever be is me.”
The rain was pounding on the sand like fireworks, exploding each time they hit.
“You made me believe that I was important, that I was more than just a girl.”
The waves were crashing on the land, sneaking up on us like a cat would pounce upon a mouse.
“I was proud to call you mine, and I loved it when you would call me yours.”
Tears were streaming down both of our faces, mixing in with the rain, falling to the sand that covered our feet. Tears of hope, of love.
“You made me believe in love at first sight.” I finished in a carrying whisper.
He kissed me softly, fingering my necklace, murmuring, “I love you, I love you.”
The sound of rain reminds me of that first night. That first night with my true love.

Albert Einstein

Albert Einstein once said, “Don’t try to become a person of success, try to become a person of value.” To me, a person of success tries to better him or herself by perfecting the situation around them. They live in big houses, have large incomes, and make great families. But even having all this success doesn’t guarantee a perfect person. Rather, as Einstein so well put it, try to become a person of value. A person of value tries to better their situation by bettering him or herself. They serve, love, and care for others. They work harder, and have integrity in every aspect of their lives. This is the person I want to be. A person of value, someone who serves, loves and is full of integrity.

Black Suede Boots

Sitting on her window seat, looking out the window seeing the orange and pink sunset, she feels shallow. Sure, she knows her hair is perfect, that when she beat her long black eyelashes men fall at her feet, and that when she walks in a room, more than half of the people will turn and stare, their faces either filled with jealousy or desire. But she also knows that she is more than that. She is more than her job, a model agent/assistant, which strictly centers on looks. She is more than her skin, which people tell her every day is flawless. She knows she is more than meets the eye.

She remembers a time when she was only thirteen years old. Lying in her bed, she hears her mom and dad fighting, yelling. Tears come to her eyes as she remembers vowing to herself to never get married, but to remain single all her life, as she thinks of how helpless and scared she always felt during those times she would cower under her covers.

She thinks of her boyfriend. The boyfriend she had never cheated on, never gotten drunk with, and never went past kissing with. But the boyfriend who had proposed and was still waiting for an answer. No wanting to break her vow, afraid of what might happen, but knowing he is the one, the only one she will ever love, she is ambivalent. Yes? No? What will it be?

She laughs, knowing how many times she has asked that same question, though rather than having to answer about a ring, she is asking her clients, kids, teenagers, and sometimes even adults to answer about modeling. She realizes how ironic it is. What will it be? Repeating. What will it be? What will it be? Repeating again and again. But this time, she is the one hesitating, even though the answer is a simple yes or no.

A grimace crosses her face once again as she thinks about a client she worked with up until last week. A girl, young, beautiful. A face that reminded her of herself, full of hope, but better, because her heart, you could tell, wasn’t sad. She glowed like an orange on a gray horizon, like the moon on reflecting on the tumbling and crashing waves.

Knowing the reason the girl quit makes her laugh disdainfully, but she stops abruptly as she realizes that the girl might just be right, at least a just little bit right. The girl was always going on about her family. How she loved them so much. She would talk nonstop about her amazing her older sister was, and how cute her little baby brother was. How her dad was funny, and how she knew she could go to her mom anytime about anything. Then, she would talk about her friends. Their good influence, how they would inspire and support her. How she knew she could not live without them. The reason, the girl told her, that she was quitting was because of an analogy she heard once, and couldn’t forget.

“Imagine,” the girl said, “that you are juggling 3 balls. 2 of them are glass and labeled ‘Friends’ and ‘Family’. The other is rubber and is labeled ‘Job’. Which are most important?” Seeing my blank look, she gives a little laugh and shakes her head sadly. Then continues, “If you drop the ball labeled ‘Job’, it doesn’t matter, it will just bounce, but if you drop either of the balls labeled ‘Family’ or ‘Friends’ they will shatter, therefore, they are impossible to fix.” Tipping her head to the side, as if she just realized something, she say says almost to finalize it, “They are irreplaceable.”

She went home that day, knowing one of her best clients, though only yet 14, was smarter than her, and she knew that she had just lost her, but knowing something else too, and although she wasn’t quite sure exactly what it meant, she felt it was right.

Seeing the sunset again, she thought of how it was just like her. Beautiful, but not conceded, every day, still learning and growing, making the same mistakes, but trying to be better. She thought of how sometimes her life wasn’t beautiful like the sunset, sometimes it was like the afternoon sun, blaring and boring. But she also now knew that there was more to the sunset than it let on. There were shadows and clouds and atmospheric affects that made the colors. She knew that the difference between a beautiful sunset and a boring one was the same difference between dropping a glass ball or a rubber one. And she knows her answer is yes, because she also knows she wants her sunset to be as colorful as possible.

Just Another Day

(My Superhero Story)

It was quiet, well, not really, my dance studio was filled with the giggles and conversations of my 9 year olds practicing their pirouettes and twirls. It was quiet in the sense that nothing involving White Coat had gone on for a whole month. I was just waiting. Waiting and wondering where she was and when she was going to come back and try to ruin everyone’s lives. Again. I knew this “silence” wouldn’t last long. But I hoped, I hoped like I hadn’t hoped since the day I ran escaped. Well, maybe I should start at the beginning.

I was created 18 years ago. The first thing I remember is pain. Pain and hurt all around me and in me. I remember dreading when I would see White Coat, because I knew that meant tests, more tests, which in turn, would mean more agony and torture. White Coat is this super crazy scientist who loves to cause pain on genetic mutations (me) and cause havoc on the rest of the world. She has no power other than the fact that she can endure an enormous amount of pain. Luckily, I wasn’t alone. I had my twin, Allayna. Together, in our few hours of respite and rest, we would wipe away each other’s tears and share our dreams of escaping. Finally, when we were 11, our dreams came true and we flew. Literally. We flew because we have wings, actual two 4 foot long wings. We flew for night and day, and another night and day, until we couldn’t fly anymore without food or drink. We landed in Alpine, Utah. Ever since, we have stayed here. Up until a year ago (for 6 years) White Coat couldn’t find us. Ever since last year she has been coming every once in a while to create chaos and wreck our lives. So far, she hasn’t succeeded. For this, I am grateful. Though I was worried; she hadn’t tried anything for a few months. That never happened, which was making me think that White Coat was planning something big. Something big, scary and horrible. So I continue my story.

After every dance class, I go out for a spin in the air. I know where to go so no one will see me. Today, I went with Allayna. We were gaining altitude when suddenly a shot pierced the sky. Barely missing us, we looked down to see White Coat aiming to shoot again.

“The silence has ended, of course.” I muttered under my breath, exasperated. Time to become Top Notch, the name Allayna gives me when I am fighting crime.

In her other hand, White Coat was carrying a bomb. Although we knew it is dangerous, we swooped closer, though still avoiding her bullets. As soon as she sees us watching her, she starts running toward the city shopping center, and as she threw the bomb into town, she laughed mercilessly.

“Gosh, I hate it when she does that!” I exclaimed!

“Ditto.” Allayna replied.

“Call the police, and tell them to come quick. I don’t want to let her get away this time.” I said as I swooped down searching for the bomb. I knew I had only seconds left before everything was blown to smithereens. Then I spotted a red light blinking furiously in the grass, halfway covered by the Alpine Shopping Center sign ½ a mile away. “I can get there if I hurry.” But I know I am going to make it, because I am flying, and flying never fails. I am sprinting to a stop; the red light has almost become a blur, for blinking so fast. “Red or blue?” I ask myself, “Both” I settle with. Cutting the wires with my super-sharp nails, the red blinking stops as does White Coat’s meticulous laughter.

I turn around, smiling as I see her struggling and kicking the police as she is dragged off, screaming, “This is not over, I will be back, and when I do, I will capture you for good.” She turns, spitting on my wing.

“Well, you just keep telling yourself that.” I laugh at her.

“Come on, Allayna. Let’s go back home. I really need a serious class of ballet to clear my mind.” But I smile, because today was really just another day.

New Year

Its 11:58 pm….. December 31…..2010

Regrets. Moments you wish you could take back. Things you wish you haven’t said. Crowding your mind. Making it hard to think. Wishing wistfully. Thinking maybe….maybe…. but those moments are gone. Have moved on.

That time you judged her…Sorry

Or made fun of them…Sorry

Or embarrassed him…Sorry

Sorry. I want to say. Sorry.

Again. But it make no difference. You have already said it time and time again, and now it is up to them to forgive. Hope is all you have now.

So you think of those regrets, those wistful apologies.

Then you remember those friendships, the ones you know you couldn’t have gone on without. The moments of inspiration. Influencing you to do better. Things you did for others, with or without thanks.

That helping to pick up pencils when he knocked them over.

Those endless teddy bear wounds being wrapped

Comforting him when what he had was lost

And you are grateful. Grateful for these opportunities.

And so you hope. Hope that maybe…..just maybe….those good things balance out the bad. Again, hope is all you have.

So now you vow never to do anything bad again. You write what you plan to do on a piece of paper. Hoping that maybe, if you preserve the thought, you actions will follow. And then you rip them up and burn them. For reassurance that the words are still there on the ashes. And you laugh knowing that they can’t ever be erased. So they will always be there.

Its 12:01 and counting……counting for the New Year. For hopes…..for dreams. Its counting for things that never were....and things that are to come. Its counting those apologies and those efforts.

“’Cause what’s comin’ will come, an’ we’ll meet it when it does.”

-JK Rowling, Hagrid

Hannah and Carley

At first look, we are the same. We are labeled as twins, the identical kind, exactly alike. Yet as you get to know us, we become different, because we are different, we are not the same. We are the Twinsies, Hannahcarley (as one word), Smith Twins or girls, HC, and The Twinkies. We are Hannah and Carley.

Some may say we are identical, inside and out. But others, those few who really know us, can testify against that. We may look a lot alike, but in reality, we are as alike as the colors blue and yellow. Carley has short (or should I say, shorter) hair, no braces, and loves to play basketball. I, on the other hand, have long hair, braces, and instead of basketball, I love to play soccer. Although we are different, we are still very alike. We both have blue eyes, have a great time with our friends, and love to read. If it weren’t for school, our lives would single-handedly be made up of sports, friends, and books. Yet we cannot deny the inevitable, we go to school.We go 5 days out of a week, 6 hours and 25 minutes every day, 4 classes a day, and do homework (a continuation of school) every night. This is another thing we hold in common; we both think school is boring.Carley is a yellow, a bright and excited color. I am a blue, a happy, soothing color. Separate they are simply primary colors, but together, they create green, a secondary color, something new, running deeper and fuller, because together, we become much more.

We all have names. Something we are called. Whether good or bad, we constantly are being labeled. Yet these names are not who we really are, our actions determine who we become. Both Carley and I are students, learners and sisters. We will soon be sisters in law, maybe even aunts. We also all have things we are referred to, each of us has something that we are specified as, either as a name or not. Carley is usually the “loud one” as I am the more “subdued” between the two of us. She can never stop talking or just start making sound quietly. When she talks, it is always loud for everyone to hear, so what she says is never missed. I prefer to hum, making sound that way, expressing my feelings, or talking quietly, my words meant for only the few I was aiming them towards. But because we are all being labeled, constantly, we must act who how we want to be called. To us, having the right name is important, for what we are called is who people see us as, not who we really are. We are different, because I am Hannah, and she is Carley.

Characteristics are what make up who we are. All of us have many of these unique traits. Carley is always loud, bursting of energy, which she gets rid of by her blaring and boisterous actions. She readily accepts anyone who crosses her path, and everyone who does, can feel her passion and love for basketball just radiate off of her. She has the air of being a leader. You can tell just by the way she acts around people, and in turn, how they react when they are near her. I, like her, am full of energy, but I, on the other hand, use it and express it not only through my actions, but through my ideas. I communicate these ideas and thoughts through writing. I spend all of my free time in bed, reading and writing. Or you can see me in the kitchen, creating, baking and cooking something containing chocolate. I, also, have something on which I rely heavily on, something to take out my anger, my hurt, everything that went wrong that day. I rely on soccer. Soccer, to me, is more than a mere sport, it is something I love, something I use to get my out my feelings. We all have, and we all are made up of these traits, they are who we are.

I pause to think what I would be like without Carley. Would I be the loud one, always talking? Would I love basketball, or even play it at all? Would I have my own room? Or what if I wasn’t here? Would she love to bake, not just eat? Would she prefer soccer over basketball? Then I stop, I realize that it doesn’t matter what it might have been, because we are both here now. So now, instead, I wonder what we can do, who we can be. And although we are very alike, we are also different at the same time. And I know, without a doubt, that we are alike, yet not the same, we are close, yet not together as one. We are Hannah and Carley, a vibrant green.

DAISIES

Surrounded by daises

I begin

He loves me, he loves me not

With the sky so pure

And spring so near

He loves me, he loves me not

With happy laugher echoing across the school grounds

And the bounce of a ball against the pavement

He loves me, he loves me not

One can only hope

Only wish