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.
