Preface to "Memoirs of a 17 year old."

Preface

I lie asleep in my bed, my eyes twitching and my hands grasping at the sheets with hot beads of sweat dripping down my forehead. The bed is a mess like it usually is, from these nights where I toss and turn and cry without uttering a sound or tear. The nights where I relive the horror where I lost so much, my and my dad lost so much, the world lost so much.
I’m eight years old again, buckled in the backseat of my mom’s old station wagon, singing along with the radio and it’s holiday music. It is winter, close to Christmas time so I stare at awe at the blinking lights, the trees that are covered in multicolored bulbs.
“Mom! Mom! Look at this one.”
“Oh that’s a nice one sweetie. Speaking of, your father has the day off tomorrow, we were thinking of putting our lights up. Would you like to help?”
“Yes!” I screamed in excitement, jumping out of my seatbelt and nearing my face to my mothers. “What color are they going to be?” I said softly in her ear, it was a secret every year. They knew the lighting of the house and the tree were my favorite part of the holidays. I plopped back into my seat and quickly said, “no, wait, let me guess… All the colors.
“Nope.” She said with a chuckle
“Oh, oh, oh… white icecyle lights. Mom that would be so pretty.” I imagined it as we drove starry eyed. Our little suburbia two story house completely covered in white, dangling lights, the brightest most Christmasy house in the neighborhood.
“Is that what you want?” She asked
“It would be SOOOO pretty.”
“Then that’s what we’ll put up this year!”
“Really?”
“Really, it’s your choice this time around. Plus, honey, I think It would be pretty too.” She laughed as I pounced about the car. “Now calm down honey and put your seatbelt back on. Mom turned up the radio and there were Christmas carols on, I don’t remember which ones, I just remember holding my stuffed bear in the back seat, tucked down low so I could see the top of my mothers head, just a little brown oval, her hair. I could hear her voice joyfully singing along to the carols on the radio and her head would move a little side to side with the music. I smiled, not just because of the lights but because I loved her. Leaning a little and looking I could see her right hand on the edge of the wood paneled steering wheel of our old station wagon, her soft and silky skin delicately wrapped around it.
Then I saw that hand grip the wheel tightly and the veins bulge as it ripped to the side, as did our car. I looked out the left window and there were two headlights heading towards us. It seemed like the next moments lasted a lifetime. Mom’s hair whipped around her face full of horror, sympathy, shock, instinct as she looked at me and her hand flew around to grab mine. It almost touched before the headlights weren’t illuminating the side of our car anymore but were somewhere distant on the icy black road as we spun. My teddy bear flew in the air, mom jerked about, there was a pain in my chest of the seatbelt locking, my hair flying in my face, tears welling up from fear. The sheer panic of it all sent me into shock and I blacked out.
Then the scene plays again, but just the last part, just the look on my mothers face, my teddy flying in the air, my long brown hair whipping in front of my face, the pressure on my chest from the seatbelt and then the blacking out. It usually played over and over again until my mind couldn’t take it any more
I woke up, my sheets soaked with the terror that memories can bring. It’s odd how they can be vague and so far in the past when you are awake, details are fuzzy or your mind alters it slightly. But, when you are asleep, in the dream world where it is supposed to be fantasy the details are vivid, brilliantly choreographed in absolute time and shockingly stunning at just how real they can be. This dream world where the word “Dream” makes it sound like you are going to get to… well dream… when in fact all it does is take my worst terror and show it in front of my eyes, like I should be in an audience, disconnected, enjoying the epic scene, holding a bag of popcorn and relating to the character, not being her.
This only happens every so often now, the horrifying dreams of watching my mother die, watching the car only hit the front half crushing her instantly and leaving me unharmed.
I usually get up after my night terrors and go to my desk, look at a picture of my mom and me, I’ll pick it up and stare at it for minutes, maybe an hour and think of the good times we had together, but inevitably I always end up on how her voice sounded singing along to the Christmas carols, soft and sweet before her voice stopped all together, forever
I wince. My mind plays a close up of her bright brown eyes, shock, horror… love. I wasn’t scared, not that scared at least, I didn’t even know what was happening, but she did. It took me a long time to figure out that, that last look I saw in her eyes wasn’t her being scared about the car about to hit us, it was her being scared for me, which is why she looked at me. It was her last time she would get to look into my eyes with absolute love. That look is burned into my memory and I try to think of it as a look of love, no matter how much of the opposite of that it looked like at the time.
The clock blinked as I sat back down on my bed 5:30, too early to get ready for school and too late to spend an hour trying to go back to sleep. I sat on the edge of my bed and closed my eyes for a second, in a flash there was my mothers eyes and her screaming. Opening them as quickly as possible and trying to regulate my breathing. Ya, defiantly not back to bed. I thought.
I straightened the sheets, threw my pillow at the top of the bed and flicked my light on deciding what to wear that day.
The soft smell of coffee wafted into my room and I could tell my dad was up. Probably sitting at the table groggy eyed, rubbing them and yawning into his hands. I started to walk downstairs towards the inviting aroma, turning the corner there he was, my mental image just right. He had walked out and got the paper, it lied there in its twine, wrapped so snuggly around the pages and sitting there on the table. Reaching up into the cabinet and grabbing two mugs I said. “Morning dad.”
“Morning.” He mumbled I poured each of us a cup and sat down at the table to drink our coffee.
This was our morning ritual you see, we would sit and find ways to fill the silence. It wasn’t just the silence at the dinner table, the whole house seemed silent as if once upon a time there was laughter and running thru the halls. Once upon a time all the furniture was moved in the living room so my mother and father could waltz around for their anniversary because the babysitter cancelled last minute. Once upon a time, at this round table built for four there was only one empty seat and even though now I can say there are two empty seats, that would be lying. Even with me and my dad sitting here there are four empty seats or I looked up at him and saw him stare distantly at his coffee… at least three.
“Aren’t you a little young to be drinking that stuff. Shouldn’t you be drinking chocolate milk or something?”
“Dad, I ‘m fifteen, not five.”
“Still I don’t think-“
“Helps me focus at school alright, now let’s just drop it. Cream?”
“What.” He said all grumpy now
“Cream, do you want cream in your coffee?” I stood there by the fridge for a second and with the lack of response, I sat down and poured a little into my coffee watching it swirl. Probably the highlight of my day, the playful dance the cold cream does as it enters the rich dark brew. Then the swirl slowly ends and changes the almost black colored coffee to a now appealing tan, then you stir it and it becomes one color the dance has ended, a dance only you saw and one that will never happen the same way again.
My dad didn’t say much now days. He used to be youthful, joyful, the kind of dad that had pancakes ready for you in the morning before school. The kind that would sip his coffee then kiss his wife. He would sit down and start our day with a laugh, a big smile, some good feeling between all of us to where we would start our day and no matter what happened we would know we had that, just that, a family to come home to.
He looks old or his age. My dad was a lot older than my mom, right now he is forty four. His birthday is next month, and autumn birthday, a fiery Aries that now only sparked. Even at forty wrinkles were beginning to show, crows feet, laugh lines, yet he had the same thinning brown hair that he did seven years ago. He looked old, but only because he was so weary on the inside he looked tired, he just looked tired.
Silently he stared, breaking it only when he would lift his cup to his lips to sip. If he made eye contact with me it was only for a few seconds, then he would look away. It’s always that away, ever since the crash he barely makes eye contact, we just get thru the day. As I get older it seems like more and more he avoids it. We’ve lasted seven years, we can last a little more.
“You want the paper today?” He asked gesturing towards the New York Times.
“Nah, I’m good. I’ll get my news from the gang around the water cooler.” My lame attempt to make him laugh, to get something, even just a twinge of the corner of his mouth, but I was never good with humor.
“It’s just going to go in the garbage.”
“Why don’t you read it?” I conjectured. His look on his face grew tight and wrinkled, angry and hurt. “Dad, you pay for it day after day yet you haven’t even undone the twine in eight years, ever since you-“
“Enough.” He said definitively
I continued, “Ever since mom died and you-“
“I said enough!” He stood up angry, no not angry frustrated. Took his sip of coffee and walked into the living room, bounding back in his brown recliner, in his slippers and bathrobe, which he would keep on just until before I came home from school. He liked to change right before I got home and pretend he got ready and did something during the day. Which, to be honest he does, he just works from home. He writes, well, what should I call them? Fluff pieces for the daily papers. He is so overqualified for the job that they let him basically find any story that someone may or may not stop to read in the daily papers and if they did stop to read it they may or may not tell a friend the interesting fact they read this morning.
He didn’t look back over as I sat at the kitchen table and only the tick of the clock echoed in our house, the passing of time, the sipping of coffee until I had to go to school. He never did deal with any feelings about mom very well when I brought her up, which was rarely, but still. He never really was a talker about it.
In fact, after she died I don’t know what this house would have turned into, or what he would have turned into if a nine year old girl hadn’t grown up into a full fledged adult and wasn’t the support pillar for him. Or the ten year old making him get a job after he lost his. Or the eleven year old that took care of herself while her dad slowly became less and less present in his own body, or the twelve, thirteen, fourteen year that slowly built him back up to at least experience the day, to at least lift his eyes from the ground sometimes.
There was a small clank as I put my mug in the sink, the sound of the faucet and running water as I washed it and another clank as I set it back in the sink. The only noises for what seemed like miles around me. “Well dad, I’m off to school. I’ll see ya when I get home.”
“Ya, ya, have a good day.” He mumbled trying to sound sincere or even loud enough for me to hear, which I may not even have heard if it wasn’t the exact same “ya, ya, have a good day,” everyday.
The doorknob to the side door of my house turned, it squeaked a little, the screen door squeaked a lot and they both slammed with equal measure. After that, there was life, there were the soft sound of birds and the rustling of the wind thru the trees and most of all the feeling of sunshine. I stood there on the step and looked up, closing my eyes and letting the sunshine soak into my skin, happy I’m alive when by such a slim chance I shouldn’t be. I let my arms out and just looked up, letting the sun, not the coffee, be the thing that wakes me up for the day. It was my moment where it is just me, where I don’t have to worry about school or dad or anything, my moment of satori, that’s the word I like to use, even if it doesn’t quite fit, it’s what it feels like. Just me, my arms wide open and the sun, free from time, just existing.
A door opened and shut stopping my moment. It was my next door neighbors. I put my arms down to my side and just stood there watching him walk down the driveway. The wind that blew thru the trees now ruffled his eye length brown hair just a little, his green eyes you could see from here as he looked over and gave a little wave before he jumped into his dad’s car and drove off for who knows how long.
I knew things about him, but I didn’t really know him anymore. We went to the same school but every since my mom died all I got was a little wave. He was quarterback for junior varsity, built like an Adonis and looks that only Aphrodite could have given him, my sophomore high school boyfriend, well not really but there is no harm in having a little dream right? If anyone knew the importance of being in reality and having a dream versus it’s opposite it was me, and he, Kevin Montopolis, next door neighbor and crush since I was eight.
I sighed and stepped off my front porch, the morning was over, sip, sun, ruffled hair and step, step, step… a repetitive pattern forming that would eventually get me to school. I walked the sidewalks under all the large trees keeping me in the shade most the way. Still it was step, step, step… a repetitive pattern that would get me to school, where it would be class, class, class, notes, notes, tests, tests, another pattern that would get me to college to a job when all the while I go thru these motions wondering really what life is for. Why I can’t get the question why did that driver not only take my mothers life, but destroy my fathers and push mine into an existence that can only be described as existential. Yah, an existential existence.
How can one car change so much, one second of misjudgment, well misjudgment among other things… but one moment in time change years upon years. If I was supposed to live, I prayed to whatever god existed out there, for I had no idea what I believed in, to please tell me the purpose of my life because right now all if feels like is I live so each morning I can stand on my front porch and soak up the sun on my face.
Then I thought to myself, maybe that’s it. Maybe that is the secret to life. I chuckled and started on my way.

Whisper

"If I could travel the endless desert and feel the scorching sand burning beneath my feet,
just to learn that a single grain could crush me.
If I could hike the steepest, biggest monster of a mountains
just to really learn that the sky is endless, I would.
But, Alas if I could stay right here, rip open my chest and head,
to hold my mind in one hand and me still beating heart in the other hand
and let my soul see them for what they really are.
With my dying breath would my soul finally whisper the truth of the universe in my ears,
while I have only moments left to listen…
would it tell me I am and will be love?"

-Jacob Grant Gabriel

Missed opportunites

"Our life is defined by opportunities... even the ones we miss."

It's true, so true. Each and every moment is an opportunity and what if you miss them and what if you don't.

Tonight for me was a don't. It could have easily, like many times before, been a missed one bit it wasn't. I didn't miss it. I got everything I could have asked for and more. I had dinner with an amazing guy, cuddled, watched a movie and shared a moment. He is special I can tell, he is something different. I don't want to write to much and seem like a crazy stalker but he really is something... he really is something.

Practice

I'm going to be honest, part of me in the morning whines that I "have to" or "should" meditate. But, those feelings I get thruoght the day of peace and calmness are, to me, invaluable, and what this life is about. It is why I practice.

My Dharma sister Koki said that practice feels to her like she is in the middle of fire. This is the quote she used to describe it.

"Bodhisattvas practice 'in the middle of the fire.' This means they enter into the suffering of the world; it also means they stay steady with the fire of their own painful emotions. They neither act them out nor repress them. They are willing to stay 'on the dot' and explore an emotion's ungraspable qualities and fluid energies -- and to let that experience link them to the pain and courage of others." Pema Chodron

I replied to her how odd it is that practice is so different to everyone and if we could ascribe words to those seconds of satori that we have, how different they would be. Yet, the thing that stood out in my mind as I contemplated what I just said was that we all practice, we all see things differently but there is no difference between you or me, or him or her or anyone. We are all the Buddha. Our inner being is like a piece of sunlight that has been trapped in a bottle and only we can let it out, never ending and boundless peace. THAT, I believe is the same in all of us.

So I say odd but wonderful how we are all like snowflakes, different and unique, no two the same. But when the sun shines and we melt and we are all the same.

With love,
Jake

Who is this "I" that we all speak of

Well Jake, that is a very good question. It is a deep, philosophical and existential question. There are trillions upon trillions of answers to this question, some from science, some from faith and religions. Yet, in the end it seems so very simple.

"I" is the thing that is at peace inside of me. "I" is what shines in my eyes when I genuinely smile. "I" is that feeling you get from me when I tell you I love you and I mean it. "I" is undefinable.

Part of "I" is in me (but that raises conundrum, isn't "me," "mine." and "my" just other forms of "I"... yes it is, tee hee hee.)Part of "I" is in that rock, tree, flower, air, empty space, forms, tears, a laugh, the tangible and the intangible, the conceivable and the inconceivable, the past and the future... "I" is all that right...NOW.

THIS MOMENT!!! Grasp on to it! Ask yourself what is going on in this moment, what is around me, what beauty us there. The more you ask this, the more you will live in the present moment

NOW LET GO!!! Let go of that feeling you had when you snap back to reality and are no longer present. For if you were truly present all the time, you'd probably be that wise man on the mountain top, or the happiest person alive... but we don't have to do either of those things. We don't have to distance ourselves the more we live in the now and we don't have to immerse our self the more we live in the moment.

We are all one, one is all, one is everything, emptiness has no form, I am the Walrus.

So I ask you... what is going on right now?

Teflon

Why am I so full of questions and why do I feel like teflon? These are my worries these days and I usually squash them with my faith that good times are ahead too. I mean, if I had them in the past it's doomed to repeat itself, isn't it?

But why do I feel like teflon? I could say the obvious things like things just don't seem to stick to me. But the feeling ia more like I can walk thru anything, people lives, situation, good mood, put on facades of different people and THATS what doesn't stick. The facade, the person that i am this day, or month or year,

So meet me, be my friend and just be prepared for me to say in five to ten or whoever knows how many months, for me to say once again. "Hi, I'm Jake, nice to meet you." My hand outstretched.

Charlotte, Cody & I: Chapter One

Chapter One: Introducing Preston


“Eccentricity is not, as dull people would have us believe, a form of madness. It is often a kind of innocent pride, and the man of genius and the aristocrat are frequently regarded as eccentrics because genius and aristocrat are entirely unafraid of and uninfluenced by the opinions and vagaries of the crowd.”
Edith Sitwell (1887 - 1964), Taken Care Of, 1965


It’s funny, I thought as I sat in the back of my English class, just how serendipitous things are or can be. Well, that’s not the funny part, what amuses me is that I won’t realize just how much I believe in the chaos theory until years later, until volume three or three hundred of my life. Perhaps I will be sitting my loft and won't realize it even then, with piles and piles of my memoirs surrounding me like a blanket of time. All of my life questions lie in pages that I have poured over and typed, now my memories that I am still trying to make sense of, and that’s the only thing that keeps me company in my old age.



I hate this English class, I miss my 10th grade English teacher at least he had a perspective, but we will get to that. I am now in 11th grade and my teacher was a veteran, so naturally all the required reading involved books on various wars. If we weren’t reading about them we were talking about them and if we weren’t talking about them then we were watching a “Historical” movie about it.

I am extremely Ghandi-esk, peace, love… all that. I am an animal activist, I won’t wear leather, eat meat, borderline vegan and I don’t support war, I’m pro-choice and think all guns around the world shouldn’t exist and we should go back to the bloody yet skillful way or sword fighting. Really though, if I got my way there just wouldn’t be any violence at all.

Anyway, I digress. I have told my teacher before that this is advanced English and we should be reading philosophy or great novels and how much I disagree with war in general. Not wanting to start a debate or maybe just not wanting to talk to me he brushed me off as a young naive know-nothing hippie who is trying to find his voice, however, I have found my voice and I had the confidence to use it with conviction.

My 10th grade English teacher did what a teacher should do. He inspired me, opened my mind and made my reality literally bend before my eyes. The first day of class he asked us to write an essay, about anything. It was a stream of conscience exercise. We all wrote something and turned it in. The next day as we all piled into our seats, without a word he grabbed a stack of books off his desk, maybe nine or twelve. I couldn’t read what the binding said until he dropped one on my desk and said “You have one week to read this and write me a synopsis.” It was Plato’s Republic and it changed my life. From that moment on I felt a part of the world, my mind spun with ideas, my poetry flowed thru me. Big questions started to enter my train of thought. I contemplated God, religion, science, time, physics, metaphysics and simply reality itself. I was lost in order, lost in chaos, lost in the magic of free thinking. Needless to say I wrote my synopsis and after he read it twice –he always read things twice- he said “You are the only student that nailed it; you completely understand Plato and his works.” His compliment was accompanied with a list of literature I was told to read and also write synopses on, Theroux, Tolstoy, Ginsburg, Sun Tzu, Kerouac, Wadsworth, Whitman, dickens, Dostoevsky, Ann rand, Aristotle, Darwin, Gandhi, Kafka, Nietzsche and so much more. Not only that but he also appointed me head of the philosophers committee.

You see when he handed out Plato’s Republic on that second day he handed it to a select few and the few that understood such a complex set of ideas and ideals he invited to join the philosophers committee and were to meet in the hall, after he breezed thru some “required: curriculum, we left class and convened in the hall to discuss what really matters; The question “why”.

I told him I would have no idea how to run it. He replied “Always just stay one step ahead, let them debate amongst themselves, look up a piece of art and learn only its history. You don’t have to know what you are doing; you have a philosophical mind paired with uncanny human and emotional observation and the brain power to also be over-analytical. This is more for you than for anyone.”

Without going into too much detail, this is what I daydreamed these days as my teacher droned on about war and tried to not let it upset me. Remembering writing essays on Voltaire and Aristotle’s Politics, discussing art in the halls and getting to skip classes to let my mind run free is what got me thru this man’s monotone voice and monotonous class. Still, I have decided I have had enough.

I walked up to his desk and demanded we learn something else or for all war related learning I will be assigned a different book or assignment. Simply, he said no, without even looking up from his desk. It angered me, public school system wants me to be a robot and I refuse to be one.

“Well if you deny my request I will just have to ask the principle just what the curriculum for this class is, and see just how much war and 11th grade English class is supposed to be learning.”

With that, I won. I was excused from class to continue teaching the philosophers committee or to write freely about our perception of reality or poetry, in the schools computer lab.

I’m Preston and in 11th grade at East High, living in the suburbs of Seattle. I have ear length blonde hair, green eyes, thin, no fashion sense but a sense of humor that won’t quit. I have boundless energy, I have no idea why. I just love people; I talk to everyone in the school. I wouldn’t say I am popular, but in a way I am because I am friends with everyone. Granted I had my best friend group that got the majority of my time, but walking thru the hallways was like a 5 year old in a candy store.

I have had a couple girlfriends. It’s what you did in high school was date, but there was always something off about it, I never wanted anything but the title of being taken by the prettiest girl I could find and the furthest I would go would be kissing. I never really thought anything of it. I mean, all you ever hear in the hallways and locker rooms is sex this and sex that. But, I was far more concerned with what the concept of time, the chaos theory or how amazing it is that reality may not exist at all, because it is purely based on perception.

Ha-ha, see how quickly my mind shifted from one thing to the next. I have all this energy and nowhere to focus it. Well, I was home from school and flipping thru the newspaper, to this day I can’t tell you why I even had it cracked open. I got to a page and there it was, a big ad saying “Do you want to be a model or an actor?” and so on. I was so ecstatic I called and they told me when the next open call was.


My mother Emma and step father Duncan came home from work about the same time. I live with them Monday until my dad picks me up on Thursday from school. I love living both places and not to slander my parents but my mother and I just do not get along… at all. My step father took little interest or just chose not to interfere because hers and my temper were as hot as solar flares coming off of the sun. My mother had shorter, somewhat spiky red hair, regular height and my same personality and my step father was quiet, intelligent, with thinning brown hair and a mustache.

In this house in Suburbs of Seattle the family structure was different. The oldest Weston was on a Mormon mission in Chicago. He was very straight laced and stiff, a dry wit that was hilarious and stiff red hair. Next was my sister Morgan, she is fairly short with an athletic build, her personally is endearing and she is the funniest one of the family, if she wasn’t so much older than I we would look like twins. We both have the same cheekbones, laugh smile and best of all freckles; her hair right now is unfortunately bleach blonde and just long enough to pull back into a pony tail. She plays soccer better than anyone, and is currently on full scholarship for Seattle Universities women’s soccer program. After came my step brother Ryker in which his forte growing up was coming home, locking himself in his room, burning a massive amount of incense to hide the weed smell and playing his guitar all hours of the night. He graduated High School and is currently attending some college in Nebraska halfway across the nation, and to be honest I can see why. Last but not least was my step sister Abby who was two months older than me, but I loved to call her my little sister, because I hated being the youngest. We got along fantastically. I actually felt bad leaving her in that house four days out of every week. Abby was shorter than I, with shoulder length blonde hair. She was a choir singer and had that personality, she is pretty quiet and used to basically be mute she was so soft spoken. We didn’t get along when we were little but as we learned that we were meant to be best friends AND sister and brother, she came out of her shell and started to live my “I seriously need a couple cases of Ritalin lifestyle.” We had not only the friend bond but the family one as well; it was that way with both my sisters. Abby was just closer to my age so basically our bond was unbreakable. She is honestly my best friend, well her and her gay x-boyfriend Michael.

Our family was Mormon for the most part, not active but I was raised in it until I was twelve, broke away and became a vegetarian, animal activist, tree hugging full blown Buddhist. The step family was something else so when my mom and step father got married the whole religion thing went to hell, no pun intended. My brother and sister held on to their faith, Abby dipped her toes in but has her own grasp on life and like me derives her faith from within.

I loved it when my father would pick me up and take me to our little condo in the hills of Everett. He didn’t constantly check our schools computer system (A high school rebel’s worst enemy) to see what classes I attended and what classes I didn’t and then barrage me with questions and lecture me for hours, which with my mom she did exactly that but it turned into slammed doors and yelling. I like living in Everett with my father Grant and, even though she is my step mom I have grown to love Juliette so much and spent so much time with her I refer to her as my mother as well. Everett is a small town, snowy with rolling hills. We lived in the Swiss Oaks, a condominium complex that was made to look Swiss I guess. It was beautiful. It was small and quaint, my own little family, my father, my mother and our bulldog Nick who is as lovable as he is slobbery. My father is tall 6’1”, shaggy red hair down to his eyes, a professional cut but with just enough shag to say, “Ya, I grew up in the sixties.” He had a great personality, he was soft and rational and always loving. Then came my step-mom, she was so young and beautiful with a soft spoken voice that gave her a fragility about her, yet she worked outdoors with the wildlife division of the state. She had long flowing blond hair that always smelled of coconut soy conditioner.

The sad thing is she has type one diabetes, the tough one. Times for her were tough and I didn’t realize until years and years later how hard she had to work just to smile. She saw something different in the world, a light amidst all this darkness and it pulled her thru her hardest hours. The best part is that is exactly what she became in all of our lives, a guiding, blinding beautiful light to guide us thru the dark times.

It was night time and I walked out into the living room to see that my dad and mom were still awake; our bulldog was passed out by the fireplace snoring heavily. Out on the dining room table were huge blueprints and they were being analyzed with such scrutiny that I wasn’t even noticed until I asked what they were for.

“Well” My dad said “we were going to keep this a secret until it was finished but Laurie and I have been building a house for the last couple years.”

“Wait” I interjected “What do you mean you have been building, meaning it’s already built?”

“Yes actually, we’ve been pouring over these plans since we got married.” Juliette said with a smile.” Want to know which one is your room?”

I was excited, I was ecstatic. I always thought that two such good people should have so much more than this little condo, especially two people who are so loving towards each other, their bulldog and their very loud exotic birds. I forgot to mention, breeding exotic birds was a hobbies of Juliette’s. Since she was sick often she had the time to raise little birds from birth. Anyway, they just deserve so much more.

The blueprints looked amazing and I poured over them with open eyes. They had designed the house to be one level with amazingly high ceilings and wide halls for the days when Juliette just didn’t have enough energy to walk and had to use a wheelchair.

“There is a room for each of you.” Juliette pointed to the three rooms that weren’t the master bedroom. “We built it this way so no matter where you are in your life and no matter what happens, you will always have a place to call home.” She said in her soft, sweet voice.

“Why don’t we go check it out tomorrow?” My father said

“I would love to.” And with that I was off to my room in this condo, climbed in my bed happy that two of the people I loved most in the life are happy and still after all these years taking leaps to build not only a newer but a happier life for them and forming a family in the process. With that thought, I fell asleep easily.


It was the next morning, a Saturday, and I awoke per the usual, with Nick panting heavily beside me. Once he noticed I was awake he defied all my personal boundaries and got his slobbery self a little too close to my face. I got up, fed him, showered and went out to get some breakfast.

Juliette was sitting there dressed and reading the newspaper. “Morning mom!” I said “When are we going to check out the house? Where is dad?”

“Oh sorry hun, your dad had to work early, but you and I can go look at it. Since it is just you and I, why don’t we go grab breakfast at The Hub?

I didn’t even answer yes. The Hub was this little diner that had the best breakfast in the world. Their hash browns were perfect and crisp and their eggs tasted warm and buttery and their French toast is something you would die for.

We had placed our order and the sun was shining thru the window to my right. We sat at the booth and had each made our order without even the menus. This was our special place, the place just her and I would come to escape the world for awhile. As we sat in silence the sun shone thru the blinds, glistening of her pale skin and light blonde hair. She looked like an angel and had the presence of one. Even when the sun isn’t highlighting her to look like a seraph, I still see her in this light. She has the warmest heart and the purest soul I’ve ever seen and it emanates from her radiantly.

She looked contemplative so I asked her what she was thinking about. “Well” she said “to be honest a bunch of things. It is a gorgeous day, I have delicious biscuits and gravy in front of me and I am spending this beautiful morning with my son. So I guess I’m just thinking nothing, except about this moment and lucky we are to be in it, alive, together… happy.” She said with a soft and loving smile.

Our thought processes were quite the same. “I’ve been trying to appreciate the moment more, but I’m just not sure anymore, with all these thoughts and theories running thru my head I don’t know what reality is anymore.”

“Preston, that’s just it, you are thinking and thinking well leads to questions and even if you get those questions answered you will always be left with more questions. You can’t have everything in life, so learn to appreciate what you do have, the beauty that is right in front of you. Right now, right this second, you and me eating at our favorite restaurant with the sun shining through the blinds.You never know how long you have left.” You seem a little young to have to be worrying about this, but, Preston you are special. You have such a gifted mind and an open one at that. Learn to feel as much as you think and then you’ll live in the moment, and then nothing can stop you from being happy.”

We sat there in silence and joy, eating our breakfast. My mind lingered on the words “You never know how long you have left” and the way she said them. There was a solemnity in her voice and serenity at the same time. She was so young, so pure yet behind those pretty blue eyes there was untold and unspoken wisdom. She looked at me with those eyes and our eyes met with the untold and unspoken love of a mother and a son.

It was October and the air was crisp and cold. Leaves would crunch beneath your feet and you could finally wear scarves. It was later in the day, and we had driven to Tacoma, forty minutes from Everett and about forty five from downtown Seattle. It was a perfect location. It was mostly farm area up there and is where my father grew up. His mother still lives on the west side, where my great grandfather first broke ground and built his dairy farm. We founded the west side of this small town. Juliette and I were driving to my grandmother’s house, she still owned quite a bit of property around there and so my dad could build a bigger house since he was building it in one of her fields.

We pulled up and it was beautiful. It was a lot more built than they had let on; in fact it looked almost livable.

“Hey! You told me it was still under construction!” I teased Juliette

“It is. What we didn’t tell you is that they are finishing up the carpet and we will be moved in by the end of the month.”

“I can’t believe you kept this a secret from me the whole time.”

“Well with your mom and the living situation we have now, we didn’t want to make her think we were bribing you or trying to give your dad full custody now that he has a house. We just wanted to make sure everything was in order before you got to see it” She explained

“Can we go in?”

With that, she took out her keys, we walked to the front opened the door to my future home. It was perfect and symmetrical. The high ceilings made it seem like the house was huge and the way it was designed… oh and the nature outside, being surrounded by fields was surreal. It felt like home.

I could easily see my living there. Juliette and Grant both worked downtown which is why I could live with them and attend my same high school. It felt like a whole new horizon was coming as I wandered the house and could literally see memories being made right in front of me. It was like seeing ghosts of people I love filling the house, my mom and dad, sister, brother, Christmas mornings. It felt good and lifted my heart into a warm place. Everything was perfect, until I heard a thump from behind me. I didn’t even have to turn for my heart to drop and the color to wash out of my face, I knew something was wrong.

I spun around and Juliette was lying there on the hardwood floor of the kitchen unconscious. I panicked, my eyes watered and I got out my phone.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“It’s my mother, she collapsed, she is unconscious, I don’t know what to do, and she is diabetic and… and.” I was breathing heavily.

“Sir, calm down and tell me where you are.”

I was in my new house, I wanted to tell the address but couldn’t. I didn’t know it so I rattled off my grandmothers and told them to go to the blue house next to it. I hung up the phone and sat and cried. Somewhere deep inside I knew it was going to be okay but I cried anyways until I heard the ambulance sirens.

The ambulance came, loaded her in. She looked so helpless. I wished it was me lying there, or I wish I knew what was wrong or how I could help. They asked me if I wanted to ride to the hospital with them. I was in shock; I didn’t speak for a minute until I said. “No, I’ll wait for my father.”

They left, I walked into what would my future room and sat there in the corner, in the emptiness with my arms wrapped around my legs. There was nothing but walls and carpet and I let my eyes water, until my dad came in. took my hand, and took me to the hospital.


“She is okay, Preston, you don’t have to worry.” My dad calmly said as he calmly drove. This drove me crazy because it felt like we should be speeding to the hospital.

“How do you know that though?”

“I called over to the hospital; it’s just a complication with her diabetes. A shot of insulin and she would be fine.”

Some of my shock went away. I don’t know why I froze up like that. I am usually put together and strong in situations of panic. But, seeing her there, seeing Juliette someone I love so much unable to speak to me in her soft caring voice, to help guide my life with her wisdom or the soft touch of her hand to my arm to calm me made… not having all that made me feel so empty, made me so scared.

I hate the smell of hospitals, I hate the lighting and I hate the walls… You would think that they would do something about that knowing that every damn person that walks thru that door hates it from the second they enter.

We entered Juliette’s room and she sat up smiling. She looked fine; some of the color was drained from her face. I asked what happened and all I got was diabetic complications. Every time she was sick that’s what I always got. Diabetic complications. This has happened before, her having to go to the hospital; I was just never the one to have to call it in. I’ve never dealt with death or sickness before and maybe that’s one of the reasons I was as open to loving Juliette as a mother and as a best friend is because I knew she needed it and I knew she knew I needed it just as much.

It was six in the morning on Monday, my dad was driving me to school and I wouldn’t see them until Thursday. It seemed like such a long parting. I had given Juliette a hug and kiss and said goodbye until Thursday, she was taking some time off work to take it easy and make sure she was recuperated. She was only in the hospital one day, so I still didn’t understand what these “complications” were. I was very well read on the subject yet still was never let in the loop. That’s part of being the youngest is that they never really look at you as a grown up. I slept for the forty minute drive to Seattle, sad that I was leaving Everett away from my dad and Juliette. But, life goes on and it will be Thursday before I know it.

Always moving forward, that’s life. The question of what kind of person you are is how often you look back and why. If you never look back you will never know why you are the person you are today, what made you strong, what makes you weak. If you look back and wonder what if, you will constantly live in a world of “what ifs.” If you look back and cling to those memories it will be hard to make new memories. But if you look back like I do, appreciate it you see what makes you smile, what makes you laugh. You move forward but still appreciate all that the universe has bestowed upon you, the good and the bad and you realized just how much love there is in your life. So even on the stormiest of days you can close your eyes and remain in the eye of the storm that is the story your entire life, your past whipping past you at the same time you grasp at the air for your dreams, you strive to see what the future holds and you jump. You just jump into the unknown, away from the safety. Your own personal leap of faith.

Charlotte, Cody & I: Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Change is the constant, the signal for rebirth, the egg of the phoenix.
Christina Baldwin


A month or so had passed, me still living in Everett not speaking to my mother. I had just arrived home from school and nobody was home yet. Possibly the best part of living here besides being close to my parents was that my dad let me have my own car. A bright red old fashioned Thunderbird. I got a speeding ticket in the first month because you push that peddle down and damn does it go fast. I was a pretentious teenager thinking that I was invincible so I drove 100 mph everywhere I went on the freeway. Damn it felt good, except my first speeding ticket.
I let Nick our bulldog out and threw the tennis ball around for a little while then came inside to start my homework. About halfway thru my phone rang. I didn’t answer it because it was a number I didn’t recognize and my mom pulls tricks like that, so I let it go to voicemail. It beeped seconds later and I listened to the message. “Hi Preston, this is Brandon from the coffee shop. Sorry it has taken me so long to get back to you, but, eh, ya… I’ve been busy with work and school and everything. If you want to grab coffee or something let me know and just call me back. Anyway, hope you are having a good day!”
My stomach sank so low, butterflies in my stomach turned into a flock of screeching teradactles, my mind rushed like I was upside down and all the blood was rushing to my head and I could feel my face as red as a tomato. Yet, in the midst of all this I somehow felt a very calming feeling in it, a very accomplished feeling that he finally called me, like my path was in front of me and I could see it and something was urging me to move forward, no matter how much my body protested. I chalked it up to nerves and tried to calm down and call him back.
I thought in my head. One phone call and we’ll see where it goes. It doesn’t mean I’m gay, it just means I like this guy and coffee is hardly a date. Is it a date? Does he think I’m gay? Because I like girls… at least I think I do. I don’t know. Questions and a mix of emotions flooded my head and body. I was so lost in a whirlwind of thought that I closed my math book and just lied in my bead.
Time passed, it could have been five minutes, and it could have been a year. I didn’t know because I was zoned out staring blankly at the ceiling questions racking my brain. The only thing that broke my thought is when I heard a loud scratch and my bedroom door opened, followed by heavy panting and an adorable face of my bulldog with his two front legs up on my bed just staring at me as his long tongue fell out of the side of his mouth. What he wanted I don’t know. I’m usually good at reading people and better at reading animals but what he beckoned for came from within me. Call Brandon.
I picked up the phone and rang him back. “Hey, I was hoping to hear from you! Just not so soon.”
“Ya, well just doing some homework and didn’t hear my phone.” I lied, not knowing what to say. Was he interested in me as more than a friend or does he just want to be a friend? You would think after hanging around my gay best friend Michael I would know the ins and outs of the gay world by now. But, now being put to the test, for the first time in my life my mouth was dry of words. In fact I don’t know what he said after that and didn’t realize I didn’t say anything back until he spoke again.
“Preston? Are you there?”
“Oh, ya… sorry I had to finish this problem so I would be done.” I lied again. Breathe Preston. Just breathe. Stop being facetious and be yourself. “What did you say?”
“ Oh I just asked you how you were and how your day has been.”
I replied. “You know the same thing, sleeping thru classes, ditching one or two of them to grab coffee and home to do my homework. You?”
“Well that’s fun. Same with me just worked this morning and got home and got all the coffee flavor syrup out of my hair and clothes.” I giggled at his remark, every time we ask for flavor he has this bad habit of holding the cup the wrong way and the syrup pumps it out only to somehow splash out and get all over him.
“I didn’t see you there today”
“Oh I worked at the other store on 56th street. They are short an employee or two so I have been working there lately.” He said
“That makes sense, I was wondering why I never saw you anymore.”
“Stalker.” He replied laughing
“Yup, that’s me. I just live everyday to wait till you’re not looking so I can snip a piece of your hair it’s the only piece my shrine is missing.” We both laughed at that one.
“Anyway.” He said, pausing and sounding nervous which only made my nerves amplify. “How about coffee?”
“Just coffee?”
“Well let’s get coffee and talk and see where it goes. That okay?”
He had no idea I’ve never been out with a guy before. He had no idea he would be my first everything. The first time I’ve ever dressed to impress a guy. The first time I picked him up or had that awkward let’s get to know each other to see if we match, because god knows I’m attracted to him, so that base is covered, of course if he is attracted to me as well. If he wasn’t why would he call? “Ya, Brandon, coffee sounds great. Are you sure you’re not sick of it?”
“I’m sure I can stand one more cup in your company. Let’s go to Starbucks though; I don’t want to go to my work. That okay?”
“Sounds great!” I said enthusiastically, my emotions were becoming clearer. Maybe, just maybe this is a good thing, a learning possibility and maybe… just maybe I’ll like him. What does it matter if I like one guy? That doesn’t make me gay, just open minded. Still I wondered. “When?”
“You free tonight?” He asked
“Um… “I thought it over and my answer seemed simple. I liked risk, I liked adventure. Nerves were replaced by adrenaline and I immediately responded. “Perfect! What time?”
“I’ll pick you up at 7?”
“Oh, how about I meet you at your place and pick you up? I live in Everett now with my dad so it’s a little out of your way.”
“Ok” he said “I’ll text you my address, but I am driving, after all I’m the one that asked you out.” He said bringing my nerves back again. Yup. It was a date. Well, I thought to myself… Might as well jump into the deep end, after all I’m always in the mood for adventure. Plus nobody knows about this so if it doesn’t work out then I’ll just go back to dating girls, if you can call what I do with girls dating. It’s more like best friends hanging out. Oh god. I thought about it, it’s almost as if I’m their girlfriend. Jesus, maybe I am gay.
“Ok, see you later.”
“later.”

I still sat there on my bed. Zoned out. Thinking about all the possibilities, where this all came from and most of all why. I have never had to face this question before and it seemed dumb to even have to face it. So what I like a guy? It’s just one guy. It’s not like I’m checking out guys all the time, although I am noticing their clothes and make comments like “He dresses well” or “He could be a model.” God life is confusing, especially for a 17 year old.
I must have been really zoned out because I didn’t even hear my dad and Juliette come home. Only when she opened my door and said my name one or two times did I become perfectly alert.
“Hey there, how was school?” She asked in her soft seraphic voice, her long blonde hair falling angelically around her face
“Good” I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you and my dad about something.”Her face grew concerned and loving, as if any problem, even the one I was facing now, she was there to help me with. “Oh, it’s just a couple of college possibilities.” I said, easing her concern. Yet wanting to let loose all that I was thinking and talk to her about what was really on my mind
“What? That is great Preston. You are really applying yourself, your grades have risen and you seem so much more at peace this last month or two.”
“To be honest…” I lied there on my bed with her on the side running her fingers thru my hair softly. “It’s mostly because of you.”
“What do you mean?” She seemed confused
“Well you brought me into this home, gave a place to live and food, but most of all you gave me love, you gave me family… you made me feel like I was really your son.”
“Aw, babe” Tears welled up in her eyes making the sparkling blue sparkle all the more. “Can I tell you something in the strictest confidence?”
I sat up. “Of course.”
I have always wanted a son, my whole life and when I met your dad I saw my opportunity. I mean I barely knew you, Weston and Morgan. But, I saw my chance to have a son of my own with a man I loved. We tried for years and it just didn’t happen. I prayed and prayed and finally when you came to live with us I got my answer. Weston is too old and off on his mission, Morgan is in college and you… beautiful you.” She put her hand on my cheek and looked me directly in my eyes. She was serious, more than I’ve ever seen her. “I view you as my son, the one that I never got to have but by some miracle came into my life. I’ve watched you grow and watched us grow closer as a family and everyday you are here I realize more and more what a blessing you are.”
She had me on the verge of tears just like she was; they welled and sparkled at the bottom of her crystal blue eyes reflecting mine and my emotion. She then gathered herself and stood up. “Well? Come into the kitchen and tell your father and me what these college opportunities are!”
“Ok, I will. Just give me about five minutes to put my homework away.” With that she turned towards the door and I had to say one more thing. “Hey” I said as she turned her hand on the doorframe.
“Yes?”
“Thanks… mom.” It felt so right to say and the smile that swept across her face told me our connection was spiritual and runs deep. I loved her and I knew she loved me. Her eyes began to water again and this time they were going to spill out, but she turned and shut the door before I saw one single tear run down her cheek.

I walked into the kitchen and my dad was busy getting lasagna noodles out and the ingredients out. There was a 9 x12 baking pan and a small bread pan for my vegetarian lasagna.
“So,” he said. “You’re looking into colleges?”
“Well not exactly.” I said as he started lying noodles in his pan and breaking a few to make my small portion. “Hey, hold on. I can’t stay for dinner.”
“Aw why not?” Juliette said with her hand on my dad’s back. Married for so many years and they still showed affection like newlyweds. Still she looked hopeful. It’s been awhile since I’d driven downtown to see my friends or hang out. I mostly just hung around the house because it felt so good to spend time with them. At the same time she could have been hopeful because her and my dad finally would have some alone time. They take a day or two off work each week lately and pack up the place, boxes were everywhere in the condo and pieces of furniture were missing. They needed the time alone anyway, because soon we would be spending the entire weekend furniture-less and either sleeping on a mattress here or in our new house if the beds were set up. Then the weeks following making that house look like a home.
“Because. I have a date!” I exclaimed, not realizing that I actually decided it was a date without ever consciously deciding that it was one.
Juliette’s eyes lit up. “Really! That’s great! With whom?” My dad tended to stay out of my personal life but Juliette was all for it.
“Well…” I paused looking down, not knowing what to say. I couldn’t say Brandon because then that would be saying I’m gay and I’m not. I’m just going out with a guy. We could end up being just friends. So I thought of some lie that would be easy to remember and it slipped so easily off my tongue to the two people I hate lying to the most. “Um…her name is Britney.” The words stung me but seemed to bring my parents a little hope.
“How did you guys meet? What is she like?” Juliette said
“I’ll make your dinner anyway; you can re-heat it when you get home. What time will you be home?” My dad said, caught in between a personal conversation.
“At a coffee shop near my school, um… brown hair, darker skin, hazel eyes, really sweet. Very fit, you should see hi-… HER! In a V-neck…” I began to describe Brandon with that minor slip up, that thanks to them being so enamored with each other neither caught my Freudian slip. Unless they were like Michaels parents who said they knew he was gay since he was five and were just waiting for him to come to terms with it and tell them.
“Well she sounds amazing. I hope you have a good time.” Juliette seemed to show a little more interest either because she heard the beginnings of the word him or just because she described him more. “Doesn’t she Grant?” She nudged him as he was preparing the dish.
“Um… ya. Just be home by ten.”
“Dad!” Teenage Preston showed a little bit. “Ten is school nights. Tomorrow is Saturday? And if I’m home by ten that means I have to leave at like nine to get back here.”
“Ok, midnight.” He said with a slight nudge from Juliette.
“What time are you meeting her?” Juliette said.
“Seven, at a coffee shop.”
“Which coffee shop?” My dad asked, still protective of his little boy. He gave me a reasonable curfew. It was ten on weekdays and midnight on the weekends. It took forty five minutes to drive here from downtown and up some windy roads. He didn’t like me driving late or when the drunk drivers were on the road: His subtle way of letting me know that he loves me.
“Starbucks…” I checked my phone for a message from Brandon. “The one right downtown. Anyway I have to go get ready if I’m going to make it there by seven.” I turned and started to rush to my room to pick out an outfit.
“Wait, Preston!” Juliette beckoned me back. “What about your college stuff?”
“Oh, can we talk about it in the morning? I really have to shower and get ready.” I said hurrying out of the kitchen.
“Well, he must be really excited about this Britney girl.” I heard Juliette’s voice fade as I ran down the hall, for some reason… very excited.

I was driving to the address given to be by Brandon, pondering if I was wearing the right outfit. I went with all black, a black muscle tee, worn black jeans, and a nice watch that didn’t work because I don’t really like the concept of time, and finally my Doc Martins. I only use my cell phone for that, every other clock in my possession doesn’t work..
I felt like I looked pretty good, but the worrying only amplified my questions about whether I was nervous because I might like this guy and that may or may not make me gay, or because I am not gay and was making a huge mistake. I thought about it in my head and decided there was no way it could be a mistake because if you don’t try you may never know. If you don’t stop to smell the roses you’ll never know what their god-like scent. If you don’t put yourself out there the “one” might pass you by unnoticed. Anyway, what do I really have to lose?
I arrived at his place, saw the apartment number and thought about turning back. Those words still rang in my head “just try, just go… what have you got to lose.”
Out of my car, I walked up to his door and knocked. I waited with no answer, which was no help to my nerves. Soon enough he answered the door. He looked slightly disheveled and unprepared. Funny I thought I was the one that was unprepared for this.
“Hey! You look great! I just need a few more minutes to get ready. You don’t mind do you?” His hair still wet from his shower, I assume getting the sugary syrup out of it. I laughed a little in my mind thinking about how cute he looks when he is actually surprised when he pumps the flavor syrup and it squirts him, like it doesn’t happen every time.
“Of course.” I said, smirking, him having no idea why. He was cute; all I could do was smile.
“Here you can wait in my room.” He led me back and put on some music. “Ever heard of Rent?”
“No.” I said, feeling dumb for no reason.
“What?! You have to listen to this, I’ve got the CD too so we can listen to it on the way to the coffee shop and to dinner.”
“Dinner?”
“Ya, I figured you’re pretty cool. I don’t really need the coffee shop to know that I would like to get to know you more, I mean we text quite a bit today and talked on the phone so…” Little did he know I was getting ready the entire time. “Are you not hungry?”
“No, no I am.” Nervous. Nervous. Nervous. I felt like my heart was in my throat.
“Ok, I know this great Indian place that serves amazing curry.”
“Uh, is it vegetarian?”
“Oh no! You’re not one of THOSE are you?”
“Yup, since I was twelve.” I proudly responded, well, because I was proud, it’s been five years.
“Ha-ha, I was just kidding. Yes, they have vegetarian. Do you like curry?” He asked
“Never had it, you’ll love it! K, I’m going to finish getting ready. Soak this up, it’s the best.” He pushed play on his computer

He was gone for a few minutes and I didn’t really pay attention to the songs that were playing. I was just in awe of what was happening and how nervous I was, yet somehow so at ease with the whole thing… that is until what happened next.
Brandon came in the room, his hair done up in a slick black faux-hawk, dark faded wash jeans on and his amazing hazel eyes looking right at me as he asked me how the music was and I told him it was good, wanting to elaborate but he walked over to his closet and peeled his shirt off. Any other time this would have been nothing to me, sure I would have checked the guy out, but this time my heart started beating faster. I wish I could say it was nerves or that this is new to me, but to be honest I had no idea what this was or what I was feeling besides the need to kiss him right there and then. Now THAT was a new feeling.
His skin a nice dark tan, fading from the summer that was slowly ending. I noticed every detail, where his jeans hit him, every muscle in his back and I was overwhelmed a little. I can only say a little because as he turned that’s when it became a lot. He turned around and said “here, this is the best song.” As he walked toward me I couldn’t help but notice his flat smooth stomach and his pecs and shoulders, and the muscles in his arm flexed as he leaned over me to change the song on his computer. The scent of cologne and his shower swept over me, making my heart beat even faster.
I’ve seen guys in the locker room almost naked and sometimes they were naked, but none gave me the reaction like this. I looked at them and I thought, hmmm nice body, I wish I had that. But this, whatever it was left me wanting more as he clicked the song, which later I would learn to be “La Vie Boheme,” and walked back over to the closet, his back muscles flexing as he put his shirt over his head, black with some logo on it. “There.” He said. “Now we match.” We did match, but I was dressed in plain black like I was going to rob some place and going to get caught with my bright blonde hair and he looked like stepped out of a Diesel catalogue. He had impeccable fashion sense.
With that the tension in me released and apparently we were good to go as he shut off his computer and waved me towards his door. I got up off his bed and followed. Out the door. Lock the door. Walk down the steps. Everything was happening so fast I wanted time to think. He opened my door for me, which to me was unusual. I got in, he got in and he said “Ok so are you ready for your lessons on Rent?”
“Couldn’t be more ready.” I said, my voice wavering. His room was different, it was spacious and light, and here we were in the dark, confined. To say I was nervous would be a drastic understatement. I shook it and reassured myself. Be cool Preston, be cool.

At dinner I forgot the stigma that I had placed on the night easily. We talked and laughed. I smiled and looked at him when he wasn’t looking, thinking about his eyes and the way he couldn’t sing but sang along with every song of Rent on the way to the restaurant. He laughed at my comments about how odd the food looked and how both of our dishes looked like the same red mush.
“Does everything here look like mush?”
“Pretty much.” He said flashing a brilliant white smile that made my stomach sink a little bit.
Still the whole dinner/date thing went off without a hitch. It was natural. I was able to open up, tell stories and be funny. He was pretty funny too and made me feel easy. Little did he know this was my first… date with a guy, ever. The first time I looked a guy in the eyes and saw past them, the first time I felt something when I looked into his eyes and the feeling of comfort made me think and believe that giving this guy a chance, giving myself a chance to explore who I am was the right thing to do.
“So” he said as dinner was being wrapped up and we were waiting for the bill. “How was your curry?”
“Over all I decided that I like it.”
“Good I’m glad I got to introduce it to you”
“Well that and the fantastic music of Rent!” I teased. “Even though I could barely hear it, at least I heard all the lyrics from you.” He laughed
“Well,” he looked at his watch and back to me. “The night is still young, how about a movie?” He looked right at me and smiled, again sinking my stomach and bringing new feelings to light inside me. I wouldn’t say that I was falling for him and if I was it was the first time I fell for anyone because a girl has never given me this feeling. Maybe, just maybe I am gay, maybe not. At least with him it was clear cut. I did like him, I may be falling for him and it just may turn into something.
“Sure I said.” The bill came and he grabbed it and paid. I usually pay because I am the guy, eating dinner with a girl. But, what the hell tonight is a night of new experiences. The movie theatre made me a little nervous though. It would be dark; we would be side by side. Our minds would have time to race over the nights preceding events. I wondered what it would be like and if I was ready to actually take a step further and leave my mind. Would we hold hands? Am I ready for this? Oh well, like I said, a night of new experiences. Besides, I reminded myself, it is just this guy I like, if it doesn’t work out then I will just go back to how it was. Nobody will have to know. Not that they would care, but still I hate being labeled.

We headed to the movie theatre in this outdoor mall that is really popular called Skyline. It was about twenty minutes until the movie we wanted to see started, “The Italian Job.” We apparently chose that because Marky Mark was in it. Getting gayer by the minute I thought. We decided to go for a walk around the mall, which was now closing up, but still the walk was nice. It helped calm me before we went into a dark theatre together. It also gave me time to think. I thought back, I watch all the movies Brad Pitt is in, and make sure to see Jake Gyllenhalls movies and plenty of other male celebrities. The more I thought back, the more I realized that I did have crushes on guys, I just saw their movies or made them best friends. My life was kind of turning into a new light in my head.
If I am gay I have always been, so if I decide to pursue this lifestyle I don’t really have to say anything. I don’t really have to “come out” like my friend Michael did, which was a huge ordeal to our school. For me, I felt like if I did have to let people know… well I didn’t really know what would happen. I’m friends with almost every girl in the school, which is a sure sign already that I’m gay, but what jock would dare call me a fag when their cheerleader girlfriend has me on their A-list of best friends? Plus, it may not even matter, if Brandon doesn’t work out I will find a nice, hot girl and straighten this whole thing out.
We didn’t talk most of the walk, but walked in silence which was nice and comforting. I don’t think he noticed that my mind was racing over a million miles an hour. It was a beautiful September night and the air was cool with the summer and the impending fall.
Heading back to the movie theatre Brandon asked, “So are you having fun so far?”
“Ya, of course, you are really fun to hang out with.”
“So are you, I’m really glad you gave me your number.” He paused, I could tell he wanted to say something but was thinking twice, but without fear he said, “By the way, about that. What was the deal with the girl giving me her number?”
“Oh that’s a long story.”
“You have until we get to the movie theatre to tell me, that’s like a whole five minutes. Cliff note it if you have to.”
“Well we didn’t know if you were gay or not and I’m not… let’s say used to putting myself out there to ask out a guy.” I bent the truth a little bit.
“Oh,” He said with surprise, which I didn’t understand why. “Because you are the one that is usually asked out?”
“No, not necessarily.”
“Because I thought the whole thing was really cute or some odd way of asking me out. You didn’t happen to read her piece of paper did you?”
“No, she just wrote down her number. We were going to see which one of us you called.”
“And if I called her?” He asked skeptically
“She probably would have turned you down. Not that you aren’t cute. She even thought so. But, she is from Finland and is only here this year, so actually maybe she would have gone out with you. But, I’m pretty sure she knew I was gay.”
“She did! But… But how?!” I said as we neared the theatres and our own plot thickened, a little twist in the story ahead. I could feel the tension, like I was the audience. Fact remains I was a single person and I wanted an answer and wasn’t going to enter that theatre without one. I felt tricked by Ainikki.
“Well her paper said ‘Call him, he thinks you are cute.”
“Oh that little bitch.” I said actually laughing. I was going to kill her, but also I wanted to thank her in a way because I was having a great time. “She tricked me.”
“You could look at it that way or look at it as she is a friend that gave me a little hint instead of letting you trick me.” He flipped the whole situation back on me.
“Heh, well it all worked out.”
“I’ll say.” He said with a smile and opened the door to the theatre for me, putting his hand on the small of my back making me tingle a little and form a smile that he couldn’t see.

Inside the movie theatre time passed. I couldn’t concentrate on the movie; all I could concentrate on was his hand upon his knee just begging to be held. I was nervous though and didn’t understand why I wanted to. Was it just to have the experience or did I have the feelings for him necessary to want to hold his hand? Before I knew it he reached over and grabbed my hand. My mind went blank as he looked over and smiled as I intertwined my fingers with his and he looked back at the screen.
I have no idea what the hell happened in the movie. All I know was my mind was blank and I had soft butterflies in my stomach, not those Terydactles with jackhammers like before. I was calm and enjoyed it. Even if it was just for tonight… I enjoyed it.
He sang on the way home. Gave me a hug goodnight and walked a few steps away. I stared at him, wondering and soaking in the moment… this brand new moment, this night of chances that I took that turned out to be, well, more than okay.
He turned. “Want to do this again sometime?”
I blushed. “Ya, I would like that.” We both smiled and looked at each other for a minute. I was at a loss for words. I didn’t know what to say after a genuine date. For me it felt like the only one. For him, who knows how many guys’ hands he had held and he had no idea the flourish of emotions that welled up inside me at my first intimate touch with a guy.
“Well, goodnight Preston.”
“Goodnight Brandon.”

I drove home happy, past my curfew but I didn’t care. I felt like I had escaped the entire world for a night. Nobody knew what happened except for us and whoever he told. As far as anyone I told was concerned I had an amazing date with Britney and we were going to go out again. Hopefully soon I thought.
I rolled down the window and let the cool air blow in, tousling my hair. I put my hand out the window and let the high speed winds rush thru it, much like my feelings did tonight. I was happy.
It just goes to show that you never know what life is going to throw at you, or how you are going to change over the smallest things. Moments may seem insignificant at the time, yet they hold immeasurable power to change the course of your life in its entirety. Tonight I embraced a change that scared me and granted myself the opportunity to open up to something that was very scary to me. I look back on all the times that I could have bailed out on a situation but didn’t. What if I had? Who would I be today? My mind contemplated simple thoughts while I started to drift of, content with the day’s events.

Positive Affirmation

The siege for the battle of today, depends on my direction,
And the manner in which I travel,
Along my way, with my positive affirmation.

I will make today the day
Throw up my hands and say,
Celebrate life with this, life altering,
Positive affirmation if I may

I call upon beauty, and universal perfection,
To see it in all humans and in all directions
I will go forth into the day mighty and headstrong.
I will realize that this is a world where we all belong.
Everyone is equal and beautiful in their own way,
And I will say, Carpe Diem, Seize the day!

I will create and affirm a positive atmosphere
I will live in the moment, now and here.
I will be stronger, healthier , smarter and more understanding,
I will stand strong and not lose my grounding.

I will share my light within my soul
With each person young and old
One out of many and many out of all
I will catch people who need help from the fall

I am in existence with all people and things
I will find the good in everyone and rejoice in the joy it brings
Realize each person is unique and has a path of their own
See god in all, every person, every tree, every stone.
.
I will gain experiences, I will learn, I will grow
Actions are truth, I will learn to go with the flow
I will appreciate silence, not interrupt and lean to listen
I will find a new me, a new me will be risen..

I am genius, I am determined and I am motivated,.
With unbelievable drive and unadulterated
I have endless strength with extraordinary will
Am a miraculous person with aptitude and skill.
I will not give up, my achievements are in my control
Anything I set my mind to I will conquer instead of toil
I am myself nothing less and nothing more,
Which is extraordinary, because now I’m more than before.

I have compassion for all living things,
I understand the cycle of all things, life, birth, death and rebirth.
All things are part of this
Each with their own place and purpose
And each a piece of the divine.

Every day is a battle, so wage a war
After all that’s what you’re here for
You have love, light, friends and family
But for you is why you should be the best you can be
Everything you have inside is enough
You are indestructible, you are tough.

Appreciate every moment while it is still here
Stop and see the world and it will all become so clear.
You will see endless wonders and beauty
You will be un-caged, you will be set free.

I have always been,
I exist here
And now
And I am happy.

Heh...

Good deeds & Love

I learned from my mother what a good dead is at a young age, she has given Christmas to many who would have had none, organized Christmas events collecting money, mittens and hats for kids in need, and let two small children's world light up as the Easter bunny came to their house not only warming their hearts but that of the parent. I am not going to name names or the countless deeds she had done, for they needn't be mentioned. They have passed and left their resounding effect on the world.

Think of the joy that has come from her having such a warm and giving heart. People always say I am so giving, I say that I get it from her.

A lady was outside talking to the police just now. I had my dog outside and was smoking a cigarette, I had only brought the one down. She asked me if she could have one and I said "sorry I only have this one." Distraught she walked away and for some reason my heart sank a little. I ran upstairs, got her a cigarette and came down to light it for her. She started crying again saying thank you, after the cruelty she just witnessed she wondered if there were still good people out there.

All I did was go out of my way to run up my apartment to get a cigarette. All I do is tell someone they look good today, or have cute boots, or smell nice...

You never know just how far something small will go, something that takes two seconds out of your day or an entire holiday season, with hours of preparation.

All I'm saying is being a caring, loving human being is what I believe we are put here on the earth to do. We have the capacity to love and to hate, if you could choose to only feel one which would you choose? Love, right? Then why do you anger so much? Why do you choose hate so often? It may not be easier, but the right path to choose is love, in any situation, no matter how small or how big.

I'm just asking you to be a good person, you may not have had a mother and a father like mine to raise to teach you how to be one, but that doesn't mean you can't. It doesn't mean you cant tell the lady in front of you at the grocery store she looks nice today, who knows it could change her day. An Easter basket could end up changing the world.

In words of legends "All you need is love."

Into the deep uknown...

We plunge.

It's not like when you are a little kid and you get floaties on your arms and your feet can touch the ground in the shallow waters of life. Sure, as little kids in life our parents coddle us and slowly teach us to speak, walk, math, not to touch the stove, to drive...

But we plunge into the deep end. We can never right what is right or wrong, it is inherent in us. A moral code is embedded into our DNA or something, where deep down inside we just know. What that is, what tells us, our "conscience," what that is, I do not have any answers for you.

We can never learn what we are "supposed" to do with our future and that is the deep unknown. It is a tunnel, a never ending tunnel and depending on what you believe there will be a light at the end of the tunnel. It is dark, is is damn, we are ankle deep in water and our shoes are soaked, but we continue on anyways thru this dark tunnel towards the light we see. Hoping. Wanting. Believing in something that carries us forward, towards the big bright light.

The thing is if we stop and look during our trek down into the abyss of darkness there are tiny pinholes of light and giant cracks in the tunnel along the way. They are not big enough for us to get thru, but big enough to let the light in and brighten this day out of however many we have left till we reach the end. The pinholes are images, scenes of us playing and laughing as children. An image of a family dinner or our senior prom. Images of hugs and tears shared between loved ones. This light from all these images fill you up and give you the courage to walk further down, into the abyss. There are some pinholes filled with death, hunger, hatred and fighting, dark images somehow shining thru the tunnel with the light.

Why? You wonder, would such darkness, such sadness be carried by the light. But you have many steps ahead of you, wading in the water, to figure out that it is because during your life they helped you grow, they taught you invaluable lessons, they also give you the strength to continue forward.

The future, the light, the five steps ahead, the next pinhole, the next giant crack filling part of the tunnel with brilliant light... I cannot tell you what it is or what you will see or experience when you get there. That is the future. The deep unknown.

As always, with love
Jacob Grant Gabriel

Comment if you wish.

Play Crack the Sky lyrics by Brand New

We sent out the S.O.S. call.
It was a quarter past four, in the morning
When the storm broke our second anchor line.
Four months at sea. Four months of calm seas {only}
To be pounded in the shallows off the tip of Montauk Point.

They call 'em rogues. They travel fast and alone.
One hundred foot faces of God's good ocean gone wrong.
What they call love is a risk,
'Cause you will always get hit
Out of nowhere by some wave
And end up on your own.

The hole in the hull defied the crew’s attempts,
To bail us out.
And flooded the engines and radio,
And half buried bow.

Your tongue is a rudder.
It steers the whole ship.
Sends your words past your lips
Or keeps them safe behind your teeth.
But the wrong words will strand you.
Come off course while you sleep.
Sweep your boat out to sea
Or dashed to bits on the reef.

The vessel groans
The ocean pressures its frame.
To the port I see the lighthouse
Through the sleet and the rain.
And I wish for one more day to give my
Love and repay debts.
But the morning finds our bodies washed up thirty miles west.

They say that the captain stays fast with the ship,
Through still and storm,
But this ain't the Dakota,
And the water's so cold,
{We} won't have to fight for long.

(This is the end.)
This story's old but it goes on and on until we disappear,
(This is the calm.)
Calm me and let me taste the salt you breathed while you were underneath,
(We are the risen.)
I am the one who haunts your dreams of mountains sunk below the sea,
(After the storm.)
I spoke the words but never gave a thought to what they all could mean,
(Rest in the sea.)
I know that this is what you want, a funeral keeps both of us apart.
(Washed up on the beach.)
You know that you are not alone, I need you like water in my lungs.
[x2]

This is the end.


...You never do see any other way...

Why?

I am wondering about wondering. Why do I write? Why do I do the things I do? Why do I care so much about strangers? And what is this bloody "I" that I keep referring to? Is it my soul? Is it my body? Is it just a word? Does the power lie in the sentiment behind words or does the power lie in the word? Is this blog only going to be questions? Or is it going to be answers? What fate will this world have? Will we die cataclysmically in 2012? Will Jesus come back? Will the world end with WW3? And if there is a world war three who will fight? "I do not know which weapons WW3 will be fought with but I do know WW4 will be fought with sticks and stones." -Einstein. Why do I like the Violin so much? Why is Deja Entundu my new favorite CD to listen to? Why do tattoos feel so good? Why do I want more? Why do we believe in god? Does God exist just because of mass conscientiousness? Is god dead like Nietzsche said? Is Plato really the best philosopher or am I biased because he is my favorite? What is time? Is it man made or did we interpret scientific principles just so we could have a unit of measurment to run us around? Doesn't our form of time only exist on our planet? Because if I flew to mars I would age six months and you would age 7 years. Should I believe in science or god or both? What is god? What is science? How did the universe really begin? Where is the Nazi's gold hidden? Why did the hippies disappear? Is there another revolution coming? Why do people eat meat? "You can judge a nation on how it treats it's animals" -Gandhi. Why do people wear leather? Why don't people care about others the way that I do? Why am I special? Why am I different? Do you ever take the time to ask questions or do you go about your daily life never asking the most important question of all... Why? Just why. Ask it, try it out. You might like it. I know I do.

A good view of god.

So what’s wrong with the clothes I wear?
I know it’s not the latest in style.
I just figure if I wait around long enough…
Well, you know how everything comes back around.

I don’t pay attention to radios or daily papers.
I don’t even watch the movie shows.
I figure I can skip past politics and weapons un-found…
Well, you know how everything just comes back around.

I could sit here all day watching bush turn into Kennedy,
and wait for the new Martin Luther King.
I could spend a lifetime wishing and wasting feeling.
I could be the nobility that the world so lacks today.
I could be the right in the face of wrong,
and show the world just how much better the world is of a place,
if we just stop
and love.

It’s hard to listen to today’s music and today’s bands.
I should have been born circa 1945 sixty style.
All the music they have today, just looks pretty in magazines in magazine stands.
I figure the soul and art of the song will just come back around.

What’s wrong with this crowd I hang out with?
They’re no different than you or me.
Ya. The men kiss men
and the girls kiss girls
They’re as gay as can be.
My best friends strums her guitar
while I smoke my out my heart,
and contemplate the thinking about thinking about art.
That boy over there is still a virgin,
and never tried drugs,
that man is tripping to the beyond
and everyone’s got their addiction.
We’re all just people.
I figure it all evens out in the end
We’re all just living.
We’re all just trying to find our heaven.


I could sit here waiting for the next Beatles,
or for the next world war three start so we can start world war four,
I could spend a lifetime wishing for another Gandhi
or wanting to meet King, Charles, George or Morrison.
jesus come back oh jesus come back and why don’t you bring your friends
jesus come back oh jesus come back be holding Gandhi’s hand
jesus come back oh jesus come back and be holding Mother Teresa’s hand
oh jesus if your jesus you’d come back today or simply tell us what to believe in
we just don’t know, we just don’t know if earth is earth or is earth hell or is this heaven?
jesus if your jesus you’d tell us what to believe in.




And that’s a good view of god right there

There right God of view good a that’s and.

.ereht thgir God fo weiv doog a s’that dna

And before you know it you’ll be pushing up daisies,
The bees will carry off your scent,
To where a bear licks your honey yellow glow.
Well, before you know it you’re the wind in the trees,
The laugh of a baby and the cardboard home in an alley,
You’re the gum on the subway pole, and you’re the smile
of a dying war.
Before you know it you’re the shot in the gun, the Erie calm after
and the scream before that.
You’re the hate in the war, the anger in the commander,
and you’re the guilt in the soldier, knowing what he’s done is wrong.
You’re the struggle between, the fight of what is justice and where it’s been.
Your time suspended, You’re the humming birds wings,
You’re the coolness in the grass blades that people love,
You’re the leaves that make the wind sing,
and all that in between, oh, when it’s just right.
You’re the strum of a guitar, the soul of the words, the nail in the coffin,
the bluebird.
The Antichrist, the Savior, the savant and the politician,
you’re the hole that they’ve dug us in
you’re the guilt and you’re the sin on their carry’s on their lips,
You’re the repression and you’re the breaking free of the light that’s in them.
You’re the people that smile and you’re the laugh in Dionysus’ wine,
You’re also the feeling in those moments where they let go of time.
You’re the hunger of a child, the pain of the mother,
and the food that helps them live just a little longer.
You’re the person feeding them, you’re the growing tree…
Your everything there ever is and everything there ever was,
Everything everything everything,
that ever will be.
You’re the planet.
The world.
The people.
You’re hate and your love.

That’s….
a good view of god right there.


J. G. Gabriel
Copyright 2010

Choices

Life is full of choices, but you already know that. There are so many minute changes in life that you barely even notice unless you are paying attention to them. Say there are a million choices in your life that are important, then there are a quadrillion ways your life can end up if you look at it from begging to end, which obviously is an extreme underestimate of possibilities.
So how do we make the right choices? How do we choose all the right things so that at the end of our life we can look back and be happy? The answer is that you cannot and also that you can. This is why we make mistakes.
As iconic and respected man, Oscar Wilde once said “Experience is simply the name we give to our mistakes.” So all those choices that you make, sometimes you later regret and sometimes you don’t, they are experiences. After all isn’t that what we do in life is gain experience? The other answer, that you can, is all dependent upon making the right choices by following your instinct, intuition and heart. Let your mind do the thinking, but let it interpret what is coming from deep inside. Do not make important decisions with your mind, but rather from the answers you already hold within you.
In our search for answers to all of our questions and choices that meddle in the affairs of our life making it more complicated and in the things that we toil over, we complete a journey that is called life. Everything that is important is the journey; it all lies in that one word.
“All of life is a journey which paths we take, what we look back on, and what we look forward to is up to us. We determine our destination, what kind of road we will take to get there, and how happy we are when we get there.” –unknown


With Love,
Jacob Grant Gabriel

Monumental

Some monumental things have happened lately. First, I finished a full novel at about 80,000 words in just a month and a half. It is fully edited and just needs to be proofread before it goes to the publishers.

Second, I have edited my second novel and am now taking a break from novels to focus on compiling my book of poetry, which once past 50,000 words will be my fifth novel to date.

Third, I have been inspired to write another novel called Prince De Muerto and have a full synopsis and timeline written. After I will work on a previous started novel called The Wildflower and the Wallflower

Writing has become more than a hobby to me, it has become and unstoppable force that is my passion. It consumes me and burns inside of me. Even when I work and go to school I will gladly forgo sleep, and often do, to write or edit my works.

Fourth, I have my first serious boyfriend since over 3 years ago. I am very picky so that in and of itself is monumental.

Fifth, I have been completely sober from alcohol and drugs for six months now, sans New Years and my birthday.

And finally sixth, in about two weeks I will proudly be able to claim that I have achieved most if not all my goals that I set out to do in one year, all done in three months. Now to keep it up for a year and beyond will be the hard part and is the task at hand. (The goals I will report on later are: Financially supporting myself, and everything to do with school since I will not be attending until fall.)

The remaining goal is to have all 8 of my books done by the time I am 25 which leaves me 10 months. If I can do two novels in three then I certainly should be able to finish all of them.

Wish me luck! Oh and wish me luck on my last goal on my initial list...quitting smoking. May god help me. ha-ha.

Much love
Jacob Gabriel