Tumgik
#gave me the gossip that he might stay a 5th year at my school which is interesting
proteuus · 3 years
Text
just mentioned to my cis guy friend that I was going on T and he was like oh that's epic what dose and like. genuinely I'm impressed that I could've said a number to him and he would've known what that meant bc even I don't know dude
4 notes · View notes
luvidzy · 3 years
Text
Tumblr media
☆ genre: fluff
☆ pairing: kim seungmin x reader
☆ summary: an anonymous person is writing poetry and you are determined to get to the bottom of it
☆ word count: 3.2k
You honestly hadn’t even noticed at first. You weren’t really into the school paper, so you didn’t read it very often unless Felix decided there was something interesting you just had to know. Which is exactly how you found out about your secret admirer posting about you in the paper.
“Y/N, you have to see this!” Felix’s voice rang out as he slid into the seat next to you. You looked up, less than thrilled to be interrupted in the middle of trying to study for your Greek Classics test tomorrow, but you couldn’t stop yourself from setting your pencil down at Felix’s excited expression.
“Yes, Felix?” You asked, trying to hide the exasperation in your voice. If Felix noticed, he didn’t let him affect his excitement as he pulled the school paper out from under his arm, unrolled it and smacked it down on the table in front of you.
Your eyes scanned the front page, trying to figure out what Felix was so eager to show you, but nothing stood out. There was an article about the softball team, an article about an upcoming concert by 3racha, and a column that was talking about new things to do on campus. Nothing particularly interesting, and also nothing that you hadn’t seen before in the paper.
“So I was looking at the paper, and something caught my eyes. Come on, you have to read it,” Felix urged, his eyes sparkling as his freckles crinkled beside his eyes. You rested your forearms on the table, signalling to him that you were listening. Felix began to flip through the pages, before he landed on one of the latter ones. 
His finger pointed out a small section of writing in the upper right hand corner. You squinted slightly, bringing the paper closer so you could look at the words. From what you could tell it, was a small three line poem that anyone would overlook if you weren’t paying attention. Lucky enough for you, Lee Felix always paid attention to the paper.
she sits so sweetly
sweater too big on her back
perfect to me
Eyes wondering over the black lettering, you felt your eyebrows furrow. There was no signature and not even a hint of who the poem might be addressed to. It seemed so out of place, yet your curiosity was growing every second.
“Does anyone know who wrote it?” You asked, turning to Felix. The blonde shook his head, pouting slightly.
“I asked Seungmin, but he said that they had just found it on one of the desks in an envelope with a note asking them to publish it,” Felix explained. You sighed, before sliding the paper away from you in favor of getting back to your studying.
“Well, keep me updated. Maybe next time we’ll know who this mysterious poet is, or maybe who he’s writing to.” Felix nodded eagerly, before pulling the paper back towards him and opening it up to read while you continued to study.
Of course, the poem wasn’t dropped there as Felix brought it up to your friends again that night as you hung out in Chan and Changbin’s apartment.
“It’s romantic, for sure. But I feel like it would be even more romantic if the person who it was for actually KNEW it was for them, ya know?” Jisung said as he threw a cheeto in the air and tried to catch it in his mouth. You stifled a giggle behind your hand as the cheeto flew back down and hit him in the face, causing him to pout.
“Maybe they wanted to test the waters? See if the person responded well before they actually did anything that might give them away?” Jeongin suggested, before stuffing some M&Ms into his mouth. Seungmin shrugged as he leaned back into his chair.
“I don’t know. We’ll have to wait and see if we get any more envelopes.” You sighed, smiling slightly as you leaned back into the couch you were sitting on.
“How nice it must be to have someone write poetry about you. I don’t think anyone would ever do that for me,” you exclaimed dramatically, throwing a hand onto your forehead for effect. Minho snorted as he threw a piece of candy at you, causing you to shriek slightly.
“Maybe, if you weren’t such a dramatic bitch, people would actually fall for you.” You stuck your tongue out at the older male, crossing your arms with a pout on your face. He was probably right, but there was no need for him to be rude about it.
The next time the mystery poet wrote in the paper, you found out about it way too late at night. Your phone began to buzz incessently as you tried to focus on your paper, to no avail. Finally you gave in and picked up the phone.
“What?”
“Y/N, where are you right now?” Felix’s voice was rushed and enthusastic, and it took all your strength not to groan. How could he be so energetic this late at night, when all you wanted to be doing was sleeping instead of studying for you stupid exam. Seungmin, who had been joining you in your study nights the past few days, looked up with a raised eyebrow.
“I’m at the library with Seungmin. Why?” You replied, rolling your eyes to Seungmin who just snickered. He knew from personal experience that the only person who would give you this reaction so late at night was Felix.
“There was another poem posted in the newspaper! I was gonna tell you earlier but I couldn’t get a hold of you. Stay where you are, I’m on my way.” Felix rushed, before hanging up. You took the phone away from your ear, before looking to Seungmin with an accusing glare.
“There was another poem and you didn’t think to tell me?” You exclaimed, cringing as the librarian shushed you.
“I didn’t think you cared that much. Besides, why would I take away Felix’s gossip? What kind of friend would I be if I did that?” Seungmin chuckled at the pointed glare you sent his way, before you turned back to your paper to try and do some work before Felix got there.
You managed only another 2 paragraphs before Felix came bustling through the doors, trying to be as quiet and fast as possible. He finally crashed into the chair beside you, spreading the paper out before you. You shut your laptop as your eyes scanned the page, trying to find any sight of the poem.
“It’s a good one this time. You’ll have to see it,” Felix said, his grin more of a smirk as he flipped to the next page and pointed his finger at the lines of text that had been imprinted on the page. Your eyes immediately trained on it, scanning over the words in every line like a woman who’s seeing for the first time.
The girl in room 204
with the world on her shoulder
but a smile on her face.
I wish I could be your Atlas
and hold the sky up long enough
for you to take a breath and relax.
But despite the circumstances,
despite her exhaustion from
sleepless nights in the library,
her eyes glow as she talks
even if it is about the most mundane things.
I can’t help but stare and smile,
wondering if she will ever notice
that she means everything to me
and that I would gladly be condemned
to a lifetime of suffering if it meant 
taking your pain for just a little while.
Your eyes widened as you looked at the poem, before you noticed the small print that was sitting underneath the beautiful lines.
-to the girl in room 204 of Levantar Hall
Your heart began to pound and you could practically feel the blood rushing to your face as you reread the tiny tag, the realization only setting in after the 5th time looking it over.
“Holy shit! Felix, these poems are addressed to me!” You exclaimed, turning to look at the bright smile of your best friend. He nodded eagerly as you turned back to the poem, rereading it with this newfound knowledge.
“And you said no one would ever write poetry for you,” Felix teased. You hit him lightly, before taking the paper and shoving it into your bag. You grabbed your laptop, slung your bag over your shoulder, before looking at the boys you were sitting with.
“Sorry gentleman, I have some sleuthing to do,” you said, before rushing out of the library, completely ignorant of the adoration in Seungmin’s eyes as he watched you go.
You spent the next few days waking up extra early and camping out outside of the newspaper office to try and catch the mystery person in action of dropping off their envelope, but you were always met with disappointment as Seungmin came in every morning with no sign of the admirer.
You were a bit bummed about it until you decided to read this week's newspaper and came upon a startling revelation. 
Another poem. 
so close yet so far
she would never know my love
it’s not my nature
You immediately called Felix, who agreed to meet up with you at the nearest cafe to discuss the poem. It wasn’t until you were sitting at a booth, coffees sitting in front of you that a revelation decided to hit you.
“Felix! I’m an idiot!”
“I mean, I know. But how so this time?” Felix said, causing you to throw a playful glare his way. You looked at the poem, before pointing at the poem in the paper and reading the words aloud.
“Okay?” Felix questioned, an eyebrow raised. You rolled your eyes at the thought of having to explain it all to Felix.
“I know whoever this is, Felix! The words insinuate it’s someone that I know, and someone who is not very affectionate with me!” You said proudly, happy that you had managed to narrow the list down. Felix nodded in understanding.
“So, that leaves only a few people, right? Cause all of your friends are pretty affectionate, outside of Minho and Seungmin, right?” Felix said, and you nodded, before freezing. Minho…. or Seungmin. You didn’t want to immediately jump to any conclusions, but you hadn’t seen anyone outside of the newspaper room outside of Seungmin and, being honest, you kind of wanted it to be him. You had had a crush on Kim Seungmin since freshman year of college and it would be like something out of a novel if it turned out to be him.
“Earth to Y/N! What’s the plan now?” Felix brought you from your daydream as you took a sip of the coffee in front of you. You furrowed your brows in thoughts, before her eyes lit up.
“I know! Felix, I just need to mention something incredibly specific to each of them! Any good writer would take advantage of the creative inspiration and incorporate it into their poem!” you announced, quite proud of yourself for coming up with the idea. Felix thought for a moment before he nodded.
“That’s so stupid, it might just work.” You pouted at his comment, before immediately looking at your phone, seeing the time, and stumbling to get up and rush out.
“I completely forgot I need to meet up with Minho for our project! Phase 1 starts right now!” You rushed out of the coffee shop, Felix laughing behind you as you nearly ran into the door due to your excitement.
True to your plan, while with Minho you brought up the extremely intricate topic of Andromeda and Perseus, a tale which you had learned about a month ago in your Greek Mythology class. You loved the story and thought it was incredibly interesting and a great muse if Minho turned out to be the secret admirer in the paper.
You didn’t see Seungmin for a few days, but that gave you time to think of the perfect topic to bring up to him. You wanted him to be your secret poet so badly and you wanted to make sure you gave him something that would definitely end up inspiring the next poem. It finally hit you as you sat with Seungmin and Jeongin in one of your University’s common areas.
“We learned about the story of Icarus in my Greek class the other day,” you started, making sure to look at Seungmin and see if he was listening to you. Sure enough he perked up, looking up to show you that he was taking in the words that were coming from your lips.
“Essentially, Icarus was the son of this great inventor, Daedalus, and they were both imprisoned in a tower. Daedalus made them 2 sets of wings to escape the tower, but they were made out of feathers and wax. When they were flying to escape, Icarus decided to not heed his fathers words and flew too close to the sun. The wax in his wings melted and he drowned. It’s a sad story, but it tells a tale of curiosity and how being too curious can lead to your downfall,” you explained, noticing how Seungmin had stopped writing as you told your story. Jeongin stared at you with a questioning glance.
“Why would Icarus fly so high if he knew he would die?”
“Well, I guess that depends on how you look at it. Some say he was just foolish and brash, but I personally like to think Icarus knew what would happen to him, but decided that the ability to be free and live in the excitement for even a moment was worth the consequences he knew would befall him.” Jeongin nodded, obviously thinking about the story. Satisfied with your work, you looked back down at your work, not noticing how Seungmin had flipped to a blank page in his notebook and was jotting down what seemed to be lines of poetry.
It was a few more weeks until another poem was posted, and you were starting to be concerned that the admirer had given up and decided to stop. That was until Felix, as expected, rushed into your dorm one day, completely scaring you out of your concentrated state.
“The poem was posted! And you’ll never believe it, but your plan actually worked!” Your stomach flip flopped as you realized that the moment of truth was about to be upon you. The minute you read the poem that laid in the ink of the school newspaper, you would know who was your secret admirer. Felix handed it to you and as your eyes went to the words, you silently prayed that it was the man you so desperately wanted it to be. 
I am Icarus,
and she is the sun.
I don’t dare get to close,
even if her gleam,
bright against my rickety feathers,
warms me from the inside out.
I can never tell her how I feel,
I can never say a word,
but if I could I’d tell her she is golden to me.
That she is the heavens,
and I am just a mortal man 
begging for her to let me in,
begging for her to let me love her, 
begging for her to let me praise her,
because God knows that if I could 
I would never stop spilling words of devotion to her.
I am Icarus,
and she is the sun.
My faux wings melt like candle wax
as I force myself closer to her,
because I’d rather fall out of her atmosphere,
then never experience her at all.
Your mouth dropped open as you finished reading the carefully crafted poem, your cheeks heating up and your mind running a mile a minute. It was Seungmin. Your secret admirer was Seungmin.
You rushed out of your dorm, the paper abandoned on your bed as Felix called after you, but you didn’t have any time to stop and explain. You glanced at your phone, realizing that if you made haste, you could catch Seungmin alone in the newsroom before he left for the day. You weaved through the halls of the journalism building, the only thing on your mind getting to the boy who had written some of the most beautiful words about you.
Seungmin was standing outside of the door, locking up the room for the day, when you barrelled down the hallways and basically tackled him into a hug. He grunted as your arms wrapped around him and he stood there for a moment, completely unsure of what to do in this situation. You didn’t give him any time to react though, pulling back and staring at him with a smile rivalling the sun.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” 
“Tell you what?” Seungmin asked, genuinely confused. He had a long day and you weren’t making any sense right now. You rolled your eyes playfully, before looking at him with a smirk.
“That you were Icarus and I was the sun.” Seungmin’s mouth dropped open as you repeated the words he had written back to you. His usually sharp mind was completely blank as he tried to figure out what to say in response to you, but once again you didn’t give him time to think as you pulled him in for another hug.
This time, Seungmin allowed himself to wrap his arms around you in return and give you a squeeze. Months of pining after you and he was finally doing what he had fantasized about so many times. You nuzzled yourself into his neck, giggling as he let out a soft gasp, completely unused to the physical affection you were showing him.
“So, does this mean the poems worked?” Seungmin joked, his cheeks red as you pulled back again. You let out a laugh, nodding happily as you kept your arms slung around his neck.
“Of course! To be honest, I’ve had a crush on you for a while now. I was really glad when I found out it was you,” you said, staring at him sheepishly. He smiled softly at you, before pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“What gave it away though?” He asked. You raised an eyebrow at him.
“You really think I just threw all that philosophical stuff about Icarus out there for nothing? I was hoping you’d pick up the clue and use it for some creative inspiration,” you said. Seungmin nodded, feigning a look of impressiveness.
“That’s pretty smart for you.” You punched him lightly in the arm, eliciting a chuckle from the boy as he grabbed your hand and interlocked your fingers together, leading you down the hallway.
“So, does this mean your poems are going to stop?” you asked, unable to hide the pout in your voice. Seungmin smiled a little bit, giddy that you liked his poems so much.
“I mean, at least the public poems. But I’ll write you all the poems you want in private. But they will be for your eyes only. Can’t let anyone know that I went soft for you,” he said jokingly. You let out a laugh, squeezing his hand as he laughed along with you.
Honestly, you didn’t mind if the poems were public or private. It was more than enough for you that Seungmin was holding your hand right now, speaking words of love that held more meaning than any poem about Icarus ever could.
131 notes · View notes
Text
The Circle Of Life
A Harry Potter Fanfiction
Death doesn't seem so imposing when you know that you're dying--when you realised it a long time ago. Harry's journey as he deals with Cancer. Diary fic. Haphne. IWSC Season 1 Final entry. Hogwarts JP!
Written for the International Wizarding Schools Championship Season 1
Round: Finals!!!
Theme: Dittany which means healing, mentally, emotionally and physically and also injury (as you can't be healed if you're not injured). The theme is shown here as Harry trying his best to recover from cancer.
Year: Year 7
School: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. JP from Hogwarts!
Prompts: Potions (object) [additional]
Emerald (colour) [additional]
St. Mungo's (setting) [main]
Special Rule and Link: The special rule here is used by Showing 'birth' both Harry's own birthday, and his grandchild's birth. As for the link, In this fic the link is again Harry's birthday, as we're showing his feelings on his birthdays through different stages of his life, this being the last one. Mentions of infertility.
Word Count: 2190
***
14th January 2060
8:35 p.m.
Diary,
Death doesn't seem so imposing when you know that you're dying—when you realised it a long time ago. It's funny, really. We know we're all dying but rarely does it ever truly sink in. But in my case, I've had the pleasure of having realised this way back at the age of seventeen. I hadn't thought I'd get out of the Forbidden Forest alive again, especially if I were meant to die in the end, and so I had submitted to my sentence. I was as surprised as anyone at my continued living, I assure you, and with the amount of downright stupid things I've done in my lifetime—fighting Voldemort some five different times, riding thestrals, wandering into acromantula nests, and then contemplating becoming an auror before Daphne talked me out of it—I've already outlived my expectations, so I don't think it bothers me too much that death has come to claim me now.
Daphne and Hermione would both glare at me for saying that probably, and Sothis, Jacob, and Lily would frown. Acquiring blood cancer does not necessarily mean death, especially since it's a muggle disease, but at the age of 80, I have my doubts. Wizards might not be as affected by muggle ailments, but this is cancer. It's been nearly ten days since I've written to you, as you might have noticed, and that was because of the numerous tests they conducted and reconducted at St. Mungo's. I've had to quit teaching at Hogwarts because of this accursed illness. Those of my family who haven't had much exposure to the muggle world didn't realise just how serious cancer was, and they were rather unconcerned—it's a muggle disease, wizards always recover from muggle diseases—but Hermione knew exactly what it was, and how serious, and she passed this information to both Ron and Daphne—even when I begged her not to—who told others. So now, everyone is extra polite around me, and extra careful. I hate how everyone looks at me like I might shatter at any moment. Even Malfoy's started acting differently again, and it's just so frustrating!
I just want everyone to get back to normal.
Harry James Potter
***
8th February 2060
8:15 p.m.
Diary,
My health has gotten worse instead of better. Last week, I began coughing violently and realised that I was coughing blood. My body hurt. I also had a temperature and felt dizzy. Daphy took me to St. Mungo's as soon as she saw my pitiful state. I was kept there for a whole day while the healers ran tests and took samples. While the wizarding world doesn't use injections, their methods of extracting blood hurt just as much. The healers only let Daphy see me during around dinnertime after they thought me stable enough. Daphy was by my side the entire night after that, holding my hand, helping me eat, and then finally settling me down for the night. I hadn't seen her that tired in a long time, diary, and it was ... unsettling. I wonder if I'm being too selfish in not really caring if this cursed disease takes me down. Daphne would be shattered.
Hermione and Ron were there at the hospital before I woke up the next day, considerably late and still feeling pretty shitty. The two of them and Daphne were talking to a healer, and none of them had realised I was awake. I could only catch a few phrases of their conversation—flu, immune system, careful—but the grim expressions on their faces told me that whatever it was, it wasn't good. The healers sent me home with instructions to take some fifty odd potions every eight hours and to exercise regularly, but not so much that I overexert myself.
I was too tired the next three days to pick up a pen to write, let alone go for a walk. But yesterday, after Daphy and I got back from the walk she had coaxed me into going for, we came home to a pleasant surprise in the form of Lily and Sebastian. Lily has always been big on surprises, but the one she gave us yesterday was the best surprise I have gotten in a long time. They're expecting their first child in July! After a number of failed tries, Lily and Sebastian had both given up on trying to have children, but that right there was proof that miracles do happen. Daphne was so happy, she had tears in her eyes. So did I. For a moment there, I think all of us present in the room were a little misty-eyed. It took a little effort to digest that bit of news, happy as it was because our sweet little witch had grown so old so fast. Wasn't it just yesterday that I had first held her in my arms? She was finally going to be a mother now! I am happy as can be, of course, but I wonder if I'll be able to live long enough to see my grandchild in this life.
I really hope I do.
Harry James Potter
***
18th March 2060
8:00 p.m.
Diary,
I don't think I'd be able to stand a single more piteous look directed toward me, even if my situation is miserable. I feel tired all the time now, even though I've been taking all my potions on time and have done all the exercises that the healers had told me to do. My body still hurts sometimes, and I feel utterly useless. The healers in St. Mungo's still take samples of my blood to see if my condition is getting any better.
They don't say so to my face, but I'm only getting worse. It is clear by the looks they direct towards me, in how Ron and Hermione both always say goodbye to me at the end of the day as if it were their last goodbye, in how Daphne strokes my cheek at night when we're both in bed and tells me to stay strong for her. I wish they'd just tell me, so I don't have to go through everything pretending to be blissfully unaware.
Sothis and Jacob came to see me today. I hadn't seen them since my birthday last year. Sothis lives in America now with his family and practices as a curse breaker while Jacob has been wandering around the world with Lorcan Lovegood. They were upset when they'd been told of my cancer, of course, but today I truly saw how much my sickness really affected my family. If I had been my old self, I would not have wanted them to see me like this, but times have changed. At least I'm not in St. Mungo's because I wasn't able to fight a common cold.
I really do want to get better.
Harry James Potter
***
21st May 2060
8:40 p.m.
Diary,
Things have begun to look up for me now, and I feel I've gotten a little better for the past few weeks. I don't feel as tired anymore, and Daphy does not have to force me to get out of the house. Daphy could not be happier about this. I've begun working on a book to keep me occupied. This was Hermione's idea—to write a book on Defence Against the Dark Arts from my experience as a professor and what I learnt when I was still studying for it. That I have fought the supreme leader of the dark is an added bonus. I think the one single perk of being sick is that the children come to see me more often. The others came around too, recently—the Weasleys, Neville, Luna. It felt nice to see them all after so long, but it felt a little disconcerting that this might be the last time we saw each other. I suppose that was the reason they made the visit in the first place, to see me again while they still could.
In other news, I am in the news again. The Daily Prophet found out about my illness somehow, and it was all anyone talked about for the last week. Daphy and Hermione both blew up over the staff of St. Mungo's because no one else would ever leak any information to the Prophet of all people. Astoria, who works there, is having the board conduct an entire investigation to find the gossip.
Lily had her first contraction while she was here with us. It was a false alarm, the baby is due in the second week of August, but it felt strange and surreal. Everyone was excited though, Lily especially, even if she complained non-stop about her backache. Things are looking up, finally, and everyone, the healers included, think that I'm going to get better quite soon.
I hope I do.
Harry James Potter
5th July 2060
8:40 p.m.
Diary,
While my health had been stable enough for the past two months and was inching towards recovery, it has now gotten worse again. The healers think that I've been exposed to an infection which my body is not able to fight off. The incessant pain, the omnipresent tiredness have both returned with assorted bottles of potions that taste like sewer water.
I was kept at St. Mungo's for a week, and the healers were still reluctant to let me go home because apparently, my immune system has become so compromised that even the mildest of bacteria or virus could be the cause of my death. It wasn't until Hermione had reasoned with them that I was more likely to be exposed to pathogens—whatever those were—in a hospital than back home that they let me go. I've been told in no uncertain terms to take all my potions on time and to get plenty of rest. The worst part is that I am to avoid the outdoors completely, so no more walks or anything. Daphne looked defeated yet determined.
When they thought I wasn't listening, they also told Daphne and Hermione to keep the visitors to a minimum, so people coming to see me is also out of the question now, although Lily did come here the other day, so I guess the kids are allowed.
I had thought I was getting better, but now ... they don't say it to my face, but their pitiful expressions make it clear that my days now are numbered. I hope I get to see my youngest grandchild before I die, though. They aren't here yet, but I love them already.
Harry James Potter
***
31st July 2060
8:45 p.m.
Diary,
It's my birthday today, but so much has changed since last year. I was teaching at Hogwarts happily. People weren't scared of sneezing around me. I was cancer free. But most importantly, I didn't have a new grandson who looked exactly like me. His eyes are the same emerald green as mine, and he has a small tuft of jet-black hair, although I really hope he has better luck with it than I have had.
From what Daphy tells me, Lily had been visiting when her water broke. I don't know the exact details of what happened since I had been in St. Mungo's since the past week, but everyone panicked except Daphne, who had gone home for a while to shower and eat after leaving me in Hermione's care. She calmly called for a mediwitch from St. Mungo's and made preparations to transport Lily to the hospital for the delivery.
The baby was two weeks early, but still very healthy. He had curious green eyes, and the memory of how he looked at me with interest when I first held him is still fresh in my mind. I did finally get to meet my grandchild—Lily's first child—and I couldn't possibly be happier. If I were to die now, after I've seen my grandchild, I'd die happy. My princess had finally started a family of her own, and the baby looks just like me. He's a tiny and beautiful baby, and I am so proud. Lily and Sebastian are both beaming. They named him after me and Sebastian's father—Harry Alex Grahams.
I love him.
Harry James Potter
***
Daphne closed the diary shut on the morning of August the 2nd with tears rolling down her eyes. She put it beside her on the padded carpet she was sitting on and drew her knees closer to her. Harry had to go, leave, just as Lily's first child was born, just as he had turned 81. It was painfully sad. Lily had cried through the last night, and it had taken Daphne all she had in her to not join her in it and to comfort her instead. She took in a deep breath. Harry was right, though. The child was beautiful and looked painfully like him. At least she knew that he had died painlessly in his sleep. Happy. Content. His suffering had ended, and he had had the joy of holding his grandson in his arms. He had been happy. That was all that mattered.
10 notes · View notes
karterh-blog · 5 years
Text
Levi 1
Levi 
This is stupid.
What am I doing?
Nothing odd.
Just a tall teen, buying packaged cookies.
And that’s it. 
Watching that movie was a bad idea. Why did I let Nic talk me into watching it? They were so persistent. The movie was good. It made me feel less alien. The worst part was the partial I got from the watching the kiss at the end. I had to hide it behind my letterman’s jacket when we left the theater.
Maybe it’s a good thing. No other on-screen romance has gotten that much of a rise out of me. Fuck. Even my thoughts are getting corny.
“Young man register 15 is available,” the yellow-vested Walmart employee startled me out of my inner turmoil. I looked up at her, she looked tired, unkempt, as my mother would say. She gave me an impatient nod to herd me along to the self-checkout kiosk.
I quickly scanned my purchase and selected the pay option. Fumbling with my wallet I tried to rush the machine into taking my five-dollar bill. The stubborn thing spat it back at me. Infuriatingly, I snatched it back, worked out a barely bent corner and forced the note back into the payment slot. This argument went on for a few more rounds. I felt the stares of the moms waiting in the line. Believe me ladies, I want to get out of here as much as you do. After a fifth attempt it finally accepts my payment and spits my change and receipt at me. I shove it into my jeans pocket, grab my purchase and head for the doors.
“I need to see your receipt, young man,” drawls the exasperated looking man at the greeter post.
I attempt to extract it from my pocket without showering my feet with pennies and dimes. I failed.
“It’s a new policy.”
“It’s fine,” I say and as I hand him the small slip, I see that my hands are shaking.
My hands don’t shake. I scored the winning net in or hockey game against Gillette Saturday night. They’re our biggest competition this season, not to mention our biggest rival. “What is wrong with me.”
“Thank you, have a nice night,” he utters in monotone. he so doesn’t care.
I’m in the clear. Not even close, Pearson.
I make it to the second set of doors and forget how hard it’s snowing. I hate driving around town in snow. I’m not a terrible driver for a 17-year-old. I get carried away after a big win on the ice or a movie with good chase scenes, but generally I keep it in my pants. But other people act like they haven’t lived here for decades and either slide through the intersections or drive half the speed limit. 
Crap, am I really doing this?
At the beginning of Christmas break Nic begged me to go see a movie about some gay kid. It didn’t play here in Sheridan. There is no way it would play here. It might turn us impressionable youths into the gays!! Too late. Anyway, Nic convinced my mom that she would likely get a better present if I were allowed to drive up to Billings, Montana to do my holiday shopping. Nic is basically an only child. They know how to manipulate parents. They are my best friend, but I wouldn’t say that to the guys on the team. The guys already give me a hard time for hanging out with them and some of their “freaky” friends. I just feel so comfortable around them.
Unlike now. My socks are wet from slopping to my car. Chucks are not good winter shoes. I jam the key into the door handle to unlock the car. No fancy fob for this ride. Hell, it doesn’t even have cruise control. Gotta love hand-me-downs. Now that Jess is working a job and going to school (Sheridan College, fancy) he was able to buy a better vehicle. So, I get the old Honda my parents bought used ten years ago. The hinges creak as I open the door and slouch into the driver’s seat.
After shoving my backpack into the floor, I set the package of Oreos on the passenger seat. They’re the holiday ones with the red filling. Not really like the movie said, but close.
The car squeals to life with a good forceful turn of the ignition. I should get my friend Joey to change that belt. It’s getting really bad. I carefully make my way out of the packed parking lot as my phone buzzes in my hoodie pocket. I know it’s Nic, so I don’t even look.
“Hi.”
“Hey babe?” They sound unsure. Great.
“Why do you call me that? Don’t you’ll make me more nervous?”
“Lee, it’s going to be great! I’m so excited for you. I wish I could watch from your backseat.” Nic ignored my question. Typical. 
“God you’re creepy.”
“Yeah. But you love me.”
“Uhhh....” I let silence hang in the chilly air. 
“Levi Pearson, you go give that boy his cookies and make his year!”
“How are you cockier than me? Do you think he’ll even get the reference? This is pretty out there.”
“I know he saw the movie, Sarah Riley showed me his secret Instagram post about seeing it and then journaling at City Brew for hours afterward!”
“How do you know it was actually his post?”
“Babe, the freaks know all the best gossip.”
“Seriously? The babe thing?”
“What about it?”
“Even your friends think we’re together!”
“That’s impossible Lee. They all know I’m a demi/panromantic asexual genderqueer!”
“Nic. No one in this county knows what that means, except for you.”
“You’re totally not my type.”
“You mean you’re not my type?”
“Right. Not everyone can be born with genitalia that you are disturbingly focused on. But you are so stoic that no one knows what your type is, other than maybe cheerleader or volleyball player. I’m the only one who sees you. Well until tonight. Then Patrick will see you. Hopefully more of you than I’ve seen.”
“Hey.” I listen to Nic’s peeling cackle for two traffic lights.
“Holy shit. Aren’t you almost there?”
“Just turning off 5th street.”
“Ok. Ok. Ok. I love you! You’ve got this!” With that she hangs up.
I shift into park and look up at the brick house. The lights in the living room shine through the curtains. A big pine tree blocks the only other window facing the street. That’s probably his parents’ room though. That’s how I remember the house when Brad Warren lived there. We used to hang out in grade school, and we’ve been on the same hockey team for two years. I’d ride my bike over here when mom and dad were both at work in the summer.
God. My thoughts are all over the place. I’m mostly just trying to not picture and also hope for the opportunity to see Patrick’s smile. I think a lot about that smile. I didn’t really notice it until he got his braces off last year. It seemed like he smiled for weeks. He was unfortunately outed by some football players in a pretty brutal manner. He hasn't smiled much since then. Nic says he’s been out to his friends for years, which makes us the only two queer guys in the 11th grade, as far as I can tell.
A shadow passes by the window and I jump. Crap. I probably look like a stalker sitting out here.
I grab my backpack off the floor and chuck a couple of textbooks out, so I can fit in the treat I have for Patrick.
The characters in the movie bond over Oreos. And I figured if I showed up and offered them to him, it could be easier than walking up to him at school and saying something dreadfully embarrassing for both of us.
Pearson. You got this.
I wrench my door open and trudge to the Williams’ front door. I can tell by the blue light that the tv is on and I can faintly hear the sounds of Wheel of Fortune. That show is banned in our house. We watch Jeopardy! and no other game shows.
The chime of the doorbell makes me jump. Breathe. In. Out. Hurried little footsteps come toward me. This must be his little brother. I’ve seen him at school functions with his parents. The knob jiggles as he attempts to open the heavy door.
“No! I got it!” The small voice protests. And lights blind me for a second as he stares up at me. I’m already six-one. He must think I’m a giant, as he stands there with his mouth open and his eye wide before squinting at me. “Who are you? Are you Thor?”
“Uhhh, Levi Pearson?” Wow Pearson intimidated by a juvenile.
“Who’s at the door, Alex?” His voice is clear and sharp and makes shiver run down my spine. And then he fills the crack in the doorway standing behind the shorter version of the same person. His bristly dark blonde curls are cropped short. And his light blue eyes look into my soul.
“Levi?”
“Uhh, hey.”
“Why are you at my house?”
“Can we talk?”
“This couldn’t wait until school in the morning?”
“Please?”
“We won’t get very far if you keep answering questions with questions.”
“Boys, shut the door! You’re letting all the heat out.” Their dad has an intimidating presence. He’s big and muscular, and always has a shadow of coal and grease on his skin. 
Patrick eyes me wearily.
“Well come in.”
“Thanks.”
The front door leads straight into the living room. They must have painted when they bought the house. It looks totally different. Wow. How does anyone really think I am hetero? I choose to blame my mother and her HGTV habit.
“Can I help you?”
“Oh sorry. Ummm. Did you get Speiker’s assignment from yesterday? I didn’t have a chance to see him before we left for the game.” He glares at me. This was a stretch. We have one class together. Algebra II. I’m decent at it. I mean I’m holding steady to my A-, but I can play dumb.
He looks unconvinced.
“You have friends in that class, why ask me?”
I’ve got to bullshit fast. Mini-Patrick has grown bored of me and now that the door is shut their dad is back in a recliner studying the next word puzzle.
“Well, I was on my way home, and your place is on the way–”
“Are you stalking me?”
“What!?” I try to wipe my now sweaty shaking hands on front of my hoodie. It’s wetter than my hands. This is going great!
“How do you know where I live?” He looks nervous and skeptical.
“Oh. Uhh. Brad used to live here before you.”
“Ooookaaay.”
“Anyway. Your place was on my way home and I need to keep my B in Algebra to stay on the active hockey roster.
“Boys, quit flapping your gums or get out of the living room, you’re interrupting the puzzle,” his dad said while waving us to the kitchen or some other part of the house.
“Fine. Come with me.”
Patrick lead me into the house, cautiously monitoring my every move.
“Patrick. Tell your friend shoes stay at the door.” I was so busy watching Patrick watch me that I didn’t even notice his mom perched at the kitchen counter. She scrutinized me over the top of red-framed reading glasses like a mean librarian, if librarians wore paint splotched bibs. She likes to call herself an artist, but Mom says she’s just crafty with too much free time. I don’t really know what that means but I’ve seen her name on fundraiser auction items.
Patrick clears his throat to get my attention.
“Oh god,” I jump, “sorry.” I dig my toe into the heal of my right shoe popping it off and then do the same with the left. I pick up my sneakers and trudge them back to the front door and take a big deep breath before rejoining Patrick in the kitchen. He leads me down a set of stairs into another living area. It’s basically just an older version of the one upstairs. The couch is more worn, and the recliner looks nonfunctional, but cozy.
“Wait here” he leaves me in the comfy room and my eyes wonder to a wall covered in family photos. I resist the urge to memorize every one of them. Geez. I am a stalker. To calm my fidgeting, I perch on the arm of the couch and stare at the ceiling. I slide my backpack off my shoulders and hold it by the loop at the top.
“Do you have your book with you?” I look down and he’s standing in front of me, still glaring.
“Oh, uh, I don’t really need the homework. I got it from Nic. I just–”
“Dude. What’s going on here? Why the fuck are you at my house then?” His voice is icy and cuts through my small shred of confidence.
“Pat. Calm down.”
“It’s Patrick.”
“Sorry. Patrick.”
“Is this some sort of hazing, jock bet? Infiltrate to home of the homo?”
My stomach had been trying to climb out of my chest and these words drop it to the floor. I slump forward and look at my wet pack and socks. The zipper is partially open, and I can see the bright blue package. I don’t know what to say to him. Of course, that is what this looks like.
“I just wanted to give you something.” I reach into my bag and wrestle to cookie package free. I drop it onto the seat of the battered chair and head quickly back up the stairs. I jam my soggy feet into my shoes, shoulder my bad and leave the warm house without looking at any of the Williams family.
Back in the Civic, I see that I have missed 10 calls and 20 texts. I have one voicemail from home. I opt for that first knowing that all the other communications are from Nic. Mom says dinner is ready and mine will be cold by 7. I check the phone’s screen. It’s just after 7. I’ll make something up. It’ll be fine.
Nic texts again as I close the voicemail window.
Nic: Tell me. Tell me. Tell me.
Nic: <3 <3 <3 <3
Instead of trying to type out my humiliation, I opt for a call instead. I hold the phone with my shoulder as I make a U-turn and drive the five blocks home. It doesn’t take that long for me to spew my rejection and humiliation. I park behind Dad’s old beat up truck and rest my head on my steering wheel as Nic attempts to construct further plans. They seem way more invested in my love life than I am right now. I’m half listening to Nic and half listening to my stomach growling. Tall athletes should not miss meals. But despite its protests I don’t think I can keep anything down.
“Lee!”
“Huh?”
“Are you listening to me or wallowing?”
“Definitely wallowing,” I huff. My breath is starting to fog up my windows.
“Babe, remember when you tripped on your own stick while skating toward the undefended goal in the game against Casper?”
“Wow. As if I didn’t feel shitty enough, thanks Nic.”
“Did you give up hockey after that game?”
“No, but that’s different.”
“You’re right it’s a different kind of match between boys playing with stick.”
“Cute.”
“The cutest enby you know.”
“You’re the only enbee I know.”
“Babe, I can hear you shivering. Go inside. Can me later.”
“Sure.”
I lift my head and realize I have sat here long enough for the snow to coat it windshield. And I think my socks are starting to freeze to my shoes.
1 note · View note
rohitkkumar · 3 years
Text
Pooja Batra celebrates International Yoga Day 2021 by doing tripod headstand
I married young, and had two perfect daughters, but my marriage was far from perfect. We had been young and in love. I was entering the community college and Denise was starting her senior year when we decided to tie the knot. Her family’s ready acceptance of me was a huge factor – the family I’d never had, making me feel like a real member of theirs. I can admit it now; I probably loved being a part of the family as much as I loved Denise.
Our split up was inevitable, two teenagers who knew nothing about life thinking their infatuation with each other would make everything else workout. I wasn’t an all-star, super jock, Rhodes Scholar with a 12″ swinging dick. I was just your average student, A’s and B’s, spending some bench time on the football team to get my letter, and losing my virginity at 18 to the girl I’d eventually marry.
When times got rough, we didn’t know how to handle it, and struck out at each other. Her family often stepped in and helped out when they could, but time after time, the great sex wasn’t enough to make up for the difference in our wants, needs and ambitions.
In the end, we gave up. Sometimes I think it’s a miracle we made it through 5 years. Our devotion to our children allowed us to finally see past our own issues, and work out a remarkably amiable truce, with our girls at the center. Even though Denise and I couldn’t live together, it turned out we got along a lot better divorced. We shared our daughters’ time, lived only one neighborhood apart, and worked together as a team to make our personal differences have as little impact on our girls as possible.
I had initially shared an apartment uptown, but eventually bought one of the smallest houses in the same school district, just to make things easier. It was a lot more than I needed most of the time, but when the girls stayed with me it felt like a home. And we only lived a couple of miles apart.
The neighborhood was nice, predominantly younger families, in older, smallish homes. Most of the people were cordial, kept up their property, and after a few years I knew many by name and would exchange greetings at the grocery store, or when out shopping. I had become suburbanized.
This was our fourth Christmas since the divorce. Denise was living with Eric, who I wish I could despise, but he was a decent guy with a great job and lousy taste in sports teams. He doted on my girls without trying to take my place. It had taken a while, but we’d developed a friendship, which wasn’t a bad thing.
My child support was pegged at just over $1500, with the kids on my health insurance. Even though we weren’t married long enough for alimony to kick in, I was paying another $500 a month just to make the kids’ lives better. And for me, that was all that really mattered.
The expense had been rough at first, but with little to concentrate on other than work, my performance skyrocketed. Two promotions in three years had made the financial aspect much less problematic, but increased travel had made the ability to be available for the girls less guaranteed. Denise was good about it, and worked with me. In return I picked up some more of the girls’ expenses, including music lessons and a piano.
Christmas was special. We celebrated Christmas an an extended family. I’d come over early, and we’d have a big family breakfast and open all the presents together. I really went all out to make sure the girls got their favorite items. At six and eight years old, they were still young enough to have simple wants, and the magic of Christmas was as real as it gets. The in-laws would come over in the afternoon with more presents and we’d have a good old fashioned Christmas dinner with all the trimmings. It was nice to be part of something.
I got a Christmas shut-down at work and Denise didn’t, so we agreed that they’d stay with me from Christmas to New Year’s, and any time she could get off, we’d usually work out something to get her time with the kids. It was understood that I wouldn’t leave town, at least not for more than a day.
Summer was great with the 2 weeks I got to spend with them, and we’d usually spend it on the beach. Christmas was still different. Christmas was magical.
I always was given the girl’s wish list, but I’d also start my shopping in late November for the must have items of the season. And I wasn’t stingy; I’d buy them all up, just to make sure I didn’t miss any. Stores, online auctions, Craigslist, I’d use any way possible to get my hands on the hottest presents. The first two years I’d caught hell from Denise for buying everything on the list, leaving nothing for them to get. Now I received a separate list of things I wasn’t allowed to buy.
So it was that I had just finished wrapping my forty-fourth present, all in glitter Barbie paper for Briana, and in Hannah Montana paper for Allora. December 5th, my earliest date so far to finish the bulk of my shopping. Sure, I’d pick up a few more things, including something for Denise and Eric, but my girls were taken care of. The presents were carefully spread around my living room, where they’d remain on display until just before Christmas, when I’d bring them over to Denise’s in a big ceremony.
The call came from Denise’s mother, Sharon. It took me 11 minutes flat to get to the hospital. I was still too late. Denise and Briana had both died en-route. Eric had passed away only ten minutes before I’d arrived. But Allora, my perfect little Allora, was fighting for her life, in critical condition. She’d always been a fighter, would never back down from any challenge. She’d beat this too, I just knew it.
It was a freak accident, with a car dodging out of the way to miss a coyote on the road. An 18 wheeler behind the car did his best to avoid the car in front of him, but ended up fishtailing, and taking out a suburban in the next lane over. That vehicle crossed the median and hit my ex-wife’s family van head-on. Six dead already and one little girl still fighting hard for her dear life.
Sharon and I kept a vigil over the little towhead, and when the doctors came out after 6 hours and declared the worst was over and she was in stable condition, we fell into each other’s arms and cried like children.
We stayed by her side, one of us always present, and Sharon called me when my baby woke up and spoke. For three long days we watched her slowly heal in the hospital, the worst of her bruises, cuts and contusions blossoming on the second day, and only just starting to fade again. I’m not a religious guy by nature, but I found myself on my knees beside her bed, praying to God to take care of her, and giving thanks for pulling her through this horrendous disaster.
At 4:18 pm on December 7th she passed away.
No warning, no reason, she was there, and then she wasn’t. The doctors suspected a clot. I suspected incompetence.
I finally understood how a person could get so down on themselves that life might not even feel worth living.
I went home and shut myself off from the world. After a while I took the phone off the hook. Hell, let’s be honest, I ripped the fucking wires out of the wall so I didn’t have to listen to one more bleeding heart tell me they were “sorry for my loss”. The cell phone was easier. I just turned it off.
Several people from work came by and assured me that I could take as much time as I needed. They’d bring me food, and news, and would leave as soon as they felt they’d spent the minimum time required socially by the situation.
Denise’s family took care of the funeral arrangements. They attempted to call, and even stopped by for my input. I gave them a check for $10,000 to take care of the girls, nearly wiping out my savings. What was I going to spend it on now? I couldn’t bring myself to go to the showing but I did take a shower and put on a suit for the funeral. It was a bleak day, gray skies, 20 mile an hour winds threatening to tear the top off of the outdoor tent. The ground was soggy from rain the previous night. Just perfect.
“Thanks, God. Piss on a guy when he’s down. Well, fuck You too.”
I shook the required hands, and kissed the offered cheeks until I just couldn’t take it any longer. All these fake people. Fake emotions. Tell me how sorry they were then go home to their perfect little families and eat meatloaf. Fuck’em. Fuck’em all.
Fourteen days. Two solid weeks in that dark house. I wouldn’t turn on any lights. No TV. I didn’t bathe, I didn’t shave. I sat in my chair or I lay in my bed and wallowed.
I had a few visitors after the first couple of days, but I’d rarely let them in, and before long they had the decency to stop showing up. Only Cathy from next door wouldn’t let me sink into complete oblivion. Every day, at least 3 times a day, she’d check in on me. I wouldn’t have let her in, but she had a key to the back door for emergencies and wasn’t afraid to use it.
She’d open the windows a crack, and goad me into getting out of bed and at least sit in the living room. She’d bring food, which she’d set in front of me, and refused to leave until I at least tried it. I insisted on getting my key back, and she handed it over willingly enough. And showed up again the next day. She’d made copies. Meddlesome bitch. Again, she badgered me into eating her breakfast.
And she’d talk. God, how that woman could talk! I got tired just listening.
All the neighborhood gossip, town gossip, political gossip, school gossip – she was plugged in everywhere and knew it all. Who was doing what, or whom. Griping about people who still had Thanksgiving decorations up, or had Christmas blowups in their front yard. Church fiascos and neighborhood vendettas, she would sit there, drink her tea (or bourbon and coke if the sun had set) and fill me in.
I didn’t care.
It had been two weeks since the accident. I’d lost more than 10 pounds, and really just wanted to crawl in a hole and die. But Cathy wouldn’t let me. She made it her personal mission to cheer me up, get me to respond, bring me back to life.
Then one day she let me have it with both barrels.
She walked up to me and slapped me across the face. Hard. “Damn it Alex! Snap out of it! Life is hard. And it isn’t fair, but as bad as you have it, there’s always someone who has it worse. Often in your own backyard if you have the eyes to see it.”
“What do you know about it?” I snapped viciously. “I notice your kids are alive.”
“I know my mother died when I was six, and my father left when I was thirteen, leaving Mike to raise my sister and me. He was seventeen years old. But he manned-up and did the job the best he could. That’s what I know. Life is hard.”
“Life is hard. Life’s a bitch and then you die. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. When God closes a door he opens a window. If I hear one more God-damned cliché I swear I’ll kill something,” I growled.
“Alex, you got a raw deal. You had two perfect little girls, and now they’re gone. Your past is shattered. Your little bit of immortality is lost. And as bad as you’ve got it, I’d remind you others have it worse, and they just press on. You need to as well,” Cathy told me, kneeling beside me and holding my hands.
The woman barely knew me. A middle-aged mother of three with grown kids, and a workaholic husband. Her life was her home, keeping it immaculate and decorated for every holiday and season. Now it seemed I was her newest project. Why should I matter that much to her? Couldn’t she see I didn’t want her help?
“Sure, starving Ethiopians, children in Nigeria dying of aids, Tibetan monks martyred, it’s a tough world. Boo hoo.”
“You don’t have to look as far as Ethiopia or Tibet. There are people right here, right on your own block that are really struggling. Open your eyes. If you don’t like the unfairness do something about it. Even up the odds a bit. Make a difference somewhere. Get back to living.”
Something she said must have gnawed its way down to my subconscious. I spent my usual 14 hours or so in bed, but when I awoke I was thinking about her constant comments about someone in my own backyard that had it worse.
I cataloged each person on my block, in my head, and nobody really had it that bad. Sure, Neil, three doors down had lost his job, but his wife was still working, and he was looking. The Harris’s on the corner had a boy in Iraq, but as far as I could tell he was still Ok, and they had three more at home. The Martins, one down from the corner, fought all the time, and even had the cops called in on them once but they were still together. What did Cathy mean?
I expanded the radius of consideration to include the blocks surrounding us. Then it hit me. Across the alley in back, two houses past Cathy’s own. Six months ago. Barry Morrison had driven into an empty field behind the local middle school and eaten a bullet. I didn’t know much about the family – I just knew there was one.
When Cathy came over, I had showered off the top two layers of grime and sweat, and was drinking a Coke in the living room.
“Good morning, Alex, beautiful day outside. Why don’t we go out on the porch?”
“The Morrisons. Tell me about them.”
She placed her mug of tea in the microwave, warming it up, then walked out my front door and sat in one of my rocking chairs out front.
Irritated, I followed, and sat in the chair beside her. “The Morrisons?”
“Sandy and her daughter Erica. You won’t see much of her; she’s working two jobs trying to keep the house over their heads. They’re still fighting with the insurance company over payment. Suicide clause won’t pay under two years. He had insurance for years, but just around two years ago he changed the terms. She’s been trying to sell the house, but it’s underwater, and nobody’s buying.”
“How’s the little one?”
“Erica’s not doing so well. She’s seeing a counselor twice a week, and hardly speaks anymore. The school’s talking about holding her back,” Cathy explained. She sounded sad.
“Do we know anything more about why he did it?”
“No crimes, he wasn’t fired, no embezzling, it’s not clear what it was about. Apparently he’d been depressed for quite a while, but the underlying situation is still a blank as far as I know.”
“Harsh on the family, going out like that,” I told her, finding the whole idea hard to grasp.
“To say the least. The poor woman is worn to a frazzle.”
“And how does this all matter to me?” I asked.
“It doesn’t. It doesn’t have to matter to anybody. They’re on their own. Alone.”
“No family help?”
“Not that I know of. If they’re around, we don’t see much of them, that’s for sure.”
“Cathy, how the hell do you know all this stuff?” I had to ask.
“People just like to talk to me. I’m a very good listener,” she told me with a big smile.
We sat quietly enjoying the crisp air, finishing our drinks.
“You’re a good neighbor too, Cathy. Thanks,” I said softly.
“That’s what neighbors are for,” she said, reaching out and patting me on my arm.
That’s what neighbors are for.
* * *
Cathy brought me dinner again and I realized I was starving. She beamed at me when I finished the whole platter.
“Let’s go for a walk, Alex. You could use a stretch of the legs.”
It had gotten chilly, and we bundled up a bit. She took the lead and we walked down the block and turned up the neighborhood. We headed back up the next block and she regaled me with the entire history and habits of the inhabitants of each place we passed. She might have been a good listener, but I had to wonder when she ever was quiet long enough to hear anything.
It was obvious when we got to Sandy Morrison’s place. The “For Sale” sign was a dead giveaway. The unkempt yard and overgrown bushes indicated a lack of care for months. It couldn’t help with the sales prospects. The door paint was faded, and there were no Christmas lights or decorations set up. I thought the Realtor wasn’t earning their commission, letting the place show like this. Through the window I could see a desktop Christmas tree, maybe two feet tall, lit up all in white.
Strangely, Cathy stopped speaking before we got to the house, and didn’t speak again until the end of the block. “Sad,” was all she said.
We took a round-about path back to my house, and our conversation had returned to the safety of weather concerns, community issues, and such, carefully skirting any discussion of the Morrisons.
I was feeling the chill after the walk, and invited Cathy in for a cup of coffee, Irish fortified if she so desired.
We drank our coffee in front of my gas fireplace, warming our old bones. Damn that neighbor of mine, and her good intentions! She’d not only gotten me to think of something other than my own misery, and the unfairness of it all, but she had me thinking about those poor girls behind me, and what they must be going through. Damn it! It wasn’t fair.
I guess I still wasn’t ready for pleasant company. Angry at the world, I threw my mug at the wall, shattering it, and leaned over with my head in my hands, doing my best to hold back the tears. Big boys don’t cry.
Cathy stood and ran her fingers through my hair for just a moment before leaving out the back door. Kind enough to leave me alone to wallow in my misery a little longer.
* * *
December 22nd. Just three days until Christmas.
When Cathy came over that morning, I was already up and dressed. I had my working duds on and coffee and bagels ready.
“You’re up early,” she commented, helping herself to the java.
“It’s almost 10,” I reminded her. “Not so awfully early.”
She laughed. “Seems to me anything before noon is quite early as of late. Got plans?”
I nodded. “Thought I’d head over to the Morrison’s and see what I can do about the outside of the house. Clean it up a bit. Make it a little more presentable if they’re really planning on selling it.”
“That’s mighty neighborly of you.”
“It’ll give me something to do. I need to get out of this damned house.”
After our coffee, she walked with me across the alley, all my yard-work gear in a wheelbarrow. The grass was dormant, but long, and the bushes were out of control. I didn’t notice when Cathy left, but she returned in a few hours with some sandwiches for lunch, insisting I take a break.
I’d finished the bush trimming and had mowed the lawn, bagging the trimmings. I was just finishing the edging when she appeared. I took a break, and listened to her chatter about the neighborhood activities, and how sad it was that in the past few months nobody had offered to do as much as I had.
“I guess we victims of fate need to stick together.”
“It already looks 100% better. If you want to work in the backyard, I have a key to the gate.”
“It figures you would.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked.
“It just doesn’t surprise me. I bet you’ve been helping out when you could.”
She sighed. “Not too much. She’s too damn proud. Doesn’t want any help from anybody.”
I shook my head. “Now you tell me. She’ll probably call the police on me.”
“So what if she does? You know you’re doing the right thing. I’ll bail you out if need be.”
I let her unlock the back gate, and saw I had my work cut out for me. The back yard was worse than the front. The fence needed work as well, some boards were broken and loose, and one whole section was sagging. Luckily, my tools were only a couple of hundred feet away, across the alley, and I was soon at work, determined to finish before the residents arrived home.
The biggest problem was one of the fence posts which had rotted out at the bottom. A new post and some quick-setting cement, solved that problem. Within an hour I’d be able to reattach the fence crossbeams to the new 4×4.
I turned to see a young girl, maybe 7 or 8 years old, watching me from the porch. Crap.
0 notes
fictionalbiographer · 3 years
Text
The Inappropriate End to the Story of Jasmine Stratton
At 12 years old Jasmine asked the reason behind why her parents picked to name her after the flower. They answered that it was because the flower meant ‘a gift from God’, her mother liked it, and the fragrance was versatile with the hope that one day she would grow up to be a useful person in society.
            She found it funny when her parents told her the reasons that she burst with laughter, her parents all confused in turn asked why.
            “You might as well named me Vanilla,” she laughed.
            “Well, that’s not nice. We prayed and put a lot of consideration into choosing your name.” Her mother took off her reading glasses to have a better look at her.
            “Also vanilla is black and bitter.” Her dad pointed out.
            “First of all, it is technically a gift from God, along with everything else. Second, it’s not bitter ‘cause Mom likes to bake with it, she likes it alright. Lastly, the fragrance is ‘versatile’; vanilla muffin, vanilla ice cream, vanilla latte, vanilla perfume, I can go on if you need more proof.” One by one she counted on her fingers, proving her point.
            “John.” Her mother looked at Dad as if saying ‘Please deal with your daughter.’
            He looked up from his book and turned to Jasmine saying, “You’re in trouble young lady, please go to your room right now.”
            Before she went out the door, she turned her head around and said, “You know, I really wouldn’t have minded if I was named Vanilla.”
            “I don’t think you’d say that if you were.” Her mom sighed, massaging her temple.
            She saw the slight upturn on the corners of her dad’s mouth before she walked out.
           
            Jasmine didn’t like jasmine.
            Moreover being associated with this delicate thing. So, she didn’t. When people ask her name she would tell them her family name. She modeled her life after villains in comic books; tormented lonely genius. She had virtually no friends because she thought they couldn’t understand her, all they do were being boy-crazy, making stupidity a quirky quality, and gossip. They were not productive at all.
            On the other hand, she read books religiously, considering both her parents were professors, it’s basically a family activity. She was a little pessimistic about the future which made her realistic, and she had only one friend in other word; a side kick.
            Villain? Check, check, check.
            A specific sequence of knocks could be heard on her door.
            “This is John of Stratton who has come a long long way from the drawing room in the north. I bring news of peace, may I be permitted to be in thy presence?”
            “Yes, you may Sire John of Stratton. It must have been a long journey. Please take a seat.” She opened her door, her father did a little head bow and so did she, then they each sat on bean bags near the bookshelves corner of her bedroom.
            They sat in comfortable silence.
            “What are you reading now kiddo?”
            “A Little Life. It’s good, there is a tormented soul in there whom I so can relate.”
            “Oh, dark as usual.”
            “Well, that’s my brand.” She shrugged.
            “I see, I might take that up one day after you’re done.”
            “I don’t recommend it for you Dad. It’s like hardcore, and you have a tender soul, it’ll scar you for life.”
            “Vanilla. You’re dramatic.” Dad reached out to ruffle her hair gently, that nickname had become their inside joke, she smiled. “Your mother is going to stay in Boston this weekend for that conference she’s so excited about these past 3 months.”
            “Oh trust me I know. Mom became like a maniac when she’s in the ’zone’.” They shared laughs on that. Mom really can’t be bothered when she is being serious on her work, she debates with herself, suddenly running to write, and books can be found lying open everywhere. It’s a whole thing.
            “That means that we are going to spend this weekend together unless you already have plans with your friends?”
            “Dad, what are you talking about? You’re my friend.”
            “You melt my heart. What do you want?” John put his hand over his left chest and she laughed, talking to her Dad was one of her favorite thing to do. He didn’t patronize her, and his listening made her feel understood.
            “I want to go to Frank’s Bar & Grill.”
            “Oh?”
            “Yes, there’s this open mic thing that a theatrical community hold there this Saturday night for their 5th year anniversary. I want to sign up.”
            “I see.” He calculated in his mind, he wanted to make sure she had someone to go to and be open with because all tight restrictions do is make great liars. People are going to do what they want to do anyway. It’d be better that she goes with supervision he thought, rather than not.
            “Alright, little vanilla. We have to make this a secret mission if we both still want to live in this house.”
            “I won’t tell if you don’t.” she put her fingers up in a ‘V’ form, looking away.
            “Roger that, also no alcohol you’re still 15. Over.” Dad talked to his fist near his mouth as if talking with a walkie-talkie.
            “Copy that. Over.” She followed suit. John checked his watch.
            “For dinner tonight, I can cook us some baked chicken.”
            “Oh no Dad, no offense but we shouldn't burn the house before Mom gets home. Let’s just get pizza.”
 
When they arrived the place was already packed with people, the seats were almost all filled up. Jasmine had signing up as the first order of business so that’s what she did. She said happy anniversary to the founder who stood near the end of the bar, filled up some form, exchanged numbers, the works. She joined her father, he handed her a wine glass filled with red liquor.
            “You said that I can��t drink alcohol and yet you’re giving me red wine.” She tried to smell it the way she saw someone in a movie had done but she didn’t know what to look for so she brought the glass to her lips.
            “Is the red wine good?” John asked calmly.
            “It’s tart and sour. Is this what red wine taste like?” Clicking her tongue in an attempt to decipher the taste. “No, that’s what cranberry juice taste like. Do you like it?” He swirled his own glass, smiling at her.
            “Can’t believe I’m fooled,” She made a shocked expression. “But, I’ve never had it in a wine glass before so it’s pretty cool.”
            “Good. I am having the same drink because no drunk driving. Do you want to play wine connoisseurs?”
            “And snobbishly make ridiculous comments on whatever is on stage? You don’t even have to ask Dad.” She hopped on the barstool. They had a great time drinking fake wine and critiquing really silly stuff.
           
But her Dad of course couldn’t always be with her all the time, he’s still a professor after all. The theory she had learned when she was in 4th grade: ‘human being is a social being’ punched her in the gut. As her parents became busier, she too busied herself with school to cover up that feeling of loneliness which ate away at her soul. However when she reached 18, running away from it was no longer sustainable, it had caught up to her.
            Her body gave opposite signals simultaneously; high level of Ghrelin in her body makes her feel hungry and yet she would want to throw up at the sight of food as if she had food poisoning.
            She felt sad for no reason.
            Often she cried when she got home from school, on the floor in the bathroom trying to shower, or when she couldn’t sleep for days in a row. The pinnacle of it all is that she didn’t feel pleasure in doing what she loved to do anymore. She couldn’t feel anything anymore. None. Nada. She’s exhausted.
            It would be nice to sleep and not wake up she thought.
            “Jasmine.” Her mother one day woke her up after a sleepless night. “We’re going to either a doctor or a therapist, you choose. But, we’re going now.”
            “I can’t, there are final tests for economics and English today.”
            “You can’t keep going on like this.”
            “The alternative would be me being dropped out as a senior. What do you think of that?”
            “No, the alternative would be worse than that,” Her mother said grimly, Jasmine closed her eyes as her mother continued. “Also it’s not about me. Your hair is falling out in clumps, you feel nauseous often — you can barely sit to eat dinner, let alone stomach a healthy portion — that your weight drops really fast and I notice those blackened bags under your eyes.”
            There was a beat of silence, then Jasmine looked into her mother’s almost neutral face and replied “I don’t know this person. Since when do you care Mother?” There was a slight change in her mother’s expression to hurt when she said that, it went as fast as it came but she did catch that. She expected it, she wanted it. It’s cruel she knew, but her mother had mastered the skill of being unaffected that she wanted to extract any reaction from her. She felt a little satisfaction from seeing that.
            “I can’t help you if you don’t want to be helped.” Her mother got up from her bed and slowly closed the door.
            She sighed. Sure, why not try this. If it didn’t work, she could just jump off a cliff right?
 
Jasmine is now 25 years old. She still goes to therapy once a week and take anti-depressants, to help balance back those empty feelings that made her world gray to at least decent. She doesn’t live with her parents anymore, she lives in a little apartment in New York, ride those subways with rats moving here and there. Her breakfast consists of bagel and a cup of coffee, her lunch the $1 pizza from the sidewalk pizza parlor. It all started because somehow she finished high school, higher education, and got accepted to work at New York Magazine.
            Her relationship with her Mother got better, they meet for dinner once every 3 months although her parents are not together anymore, Dad had retired and chose to move to Netherlands because he wanted to become a painter. And while her mother supports him she didn’t want to move to Rotterdam and so they parted. They remain in good relationship which is all that matters for Jasmine.
            If you asked her now as she sits on one of the benches in Central Park on a calm Sunday morning while she waits for her friend, a fellow journalist at NYM.
            “How are you still alive?”
            She would probably be stunned for a second, and then took another couple seconds to think before saying, “I don’t know.” lightheartedly, then maybe she would add, “My feelings get better, my relationships with other people and my mom got better, my parents split and after all of that somehow I came out okay. I mean I didn’t get my childhood dream to become a great genius villain, but I get to be a journalist at New York Magazine and I think it’s not too shabby.”
            She’d pause to ponder a bit more and then she’d shake her head.
            “Even though now I live in New York and it’s always noisy, I don’t know. I don’t know how it all happened but I’m okay.” That’s when the friend comes in the picture and she would say that it was nice to meet you, wished you a good day, and walked away.
0 notes
maraudersmessrs · 6 years
Text
Remus Lupin and the Prisoner of Azkaban--- Chapter 10: Adjustment Period
Ao3 link
Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Chapter 13 / Chapter 14 / Chapter 15 / Chapter 16 / Chapter 17 / Chapter 18 / Chapter 19 / Chapter 20 / Chapter 21 / Chapter 22 / Chapter 23 / Chapter 24 / Chapter 25 / Chapter 26 / Chapter 27 / Chapter 28 / Chapter 29 / Chapter 30 / Chapter 31 / Chapter 32 / Chapter 33 / Chapter 34
Fully sated after the opening feast--truly, more full than he had been in probably years-- Remus managed to stroll accurately enough to get him to the right wing and floor for the staffroom. He had never, however, had occasion to actually find where it exactly was; unlike Prongs, who had apparently had quite the prank planned for 5th year in there that had been thwarted by McGonagall. There was a pause on his easy stride when he realized exactly how seamlessly the nickname had fit back into his thoughts. He gazed around the vast stone hall and smiled, a little sadly. It made it easy, this place, to recall what he had had here.
Someone was watching him. The uneasy prickle on the back of his neck would usually have put him on the defensive in the Muggle world, but his internal danger barometer was as low as it had ever been. Probably even less so than when he was a student, as he wasn't angling to pull some disruptive caper, now. He glanced around, casually, expecting some ghost or a portrait and locked eyes with a livid looking Severus Snape, standing at the head of the staircase behind Remus.
“Severus--” was startled out of him, but before he could even form a coherent thought, the man strode toward him and whipped out his wand. Remus’ own hand spasmed toward his own in shock, but he stopped himself with an effort. He kept his hands empty at his side.
“I don't know what you're playing at, mutt, but I'm the one who is going to be making your monthly potions. If you so much as wander down the wrong corridor I might make an unfortunate mistake,” Snape hissed through his teeth, not brandishing the wand but holding it hard at his side, as if he expected Remus to start hexing him.
He blinked, utterly bewildered. “Nice to see you too, Severus, hope you had a nice summer…”
Snape's pale face twisted further into a snarl. “You--”
Remus held up a placating hand, chastising himself for antagonizing him. Bad habits… “I apologize, but, honestly, Severus, I don't have any idea what you could be talking about. What potion? And what exactly would I be trying?” He tried to keep anything that could be construed as mocking out of his tone. Snape seemed to be in some kind of towering paranoia that Remus just could not parse.
Remus had never liked the man, even if he had felt sympathy and guilt toward the things James and Sirius had done to him. He hadn't deserved to be mistreated, but he had run with the crowd who had all developed into Death Eaters; those that favored pure blood and societal cleansing. Remus being who and what he was, they would never see eye to eye, but he trusted Dumbledore enough that he believed Snape to no longer be a Dark Wizard. He had no desire to be openly hostile toward him.
Snape scoffed and studied him a moment. His aggressiveness seemed to be melting into merely intense suspicion. “I know about you and I know about Black and I know about your “condition.” I have made it clear to Dumbledore that you cannot be trusted and while he seems to think he can let you back in the castle, I am unconvinced. You’ve already shown yourself to be lacking in moral fiber. You’re a danger to everyone in this castle. Which is why Dumbledore is practicing charity and having me make you the Wolfsbane Potion; it’s not as if you could afford it otherwise,” he added, nastily.
Remus’ mind was whirling at the train of thought that Snape was dragging him through, trying to find his footing and trying to find his proper reaction. The accusations stung a bit, though not as much as they would from someone whose opinions he actually cared about, and he wondered at what tact he ought to take. Responsible, he sighed inwardly, undoubtedly. “Well...I can assure you I would never help a criminal harm children. If you know me and you know Si--Black, then you know how much he has also taken from me and...I would hope...you would leave room to grow as a person. Given your own story.” As Snape’s nostrils flared, he moved on. “And I wasn’t told I would be able to utilize the Wolfsbane Potion that’s…” he was honestly boggled at the thought. He had heard vague rumors of something like that being developed, as disconnected from the Wizarding world as he was, but never had ever entertained the thought of what it would be like, for he would never have the resources to try it. “Amazing, frankly. Thank you, Severus. I really...I really do regret how things were when we were at school. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want your apologies. You and your opinion mean nothing to me--” Well, at least we’re on the same page, the irritated James-voice quipped. “And nothing you could say would ever make up for the fact that you don’t belong here and you never did. Monsters don’t belong at Hogwarts. Keep your regrets,” he sneered, “The only reason I’m tolerating you is because Dumbledore is on your side. For now.”
“No wonder my ears are burning, I’m being discussed,” came a pleasant voice from behind Severus, who turned whirled as Dumbledore serenely crested the stairs. “Is there a problem, gentlemen?”
“None.” Snape glanced disdainfully at Remus. “Sir.” He swept away, down the corridor.
The 2 of them watched him go, silently, until he was out of sight. “Everything alright, Remus?”
He took a breath. “Not an official complaint, mind, but I do believe he doesn’t like me.”
The joke surprised a chortle out of the Headmaster. “It may have been mentioned.”
“We treated him like crap.”
Dumbledore stayed thoughtfully silent.
“I had hoped that maybe we could be adults about this. I wanted to apologize.”
Dumbledore sighed. “People use their experiences in different ways; some to learn, some to strengthen. Some to embitter and hold their wounds close to fester. Severus never seemed one too keen on personal introspection, and I rather think he likes being the victim in his story.”
“But he was. At school.”
He gave Remus a knowing look out of the corner of his eye as they still faced down the corridor Snape had gone down. “I do recall that he often gave back just as good as he got. And...childhood is difficult. The teenage years particularly, I have found, as we seem to have a never ending supply of case studies in our halls every year. It is the choice of those who are hurt how they will try to heal and in my estimation, Severus has not chosen to grow past this hurt, but rather grow around it and within it. It can be easier than trying to recognize your own shortcomings. Ah, but enough gossip!” He clapped his hands together and beamed, looking Remus up and down. “Staff meeting!”
Remus devoured this experience eagerly, being the first teacherly meeting he’d partaken in. They talked about the incident on the train and when he began to bring up his offended opinions, the look on Dumbledore’s face cut him short; he knew. He agreed. He would make himself heard to those who needed to hear it. Remus was satisfied.
They shared about their summers and milestones, joys, and hardships they had come across since they had last been together. Snape stayed silent, arms and ankles crossed, shooting dark looks at Remus, which seemed to be standard as no one tried to engage him further. Hagrid  and Professor Flitwick were quite chatty and he met a few other Professors he hadn’t had much contact with as a student. McGonagall, Sprout, Sinestra, Pomfrey. most all of them welcomed him warmly into the fold, with only a few embarrassing ‘I remember when you…’ stories. Filch was taking a leaf from Snape’s book and lurked cantankerously near the door, eying him suspiciously as if he were about to pull out a dungbomb and set it off right then. Remus tried to give him a reassuring smile, but the man just said, “Pah!”
As they concluded the meeting, McGonagall and Dumbledore rose to speak to him, both regarding him gravely. “I was extremely perturbed to hear that you were evicted, Lupin,” McGonagall said reprovingly.
He had no idea what to say to that. Sorry? “Er…”
“Remus, you could have asked to stay--” Dumbledore began and then stopped himself, shook his head. “You’re allowed to ask for help, my boy. You could have stayed here, if you were having these problems.”
Remus just looked at him blankly. It had never even occurred to him to reach out; never occurred to him that anyone would care at all where he had stayed. And Dumbledore seemed to realize this. “Here, come,” he said warmly, and held out a long, shepherding hand. “Let me show you to your rooms.”
Rooms. Plural.
As they walked, Remus’ ears heated when his heart plucked at the thing he so wanted to say, but almost feared looking at it directly. Lest it disappear. “I--I wanted to thank you, Professor. Snape told me about the Wolfsbane Potion and...frankly, I’m so honored that you would let me have this opportunity. You don’t know what this means to me.”
The bright blue eyes that turned on him were kind. “No, I don’t think I ever could, fully. Which is why I wanted to do this. Just do your best, Remus. That’s all anyone can ever ask.”
“Done, sir.”
19 notes · View notes
canaryatlaw · 7 years
Text
Alright, so today was good. I successfully convinced myself to get out of bed at 10:15, so that's progress. I'm hoping I can fall asleep on only one Xanax tonight but I'm not gonna push it if it's not working. Anyway, I got up and got dressed, then pretty soon after headed out to brunch to meet my cousin with my brother. This is the cousin who's baby shower I was at two weeks ago and she's due in mid-July, so by the next time I'm in NY she'll have had the baby. I'm so excited to be an unofficial aunt!! Lol. I'm hoping it's a girl, so I can buy a ton of adorable little girl clothes, because they're so adorable they just make me melt. And if not I can always just give them to my other friend who is having a girl a week or so afterwards, so that works lol. We were going to this place's new location that I'd been to their old one of, but it's. Even some time. I ended up getting a Belgian waffle with berries, and it was okay, not as good as I was expecting but oh well. The conversation was good, we talked about the baby and upcoming delivery as well as just catching up on each other's lives and the latest adventures we've had, and of course some gossip from our former school lol which is always both interesting and rather ridiculous, so that's always enjoyable. But yeah, overall it was a pleasant meal. Drove back with my brother and discussed various legal things, which is what most of our conversations consist of because it's pretty much the only topic we can have a civil conversation about without it devolving into some sort of argument (sigh). I have been needling him lately just because I can get away with it by like when someone would say something related to men and women but fairly benign I'd just like sigh and be like "ugh, the patriarchy" or "thanks patriarchy" (in the way one would say thanks Obama) and I know it always gets a rise out of him and I immediately have to tell him I'm kidding and just teasing him but he still is all peeved about it and it's so funny, it feels like finally getting a very small amount of payback for all the torture he gave me in our childhood (double sigh, but not getting into that now). By the time we got home we didn't have all that much time before we had to head to the grad party for our family friend's youngest son, so I worked on cleaning out my purse in an attempt to find my insurance card, which was unsuccessful much to my irritation. I'm hoping I'll find it when I get back to Chi tomorrow and I just like left it somewhere random, otherwise I have to order a new one which is a pain, and they always want to make a copy of it when I go to PT appointments so I know they wouldn't be pleased if I didn't have it. Sigh. My purse definitely needed to be cleaned out anyway though haha, it was collecting a lot of junk papers and dirt at the bottom. It's not too worn out, but I'm not sure how much more life it has in it. I can probably get it to last through August at least when I come back to New York. I tend not to do very much personal shopping when I'm in Chi just because I like doing those things with other people and usually just do them with my sister. I was anxious to get to the party because I wanted to see my friend, the older brother of the kid who graduated that I grew up with and did shows with, who I haven't seen since December when we saw jersey boys, and my parents tend to take forever to get places (much to my eternal irritation) so I went ahead with my younger brother and my younger sister, since we apparently needed multiple cars for people to leave at different times anyway. We arrived on time, but we're still some of the first people there besides a few family members. It was mostly family people arriving at first, most of whom we know because we've seen them at many many parties over the years. They always have a huge 4th of July party with all of the family in attendance because their oldest son's birthday is July 3rd and their dad's birthday is July 5th, so with the 4th already being a holiday it just makes sense to have a party, so I'm used to seeing these people every year. There were some children, a little boy that was 20 months old, and then two little girls, the older of which I had played with at the 4th of July party two years ago and ended up pushing her on the swing and talking to her for a good amount of time, because I love children of course lol. I knew she wouldn't remember though, she's 5 years old haha. And then her younger sister is about 2, and I don't think I've seen her before. So I was playing with them a bit and then assisting in getting their dog in the back because the older girl was absolutely petrified of her (she's about 20 pounds a giant ball of black and white fluff, but children aren't always rational) and then helped them set up a movie in the super intense home theatre they have (they're like giant movie buffs) so just like slowly winning the kids trust lol so I enjoyed that. We stayed at the party pretty much all night, mostly hanging with my friend and sister, but also talking to various people throughout it. The second oldest brother who is my age and I was good friends with for years when we were younger (until his younger brother started doing theatre with me and we became much closer) had his new girlfriend there, who by all accounts is his first girlfriend, so we spent a while talking to her and teasing him about various things. This is the boy I took to prom and have known literally my whole life, so I definitely get to tease him about this lol. She was really nice though and I like her a lot, so I'm happy for him. At one point in high school, like freshman year, I thought I might have romantic feelings for him, but it was a very fleeting thought and passed rather quickly. If I was interested, I would've made a move a long time ago lol so I'm just happy for him. His younger brother however is a more complicated story. I've kind of vacillated between considering him romantically or just platonically for a few years now. I think I'm romantically attracted to him but not sexually attracted to him? Like I think we could have a great romantic relationship and I'm attracted to that potential but I can't see us really having a sexual relationship. And I mean, he's one of my best friends and has been for years, we're really close and have done so much together and just really enjoy each other's company, so I think to some degree those type of romantic feelings are just a result of that. I have zero idea if he has any attraction to me, it's never a subject we've broached and honestly not one I've ever considered actually broaching with him. I figured if he decided to bring it up I'd probably be willing to give it a chance, but I'm not gonna just go for it when I'm not sure how I feel. Anyway, I'm getting off topic. I enjoyed talking to everyone though, even if I had to ignore a few comments that bugged me a bit for the sake of not starting fights at family events. There was a bit of a spat between my mother and my sister, starting over my sister's shirt that my mother didn't approve of, and then moving on to the subject of therapy. My mom was saying she doesn't want to do it because she doesn't think my sister needs it, and I was just like "well you're not in her mind so you can't really make that determination" and basically just ended up mediating the fight while also advocating for my sister. I've always, always encouraged parents to take their teenagers feelings seriously and not just blow them off as teenagers being overdramatic and hormonal. Teens aren't stupid, they have strongly developed feelings like any adult would and if they say they're struggling you need to listen to them and take them seriously. I know too many parents who didn't and it ended up really hurting their kid and their relationship with their kid because of it. By the end of it my mom wasn't fully convinced, she said we'll talk about it more, but I'm gonna keep on her about it by phone because I very strongly feel this is something that needs to happen. My mom was objecting that my sister doesn't open up to her and she needs to do that before she can open up to someone else, but I said I think the exact opposite is true, that if she gets comfortable opening up to someone else it's more likely that she will start opening up to my mother, and that did seem to make sense to her. So hopefully she's considering it. I'm not a psychologist, but I know my sister has anxiety issues and I've been saying that since she was like 8 and started doing poorly in school, and she often says she feels like she has issues controlling her anger and I feel like that definitely needs to be addressed. So hopefully that will work out. I think we ended up leaving around 9, and upon getting home I immediately grabbed my laptop and tuned in to the live recording of the DCTV podcasts marathon they've been doing all day that I was just then being able to listen to, and I spent the better part of two hours listening to that and commenting in the chat while also doing various other computer things. It's always my goal in the chat to say something that gets them to mention it on the actual recording, and I was successful twice tonight, both with very funny reactions, so I felt good about that. After that ended I got in the shower then went on my phone for a bit before writing this post, and now I'm gonna go to sleep because I have to wake up nice and early to get to the airport in the morning. Goodnight my lovelies. Sleep restfully.
0 notes
travelingfrenzy · 7 years
Text
NYC 2017 - Birthday Celebration
This post is a little delayed but I told my aunt that I would blog about our trip so I will. One of my best friends, my sister and I decided to go to the Plaza in honor of our 25th birthdays a few years ago. We love doing tea parties so going to the plaza for afternoon tea seemed fitting. Now that we all have full time jobs we can afford to splurge every once in a while and we decided to make a weekend of it. 
Living so close to NYC (about a two hour drive), this wasn’t our first time in the big city by far. However, we did take the bus which is something I have never done before. Getting on the bus from our hometown was easy, getting on the bus at the Port Authority in NYC, not so much but more on that later. We got on the bus at around 6 pm on Friday so we didn’t have to take anytime off from work. Once we got off the bus, we were tired and ready to get to our hotel so we did the non-local thing and got in a cab. It was a good reminder of the crazy drivers of NYC. I’m pretty sure our cab driver wanted to be a NASCAR racer or in fast or furious or something. He drove so fast, cut off so many cars, and almost killed us a few times but somehow we made. Actually, he past our hotel and dropped us off two blocks past it but we didn’t want to pay for him to loop around the block and his english wasn’t great. Checking into the hotel was pretty easy and we wanted to find somewhere to eat once we dropped our bags. It was late and in the city that never sleeps, a good amount of the restaurants were unfortunately closing soon. We found the cutest little Italian place with the nicest chef/owner ever. If you’re ever in Midtown East, I recommend you check out Fabio Cucina Italiana (214 E 52nd St). The food was so good, so fresh tasting/authentic (I’ve been to Italy so I know, kind of ;)), the atmosphere was fantastic and the staff and chef were so friendly. We were there a little after close and they didn’t make us feel rushed at all. They even suggested we try the dessert. After we told the chef that we were in NYC celebrating our 25th birthdays, he gave us the desserts for free. After we left the restaurant, it was drizzling a little so we went back to our hotel and drank a bottle of wine that we brought. We had a corner room at the hotel with windows wrapping around the building so it was nice to relax with my friends, drink some wine and watch the hustle of the city. 
The next day was the day we’ve all been waiting for... Plaza day. We were in NYC and we didn’t have afternoon tea until 1 so we had to have a bagel in NYC. Luckily there was a bagel place a block away (we could actually see it outside our window). It was called Ess a Bagel and it had all the cream cheese and bagel flavors you could imagine. The line was kind of long but it was definitely worth it. Actually, we got lucky since the line was long but it was inside the building. Later and the next day, we looked out the window and the line was wrapping around the block. After we ate our bagels it was time. Time to get ready for the day we have all been waiting for since high school. We started showering, curling our hair and doing our make-up. While we getting ready, we were drinking a rose bottle of sparkling wine. We were living the high life people. Something really unfortunate happen while we were getting ready. Something really unfortunate indeed. While getting ready, I stepped on the curling iron. It burnt the bottom of my foot pretty badly but it was Plaza day. Nothing was going to stop me from going. My friend freaked out though and ran to Duane Reed (Walgreens in NYC, I’m not sure why the name is different) to get something for my foot while I put it in cold water in the tub and continued to do my sister’s make-up. It is semi funny to look back on but it has been a week and I’m on crutches so only semi. It’ll probably be funnier as time passes. Anyways, it was time to go to the Plaza. Our hotel was only a ten minute walk and we had planned to walk down 5th Ave on our way and see the fancy stores but burnt foot so... also it was raining so it was fine. We were going to take a cab but Uber was so much quicker and honestly cheaper so. However, there was a science march in central park that day so our cab driver dropped us off about two blocks away from the Plaza and we walked/limped the rest of the way. Even though I’ve been to NYC many times, this was my first time in the Plaza I’m pretty sure. It was beautiful. Afternoon tea is at their Palm Court restaurant and its pretty much in the lobby so it isn’t hard to find. We sat down and we were in heaven. It was so nice and we couldn’t believe we were there. We got the New Yorker afternoon tea. They let us switch out sandwiches we didn’t want which was good. We all got to pick a flavor of tea and the pots were huge. They have you a good amount of sandwiches, a lot of cute mini desserts and scones. We even got champagne because ya know, Treat Yo Self!! The waiter forgot about our champagne so he gave us all another free glass which was totally unnecessary because we were preoccupied with tea and food but we weren’t going to turn it down. We were so full. We didn’t finish it all. We were there for about two hours. Honestly, I think we could have sat there all day and just enjoyed the moment but we were meeting up with our friend Nina so we had to move on... to the Empire Hotel.
Nina said the Empire hotel was right around the corner and I guess technically it was but it was about a 10 minute walk in the rain... on my burnt foot so that was a little rough. Nina suggested the Empire Hotel since they filmed some scenes from Gossip Girl there. It was cool. We all got the ‘Chuck Bass’ drink which was vodka, champagne, honey and lemon water. I don’t drink vodka so I replaced the vodka with Gin. The drink was really good. We just sat there and drank our Chuck Bass drink and caught up with Nina. There was some kind of party for professor at Columbia University so at first it was hard to find a spot to sit but once we did it was good. 
After the Empire Hotel, we took an Uber back to the hotel (well to the McDonalds a block away) and got changed and went out. Nina suggested a place close to the Empire Hotel to check out but since my foot was burnt we decided to stay close to the hotel. There was a place Alicia found that had Karaoke at midnight but before that it was just a normal bar. We walked by a bar that had live music so we decided to go back there for a little and that was a lot of fun. Then we went back to the bar with Karaoke and it was a little strange. They kept playing songs we didn’t know but we sang along for a little until we were ready to say goodnight to the night. 
Sunday, we didn’t have a ton of time before the bus so we went to brunch at The Redemption. We picked it because it had unlimited mimosas (are you seeing the theme of the weekend, not intentional..kind of). The food was really good too. It was definitely what we needed since we had a long bus ride. So after brunch we headed toward the Port Authority to get on our bus. Unfortunately, we were dropped off on the opposite side of the Port Authority but we were able to get tea/coffee for the bus ride so we thought. We got to our bus at 1:50-1:55 and the bus driver informed us that he had one seat left on the bus. We were so confused since we had tickets for the 2pm bus but yet there weren’t enough seats. So we didn’t get on since we had to stick together and went to the information center where the guy said that the driver was suppose to wait until 2 to let the standby line on but he didn’t so we lost our seat. So if you ever take a Greyhound to NYC, remember to get there early, otherwise you might lose your seat. The next bus that had three seats available was at 5:30pm. This would have been alright if my foot wasn’t burnt. There’s plenty to do in NYC to waste 3 hours, Time Square was only a block away but I couldn’t walk. So we honestly sat around on the ground since there were no seats, complained then waited in line for the bus back home at 4 where there apparently wasn’t enough seats. Honestly, we were tired, my foot hurt so we didn’t do the best thing. We gave the driver our tickets and he didn’t look at the time I guess and let us on the bus. I was so nervous that we would be kicked off but we didn’t. The bus started moving and no one said anything. NYC was so much fun. I wish we could always live the high life but you know, you need money. 
1 note · View note
Text
The Circle Of Life
Death doesn't seem so imposing when you know that you're dying—when you realised it a long time ago. Harry's journey as he deals with Cancer. Haphne. IWSC Final entry. Hogwarts JP.
————
Written for the International Wizarding Schools Championship.
Round: Finals!!!
Theme: Dittany, which means healing. The theme is shown here as Harry trying his best to recover from cancer.
Year: Year 7
School: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Prompts: Potions (object) [additional]
Emerald (colour) [additional]
St. Mungo's (setting) [main]
Special Rule and Link: The special rule here is used by Showing 'birth'.
Warnings: Cancer, Major character death, mentions of infertility.
A/N: In this fic, Harry and Daphne are 80, and their children 40-44 years of age. The three children Harry and Daphne have are called Sothis, Jacob, and Lily.
————
14th January 2060
8:35 p.m.
Diary,
Death doesn't seem so imposing when you know that you're dying—when you realised it a long time ago. It's funny, really. We know we're all dying but rarely does it ever truly sink in. But in my case, I've had the pleasure of having realised this way back at the age of seventeen. I hadn't thought I'd get out of the Forbidden Forest alive again, especially if I were meant to die in the end, and so I had submitted to my sentence. I was as surprised as anyone at my continued living, I assure you, and with the amount of downright stupid things I've done in my lifetime—fighting Voldemort some five different times, riding thestrals, wandering into acromantula nests, and then contemplating becoming an auror before Daphne talked me out of it—I've already outlived my expectations, so I don't think it bothers me too much that death has come to claim me now. 
Daphne and Hermione would both glare at me for saying that probably, and Sothis, Jacob, and Lily would frown. Acquiring blood cancer does not necessarily mean death, especially since it's a muggle disease, but at the age of 80, I have my doubts. Wizards might not be as affected by muggle ailments, but this is cancer. It's been nearly ten days since I've written to you, as you might have noticed, and that was because of the numerous tests they conducted and reconducted at St. Mungo's. I've had to quit teaching at Hogwarts because of this accursed illness. Those of my family who haven't had much exposure to the muggle world didn't realise just how serious cancer was, and they were rather unconcerned—it's a muggle disease, wizards always recover from muggle diseases—but Hermione knew exactly what it was, and how serious, and she passed this information to both Ron and Daphne—even when I begged her not to—who told others. So now, everyone is extra polite around me, and extra careful. I hate how everyone looks at me like I might shatter at any moment. Even Malfoy's started acting differently again, and it's just so frustrating!
I just want everyone to get back to normal.
Harry James Potter
————
8th February 2060
8:15 p.m.
Diary,
My health has gotten worse instead of better. Last week, I began coughing violently and realised that I was coughing blood. My body hurt. I also had a temperature and felt dizzy. Daphy took me to St. Mungo's as soon as she saw my pitiful state. I was kept there for a whole day while the healers ran tests and took samples. While the wizarding world doesn't use injections, their methods of extracting blood hurt just as much. The healers only let Daphy see me during around dinnertime after they thought me stable enough. Daphy was by my side the entire night after that, holding my hand, helping me eat, and then finally settling me down for the night. I hadn't seen her that tired in a long time, diary, and it was … unsettling. I wonder if I'm being too selfish in not really caring if this cursed disease takes me down. Daphne would be shattered. 
Hermione and Ron were there at the hospital before I woke up the next day, considerably late and still feeling pretty shitty. The two of them and Daphne were talking to a healer, and none of them had realised I was awake. I could only catch a few phrases of their conversation—flu, immune system, careful—but the grim expressions on their faces told me that whatever it was, it wasn't good. The healers sent me home with instructions to take some fifty odd potions every eight hours and to exercise regularly, but not so much that I overexert myself. 
I was too tired the next three days to pick up a pen to write, let alone go for a walk. But yesterday, after Daphy and I got back from the walk she had coaxed me into going for, we came home to a pleasant surprise in the form of Lily and Sebastian. Lily has always been big on surprises, but the one she gave us yesterday was the best surprise I have gotten in a long time. They're expecting their first child in July! After a number of failed tries, Lily and Sebastian had both given up on trying to have children, but that right there was proof that miracles do happen. Daphne was so happy, she had tears in her eyes. So did I. For a moment there, I think all of us present in the room were a little misty-eyed. It took a little effort to digest that bit of news, happy as it was because our sweet little witch had grown so old so fast. Wasn't it just yesterday that I had first held her in my arms? She was finally going to be a mother now! I am happy as can be, of course, but I wonder if I'll be able to live long enough to see my grandchild in this life. 
I really hope I do.
Harry James Potter
————
18th March 2060
8:00 p.m.
Diary,
I don't think I'd be able to stand a single more piteous look directed toward me, even if my situation is miserable. I feel tired all the time now, even though I've been taking all my potions on time and have done all the exercises that the healers had told me to do. My body still hurts sometimes, and I feel utterly useless. The healers in St. Mungo's still take samples of my blood to see if my condition is getting any better.
They don't say so to my face, but I'm only getting worse. It is clear by the looks they direct towards me, in how Ron and Hermione both always say goodbye to me at the end of the day as if it were their last goodbye, in how Daphne strokes my cheek at night when we’re both in bed and tells me to stay strong for her. I wish they'd just tell me, so I don't have to go through everything pretending to be blissfully unaware.
Sothis and Jacob came to see me today. I hadn't seen them since my birthday last year. Sothis lives in America now with his family and practices as a curse breaker while Jacob has been wandering around the world with Lorcan Lovegood. They were upset when they'd been told of my cancer, of course, but today I truly saw how much my sickness really affected my family. If I had been my old self, I would not have wanted them to see me like this, but times have changed. At least I'm not in St. Mungo's because I wasn't able to fight a common cold. 
I really do want to get better.
Harry James Potter
————
21st May 2060
8:40 p.m.
Diary,
Things have begun to look up for me now, and I feel I've gotten a little better for the past few weeks. I don't feel as tired anymore, and Daphy does not have to force me to get out of the house. Daphy could not be happier about this. I've begun working on a book to keep me occupied. This was Hermione's idea—to write a book on Defence Against the Dark Arts from my experience as a professor and what I learnt when I was still studying for it. That I have fought the supreme leader of the dark is an added bonus. I think the one single perk of being sick is that the children come to see me more often. The others came around too, recently—the Weasleys, Neville, Luna. It felt nice to see them all after so long, but it felt a little disconcerting that this might be the last time we saw each other. I suppose that was the reason they made the visit in the first place, to see me again while they still could. 
In other news, I am in the news again. The Daily Prophet found out about my illness somehow, and it was all anyone talked about for the last week. Daphy and Hermione both blew up over the staff of St. Mungo's because no one else would ever leak any information to the Prophet of all people. Astoria, who works there, is having the board conduct an entire investigation to find the gossip. 
Lily had her first contraction while she was here with us. It was a false alarm, the baby is due in the second week of August, but it felt strange and surreal. Everyone was excited though, Lily especially, even if she complained non-stop about her backache. Things are looking up, finally, and everyone, the healers included, think that I'm going to get better quite soon. 
I hope I do.
Harry James Potter
————
5th July 2060
8:40 p.m.
Diary,
While my health had been stable enough for the past two months and was inching towards recovery, it has now gotten worse again. The healers think that I've been exposed to an infection which my body is not able to fight off. The incessant pain, the omnipresent tiredness have both returned with assorted bottles of potions that taste like sewer water. 
I was kept at St. Mungo's for a week, and the healers were still reluctant to let me go home because apparently, my immune system has become so compromised that even the mildest of bacteria or virus could be the cause of my death. It wasn't until Hermione had reasoned with them that I was more likely to be exposed to pathogens—whatever those were—in a hospital than back home that they let me go. I've been told in no uncertain terms to take all my potions on time and to get plenty of rest. The worst part is that I am to avoid the outdoors completely, so no more walks or anything. Daphne looked defeated  yet determined.
When they thought I wasn't listening, they also told Daphne and Hermione to keep the visitors to a minimum, so people coming to see me is also out of the question now, although Lily did come here the other day, so I guess the kids are allowed. 
I had thought I was getting better, but now … they don't say it to my face, but their pitiful expressions make it clear that my days now are numbered. I hope I get to see my youngest grandchild before I die, though. They aren't here yet, but I love them already.
Harry James Potter
————
31st July 2060
8:45 p.m.
Diary,
It's my birthday today, but so much has changed since last year. I was teaching at Hogwarts happily. People weren't scared of sneezing around me. I was cancer free. But most importantly, I didn't have a new grandson who looked exactly like me. His eyes are the same emerald green as mine, and he has a small tuft of jet-black hair, although I really hope he has better luck with it than I have had. 
From what Daphy tells me, Lily had been visiting when her water broke. I don't know the exact details of what happened since I had been in St. Mungo's since the past week, but everyone panicked except Daphne, who had gone home for a while to shower and eat after leaving me in Hermione's care. She calmly called for a mediwitch from St. Mungo's and made preparations to transport Lily to the hospital for the delivery. 
The baby was two weeks early, but still very healthy. He had curious green eyes, and the memory of how he looked at me with interest when I first held him is still fresh in my mind. I did finally get to meet my grandchild—Lily's first child—and I couldn't possibly be happier. If I were to die now, after I've seen my grandchild, I'd die happy. My princess had finally started a family of her own, and the baby looks just like me. He's a tiny and beautiful baby, and I am so proud. Lily and Sebastian are both beaming. They named him after me and Sebastian's father—Harry Alex Grahams.
I love him.
Harry James Potter
————
Daphne closed the diary shut on the morning of August the 2nd with tears rolling down her eyes. She put it beside her on the padded carpet she was sitting on and drew her knees closer to her. Harry had to go, leave, just as Lily's first child was born, just as he had turned Eighty-One. It was painfully sad. Lily had cried through the last night, and it had taken Daphne all she had in her to not join her in it and to comfort her instead. She took in a deep breath. Harry was right, though. The child was beautiful and looked painfully like him. At least she knew that he had died painlessly in his sleep. Happy. Content. His suffering had ended, and he had had the joy of holding his grandson in his arms. He had been happy. That was all that mattered
16 notes · View notes