Grateful.

My grandmother passed on this morning.

My dad called me around nine, and I missed it. I saw the call, and hoped from the bottom of my heart that it was not that call that I thought it was. I was getting ready to go out to meet some friends for breakfast when he called again. He told me that she hadn't been doing well yesterday, and then passed away this morning. When my mom told my sister and I that my grandfather had passed, I remember just putting on a blank face, nodding, and then going on with my business. I was determined not to cry, to have a brave face. But, when my dad told me grandma was gone... I just lost it. I had hoped it wouldn't be so soon, that we would have more time. I hoped that she wasn't really as sick as everyone said. But I knew, I knew it would be soon. I hate that my gut feeling was right. Hate.

I went through this day as normally as I could. I went to class, spent time with my friends, and would do my best not to think about it. But I'm drained. This day, as normal as I tried to make it, moved in slow motion. I mean, I think it's right to say that any event that puts us at any degree of shock leaves us kind of stumbling through the rest of the day, and those following. I don't believe it at this point. I mean, I believe it, but everything in me denies it and assures me that this couldn't be true, that she's still here, that I will go home again soon and visit her. Obviously, that's not so. I know that.

I feel like a broken record, describing the painful grief of those affected by the death of a loved one like every other person would. But it's a release for me. This is for me. This blog is for me, for my writing inspirations and for my sanity.

I loved my grandma. She has been a constant thing through my entire life, giving me the opportunity to make some of the most wonderful and treasured memories of my life. She and my grandfather gave my siblings, cousins and I a place where we could play and enjoy each other's company, all while learning the importance of family. My childhood is filled to the brim with memories of sled riding, swimming, and ping pong. I was so lucky to have a positive childhood, greatly due to my father's parents.

She was one of my best friends, always there to support me and cheering me on. My grandmother was the most wonderful and strongest woman I have ever met. There is no one that can compare to the example she set.

I love her. I always will. She's a part of who I am today. She'll inspire me daily, and I know that the love she gave me will last my whole life through. She'll be with me. And one day, I will see her and my grandfather again. For now... I am grateful. I am grateful for what they taught me, the memories they made with me, that they were one of the biggest parts of my life, my whole life. I couldn't ask for anything better.

P.S. I'm sorry if this seems awfully jumbled. I'm just getting out some things that I've needed to express today. Just trying to make sense of it all, and learning to accept it. Such is life...

Nothing But Charcoal

                With a careful hand, she drew the lines. It was a dark winter evening, and she left only her desk lamp to illuminate the space of her apartment. She paused, studying the paper before her with a critical gaze.  She set her charcoal aside, and lay a darkened finger in the middle of her sketch. She dragged it slowly across the page, and under her breath, she spoke the single word:

                “One.”

                “You’ve got potential, Emma,” affirmed her professor. “I really do mean that. Sure, we get a lot of kids in here that start off with more skill than you, but they don’t go anywhere. They don’t want to put in the effort to grow. You’ve been putting your hours in, and it’s paying off. You’ve got some wonderful work to show from mid-semester.”

                “Thank you,” Emmy smiled, shifting in her chair. To receive such great praise from one of her professors made her almost embarrassed. She wasn’t one who looked for much attention.

                “It’s the truth. You’ve got a long ways to go yet, but you’ve made a wonderful start. I look forward to seeing where you’ll go next.”

                Emma picked up her finger from the paper, and wiped away the excess smudge on her jeans. A car rumbled past outside her window, and she could hear sirens crying far in the distance. A bedtime lullaby, indeed, she thought as she let her eyes fall shut and her body slump. Her head ached with exhaustion, but she could only find sanctity in masochism. Taking in a full breath of the stale apartment oxygen, she sat back up and looked again upon her artwork.  Picking up her utensil once again, she began making erratic strokes.

                “Two.”

                “Emma?” Paul asked cautiously, standing in the bedroom doorway. She broke from her focus, startled, almost smudging the near-finished piece.

                “What?” She asked, letting off a sigh of exasperation. It was directed at him, per say; deadlines wore her to nothing, every time, and she was nearing nothing by that point. Still, Paul cowered back a bit and looked regretful that he had interrupted.

                “It’s almost four in the morning… I just would like it if you would give yourself a break and come to bed,” he spoke tenderly, his eyes as soft as a doe’s. Emma felt herself break into a defeated smile, and he returned it without hesitation. He meandered over to her, and wiped a bit of misplaced charcoal from her forehead. “You’re so beautiful when you work,” he grinned, pulling her close to him.

                “Twenty more minutes,” she finally replied, leaning her head on his stomach. He squeezed her shoulder, and stepped back.

                “Okay,” he nodded, and she could see a faint disappointment cross his features, despite his smile. Twenty minutes had never meant twenty minutes.

                She swallowed hard, feeling herself grow warm with regret.  The thin charcoal shattered in her grasp.

                “Goddamnit,” she hissed, bolting up from her seat. She whipped the remains across the room, and slammed her hands down on the desk. She dragged a dark, sweaty palm across the sketch.

                “Three.”

                “Ms. Hane, I just don’t think this is up to our standards,” Mr. Enger stated, studying the piece before him. Emma frowned, shifting the weight of the child on her hip.

                “Mr. Enger, I did all that you asked. I don’t understand what the problem is,” she refuted, not used to receiving such harsh critique. The small boy she held began to tug at her ponytail and gurgle, and she made vain attempts at quieting him.

                “It’s quite simple, Ms. Hane. You’ve fallen back on your craft, and it shows. For me to pay for something of such poor quality would be foolish. Perhaps you should accept that your attentions are elsewhere,” he snorted, glancing at the cooing babe. “I appreciate your time and effort, but we won’t be requiring your business here.”

                Emma let out a haggard breath, tears pooling in the black mess. She slowly sat back down, feeling a disconnect from herself. She lay her cheek into the puddle, letting it grow beneath her. The night began to turn to dawn. She softly choked out,

                “Four.”

                “I’m sorry,” she whispered to the tiny boy. He stood in his crib, looking up at her with curious brown eyes. She smiled sadly, running a hand over his soft little head of hair. He was the image of unspoiled innocence, a boy who still could easily forgive hurts and forget the loves of yesterday. His youth brought him quick healing. Her heart ached with the hope that he would forgive her for this. Or, if nothing else, forget her completely. She would be a smudge to wipe away from his childhood.

                She kissed his forehead and left the room. She heard him whimper softly, and she felt her heart hesitate to beat. Thankfully, he quieted, and she continued moving. She stopped in the bedroom doorway, and looked upon another boy, one not so tiny, but with just as tender of a disposition. He slept in a mess of covers, breathing softly and slowly. She could tell he hadn’t slept well. They had ended the night on a note of finality; it was him, or the charcoal. After the meeting with Mr. Enger, she had closed herself off from everything and lived in that world of black mess. She worked obsessively to fix what she had done wrong, to be better and undo her failure.

                “I can’t live with you like this,” he admitted, his face hot and moistened with tears. “I have loved you through every moment of this, but I’m beginning to believe that you love that black shit more than you love us.” Emma looked at him, her insides churning and mouth contorting to try and form the right words. But she could say nothing. The storm clouds suddenly lifted from Paul’s face, and his expression turned to that of pain. “You do, don’t you?”

                As the morning sunbeams broke through the window, she left. She picked up her bag, and left a note on the kitchen counter before departing.

                ”You’re right,” is all it read.

                She woke up to the bright midday sun pouring into her apartment. She blinked away cobwebs of sleep, pulling her sore body up in her seat. She looked at the dampened and smudge portrait before her.

                “Five.”

                A man and a boy, smiling with wide, innocent grins. And eyes filled with sincere love.

                She picked it up, holding in her hands what she had loved more than anything in the world, but realized too late. She studied it, scrutinizing with a broken heart. She finally threw it into the wastebasket by her desk, a wastebasket filled with similar images of the two that had been discarded in days previous. She pulled a clean sheet of paper from a drawer, and started all over again. Just like she had done every day—her five-step epiphany.

I live two separate lives.

I'm starting to hit the downhill slide of my break and it's weird.

B-W seems like a different world, something much farther away than it was a few weeks ago. I feel like I'll never actually go back, like I'm going to just be at home for the rest of my life.

Which is what the beauty of going back in two weeks is. It'll be like re-living my return from Thanksgiving break, times ten. And everything will be the same, yet completely different at the same time. Some people will still be there, some will not. Starting all over with new classes, but living in the same old dorm.

That's why I like college so much more than high school. I love to change things up, and break the monotony of things. As stated previously, I'm all about adventures and unexpected things. So, a new semester means new classes, new friends, new activities, but still many of the comforts of last semester to help me get acclimated again.

And when I get back to school, I'll soon forget what life at home is like. It's like a trade-off. You live one life, or the other. It's hard to mix them. I'm definitely looking forward to getting back to school and shifting back into the swing of things there. Home has a few holds on me, sure, but at the moment, I'm pretty well anchored there.

Less than two weeks left here. Then it's back to campus.

You know... I never thought I'd love Ohio so much. Never ever.

Dreams. (a poem)

I got a few dreams
Strange as it seems
In the back pocket of my jeans

They're there
Their fair
Faces share

Smiles, and frowns
Turned upside down
They say "This town

You're gonna leave it
Bit by bit
Watch the bridges be lit

Don't hold to the pain
Ain't nothing to gain
It's not the same

But we know you better
Broken the fetter
Got your jeans and a sweater

Stand up on your own feet
Start lookin' real neat
So say your sweet

Good-byes"
I can't tell truth from lies
So I listen to their sighs

Drawn out long
Tell me where I belong
I dream it's a song

Rough fingers on acoustic strings
A voice low that rings
A voice low that sings

Of soft promises in your arms
Of my beauty and your charms
Nothing left to alarm

Us, because sanct is us
Got nothin' but trust
But I must

Remember that these
Are blown with the breeze
Back pocket sleaze

I don't know what's real
From my dreams I steal
You, and on my heart set a seal

Run away with me.

I like love songs, most of the time. Especially showtunes having to do with love. Aaron Tveit singing "Run Away with Me"? Yes, most certainly. It just sounds so authentic and real.

 I guess I'm a sucker for any song with strong emotional content, again, namely songs that come out of musicals. Aaron Tveit singing "I'm Alive"? Oh yes. Jennifer Damaino singing "Superboy and the Invisible Girl"? Definitely. I can't get enough of it. I've been absolutely hooked on Next to Normal the past month or so. I listen to a lot of the music daily, just because it sorts of grabs me. It's real.

I love shows that deal with real life. Real people, real situations, real feelings... they really get me going. Heck, I love books that have situations that real, every day people deal with. Okay, maybe not every day people, but people with personalities, people that I can relate to. Hence why I've read so much Jodi Picoult and Nicholas Sparks.

I think it's because I like to live vicariously through a lot of the characters.

Last night I dreamt that I re-auditioned for the Musical Theatre program at B-W. This time, I was with a lot of my friends from school, which helped my confidence a lot. However, I think I decided to audition very last minute, because I didn't even know what songs to sing or what cuts to make... ha. It was interesting. Then, we were on break, and we all went to the bathroom. My guy friend came with us in there, and I was like, "Dude, this is the girls' bathroom, you can't be in here", so he left. But then all these other guys kept coming in and messing around and hanging out with us on our couch (yeah, we had a couch in there), and one said it really wasn't a gender-specific bathroom. I felt kinda bad about kicking my friend out, but didn't do anything about it.

So me and one of my girl friends are chilling out on the couch with a few guys. One leaves, and the other is still sitting with us on his laptop. Please note that I have no idea who this guy was; he just came right out of my imagination, I guess. Anyway, he was cute, but had a strange personality. I don't know how to describe it here, he was just kind of awkwardly mean, but charming at the same time. I didn't even know his name. He kept putting his arm around me and such, and I was like "lolz okay". Then he was talking to my friend and, then, out of nowhere, asked if she would kiss him. Let me set this up for you: three person couch. Boy on one side, girl on other, me in the middle. I think I woke up before they kissed, but thinking about it still makes me chuckle. I mean, awkward. I remember her leaning over me (he didn't move at all), and that's about it. My dreams amuse the heck out of me.

Then the night before, I dreamed that I had a guy friend (more of an acquaintance) from college who suddenly proclaimed his love for me. Again, this was a guy formed right out of my imagination. He didn't look like anyone I knew, and his personality was certainly nothing like any of my guy friends. He just held me and kissed me and told me how he had always loved me but he was afraid to tell me, blah blah blah. I just remember feeling happy, feeling like "wow, this is what love feels like", and that this kid had to be the one.

It's just funny, I guess. I've been thinking a lot about relationships and stuff lately, yeah, but... I don't want anything serious. Really, I don't. I'm young, I've got a lot that I want to do, and thinking about a committed relationship right now seems like another chore.

But... I don't know. Okay, that was a lie. I would like a relationship. But not with just anyone... No.

I'm not gonna seriously date anyone until I'm wowed. I've grown sick of trying. Trying to make things work, trying to pretend that settling will still make me happy, trying to not wear the pants in relationships when it's what always happens. I need someone that can keep up with me. I need someone that isn't afraid to make decisions, someone who doesn't leave me to make them all. I need confidence and self-assurance. I need someone who knows what it's like to live and breathe theatre, or, heck, just performing in general. I need a kind heart and a warm touch. I need someone that's mature, someone that won't leave me for the next best thing. I need an outgoing personality. I need someone that accepts my goofiness, someone who loves taking adventures as much as I do. I need someone who isn't held back by anything. I need someone that I can have real conversations with, conversations that go somewhere, conversations that make me think.

That's just what I've been thinking about lately, I guess. I mean, the relationships I've had were all perfect at the time. I'm thankful for what they've taught me, especially my most recent and most significant. I know love now. It was perfect for that beautiful moment in time, but change happens and we keep moving. I'll treasure the memories forever, without a doubt. But now I'm back on my own feet, back on my own resources. I'm discovering my new self, and falling in love with the potential that lies in the future. I'm figuring out where I'm going, and with that, what I want in a partner that accompanies me on that journey. Yes, I've got some high expectations. But, with the thought of something as permanent as marriage, I want to have someone that is so compatible with me, that I don't have a choice but to stick it out with them.

For now, I'll meet people. When he comes along, maybe I'll know, or I'll realize it somewhere down the line. The important thing is, sooner or later, it'll be real. So real, we'll sing songs about it.

Release.

There is only one final separating me from the end of my first semester of college.

Honestly, it's weird to feel so far in life, and still as though you've hardly begun.

I mean, when I was a kid, college was something so extremely foreign and far off. It felt like I would never get here. I guess that's what a lot of events have felt like for me, though. I've seen them all from an outside perspective, and they seem so huge, but when I get there myself it's just another stepping stone to the next big thing. We picture these events in our heads like they're going to be massive and earth-shifting, but we get there and then they're gone. Funny how it works.

Everyone always asks how I like college, if it's hard, etc. I really am being one hundred percent honest when I say that I love it. Nothing in my life has ever felt so right. That's really not an exaggeration; I have made a lot of decisions in my life, and coming here was the best one yet. The funny thing is that both of my visits here weren't that great. Actually, I felt fairly miserable both times.

My first visit was sometime during the fall of senior year, and I had just contracted a cold. I was sick and memories of that day are really kind of fuzzy. I remember not falling in love with the campus, and wondering if it was really a place I wanted to be. But, I knew it was a good school, and at the time, I was very interested in getting into the musical theatre program and getting some high quality training under my belt. I met with a senior MT and discussed what being an MT was like, myself barely contributing as I was in such a fog. I also met with my now voice teacher, and, since I couldn't exactly sing, went through some potential audition material. It all sounded great, but deep down, I wasn't convinced. But if this wasn't it... what was?

The next time I came to the school was for my audition. That was quite the day. Quite the day. Honestly, it was miserable because of my own attitude. I got there late, and let myself get nervous. I didn't try to make any friends. I gave into my insecurities and isolated myself. I didn't eat lunch. Terrible, terrible choice. If I don't eat, my mood plummets. So that just made things everything that much worse. The audition was really well run, and everyone was very friendly, so I don't blame anyone but myself. I was thrilled when it was over and that I could get the heck out of dodge.

When I wasn't accepted into any of the programs I auditioned for, I was obviously a little discouraged. Looking back, I know I wasn't prepared. I wasn't at the level that I needed to be in these programs. They're cut throat, and I was just too meek and, well, an amateur. (not to say I'm not still an amateur) I wasn't sure what to do with myself. However, in my gut, Baldwin-Wallace was always where I was being pulled, MT or not. I was afraid that I was making the wrong choice, because people always say that you don't like a campus when you visit, don't go there. Plus I just wondered if there was somewhere that I hadn't looked at that would be better. I got scared. However, I decided that I had to make a choice, and Baldwin-Wallace was it. If things went badly, well, transferring was always an option. I swallowed my pride and went for it.

Trust your gut. It dragged me here, and I am happier than I've ever been in my life. I'm in a theatre department that is my perfect fit. My friends... God. I can't tell you how much I love them. Every day, something happens that makes me so thankful to be here with them, so thankful that they're in my life. I was afraid I wouldn't make any friends here, but I have companions that I've been close to even since orientation this summer. I met people on my first day here that are some of my bests. I've met so many beautiful people, from so many places with so many different stories... I love it. I love them. I'm going to miss them with all of my heart over winter break. Here, they are my family. They are everything to me.

It's sappy, I guess. But it's really all true. I can't imagine transferring, leaving all of this treasure that I've found. My experiences here have been incredible. I also have to say, the location of the college is also one of my favorite things. The city isn't far away, I can go to the mall pretty much any time I want, there's essentially any restaurant I could ever dream of within a thirty minutes drive. This is my kind of place. Sooo... Meadville, you're great. But don't expect me to stick around my entire life. Sorry.

Maybe it's because I've never lived anywhere but Meadville, but I like Ohio. Really, I do. It's kind of fantastic.

So that was essentially me just ranting my love for college. Well, I talk about it enough. Might as well write it all down as documentation, so when I'm old and cranky I can remember the beginning of the best years of my life.

Thanks, B-W. Thanks a bunch.

This is my winter song for you. (a short story, I suppose)

            I had a dream once.

            She had eyes the shade of warm spring mud, and when they cried those tears they fell and hit me deep. She had a delicate touch that reminded me that my love wasn’t unrequited, but she also had a heavy hand that made me sink. When she was worried, when the pain rolled through her, when I got upset over things that I don’t even remember anymore, that was when she laid that hand on me. The feel of it terrified me.

            I would kill to feel it touch my skin again, even just for a moment.

            I didn’t do everything right. I loved her with all that I was, but I often didn’t know how to show it. It’s a challenge that all men face, trying to live up these expectations the world tells women to have. I lack the skill of a lover’s touch, the words of a wandering bard. She loved me through and through, though. I’d hold her cheek in my palm, and she’d smile with all of her face. Her eyes, her mouth, her nose—it all worked harmoniously. We were not perfect, no, but we were young and hopeful.

            She stood before me, the only thing I could see in the blustering snow. She was bundled up, a pile of mismatched winter accessories and a jacket. Despite the often violent weather, she loved the winter. Grinning at me, she asked where we were going. I merely smiled in return, and took her hand. Inside my organs flipped about and tensed, fearful of what was going to happen next. We walked through the snow, hand in hand and alone in the world. I felt as though we were the centerpiece of a snow globe, the snowflakes twirling about and a beautiful melody playing. It was really as surreal, as dream-like as it sounds.

I brought her to the lake, frozen and buried beneath a blanket of white. She shuddered but still held her smile. I pulled her in close, feeling her warm breath rise to my chin from her face at my chest. My throat clenched, and I reached a hand into my pocket. The little box felt like it weighed one thousand pounds as I slowly pulled it out. I held it behind her back for a moment, and finally, I moved my arms out from around her, and knelt before my love. I asked her to marry me.

The melody began to slow, and the snow suddenly wasn’t as beautiful. Tears began to roll and rock me deep within my soul. She choked out words, words that didn’t make sense. Words that still break me. She said she was sorry. She said she was sick. She said she was going to tell me, but she was afraid. She said she couldn’t let me love her anymore. She knelt down in front of me, laid two heavy hands on my shoulders, and kissed me through salty tears. Then she was gone. All I could see was white.

I never saw her again. No one did. No one really talked about her. They would see the pain in my face and the world was somber again. I don’t know if they don’t mention her because they know it hurts me, or if maybe… maybe she was a dream that only I had.