Gifts

It took me so long to realize that the person I want to be most is myself. And Audrey Hepburn.

It was the best thing to ever happen to me.

Little Motel

"I hope that you like it in your little motel, and I hope that the suite sleeps and suits you well."

His Sodom to her Gomorrah
"I'm sorry," she croaked to the dial tone. The receiver laid on the bed next to her, blaring. She held herself tightly on the musty duvet listening to the sounds of defeat. "I'm sorry," she whispered again. He couldn't hear her. He was three thousand miles away, in the arms of his wife. She was tall, blond, and beautifully cliche. She looked great in the figurative apron of marriage. Back at the motel, his worn out lover continued to cry at the telephone, the other end of the conversation he just held to admit that he couldn't see her anymore, that his wife was pregnant, and he's always wanted a son. Lover cried harder. "I'm sorry I fell in love with you," she muttered indignantly.

Aging

December 16 is the last day I am considered, semantically, as a child. That is also the day I turn in my cap and gown order. Another coincidence.

I remember my first day sophomore year. We started at 10. My mom drove Joey, Ryan, and me to high school. That morning, Joey and I went to get coffee at Speedway. When I came home I couldn't stand the thought of three more years.

Three years later, I can't stand the thought of leaving. Making new friends. Starting something new. I'm disappointed that there is so much I didn't do, and there will never be a chance for me to make it up.