Posts tagged ‘California’

Stay or Go?

She did not know whether to leave or to stay. Should she go or should she stay?

Catie was torn and the decision needed to be made by morning. Should she flip a coin? She was either heading out to California to live with an Aunt and Uncle she barely knew and nanny their kids. Otherwise she could stay in her hometown and work at a local Famous Dave’s.

She was laying face up on her bed, contemplating the ugly ceiling she had put up with her entire childhood. She would like to get away from this town but she also knew that there were so many things she would miss. She was heading off to college at the end of the summer and this was her last chance to enjoy these people. Part of her knew that she might not enjoy them. Ever since Christmas break senior year, she felt like part of her had never come back to high school. That part of her was beyond these people and this drama and everyone knowing everyone.

Catie went to her backpack and pulled out her Chemistry notebook. She ripped out a page, nearly tearing it in half. “This’ll do,” she muttered to herself as she grabbed a pen that had chew marks on one end. Her thinking pen.

Before she could start her pro/con list, her phone rang. It was her friend Amy who didn’t mince with the hello process, “So I hear you’re leaving for the summer? Where are you going? Why would you leave? This is like the last chance we have to say goodbye!”

Catie sighed. She had told one person and the information traveled so fast. Catie started to reply. She meant to tell Amy that she was still thinking about it and didn’t know what she was going to do yet. She meant to say that she wanted advice. Amy kept talking and asking questions while Catie turned her iPhone on speaker and Googled flights to California. There was one the day after graduation.

“I know, it all came up so fast!” Catie said, interrupting Amy’s monologue. “But I have to leave the day after graduation. It’s the right flight and my Aunt and Uncle need me.”

“Oh no Catie! Why would you do that? I’m going to miss you soo much.” Amy trailed off. “Well we should have a party! Celebrate our high school time! We could have it this weekend since next weekend is graduation!”

Getting up and walking to the window, Catie said, “Sounds good. One big goodbye!”

The rest of the conversation, Catie completely zoned out as Amy talked about graduation and what she was wearing.

Catie was leaving. She didn’t need these people anymore. She was ready to be someone else and do something different.

She didn’t want to stay so that meant she would go.

Reflections of the Rose

Inspired by this week’s writing prompt

Mrs. Wilson, my fifth grade teacher, was the first one who noticed I was different. While she was a very considerate teacher to begin with, she was especially gentle towards me.

I’d stayed after school one day for help on a science project, and my somber attitude and disheveled appearance made an impression on her. She sat down in a desk beside me and folded her hands. Sitting that way in front me she looked much like a storytelling grandmother. “Have I ever told you about the story of the rose? I mean about a rose flower, not about you, my dear.”

I shook my head, but grinned slightly at the pun on my name.

“Well. There was once a crimson red rose who lived in a garden. Do you like roses?”

I shrugged. “They’re pretty enough.” I really just wanted to understand my science homework.

“This particular rose was beautiful, but its petals always drooped in sorrow. And do you know why it was so sad? The rose believed its whole life that it was ugly. Now. Next to the garden was a pond, and in it the rose could see its reflection. It stared at its reflection all day long, but the only thing it saw were the thorns, those dreadful, black thorns.  It could not see its petals of beauty or the delicate green leaves along the stem.”

I sat and listened. I had realized that if I humor her story, Mrs. Wilson might let me finish my homework and I could get out of there.

Mrs. Wilson leaned forward in her desk. “Then one day something great happened. A nearby yellow rose told the red rose of all that the red rose couldn’t see in the reflection. The red rose began to understand all that it had missed. Very slowly, but surely, the red rose grew to be a smiling, flourishing rose.” She blinked at me with kind eyes. I gave her a half smile but said nothing. “Do you see?”

I didn’t. Flowers didn’t have feelings. My name was Rose, I was fully human and thus not the rose in the story, and so I didn’t – or chose not to – see the connection. I nodded anyways. “Can we get back to my photosynthesis experiment?”

Mrs. Wilson pushed her large glasses back on her nose. “Yes, my dear, of course.”

Seven ugly years passed before I would fully grasp Mrs. Wilson’s story. She must have sensed I was having family problems, and that was why she chose to mentor me so. But I wasn’t having problems at home – not anymore. I didn’t have a home. I’d left only the night before the story of the rose. I knew that if I hadn’t left that house, I wouldn’t be here. My makeshift home switched from either under the bridge that arched over Highway 5, or under a spruce tree in the depths of a city park. Throughout most of the year in San Diego, California, the weather is wet, and so I spent most nights under that bridge. While I preferred the forest, the bridge kept out the rain better.

Those were dark times – but back to the present. I just graduated high school – it took me an extra semester, but I’d done it. I had just moved into an apartment with two other girls, a new home within walking distance of the Pacific Ocean. All three of us were part of a homeless transition program.

One night I walked along the California beach, just to try something new and take time to think. The December air was biting, and the sand was cold under my bare feet, yet I chose to soak in the sight of the pink sunset instead. I hadn’t thought of Mrs. Wilson in years, but that night her story came flooding back to me. The rose, the pond, the thorns. All through my life I’d never allowed myself to slow down – perhaps because I hadn’t caught a break.  For whatever reason, I could never see what lay underneath my past. I could never see what Mrs. Wilson saw. Back in fifth grade, I saw myself as a wandering waif, alone, dehumanized by the rest of society, and left utterly alone. I believed I was unwanted because that’s all I could see.

Now, walking across the cold sand and looking across the shimmering water, I could see so much more. I saw a dolphin fin appear and disappear somewhere in the distance and my heart leapt for joy. I’d known for at least at least two years now that marine biology was calling my name. I’d just been offered a paid internship at the Marine Biology Research Center.

I was going to accept it. The Rose that existed a few years would have turned it down, no matter how much I knew I’d love the experience. For I was unwanted, and I thought that’s what I’d always be. I was unworthy. Who would want a former homeless girl as an employee? When they offered me the internship, the marine staff had looked past the potential stigma. They looked instead at my report cards, which showed particularly outstanding grades in biology courses.

Because of my new employment, I was on my way to earning enough for college tuition, which meant that I was closer to my future as a marine biologist. This was cause for celebration, if I’d ever had one. I chuckled and hopped around awkwardly in the sand. I twirled about in the water, expressing my new-found freedom. I didn’t care if danced like a chicken or if the bottoms of my feet were numb with cold or if I looked a fool. Mrs. Wilson had no idea how right she was. I was choosing to see the petals, and I’d never felt so complete.

Written Therapy

- saving my sanity one word at a time -

Poet's Corner

Poems, poets, poetry, writing, poetry challenges

lying for a living

make it a good story

BREVITY's Nonfiction Blog

(Somewhat) Daily News from the World of Literary Nonfiction

The WordPress.com Blog

The latest news on WordPress.com and the WordPress community.

Coco J. Ginger Says

Poems and stories of love & heartbreak.

Plenty of Pages

This isn't paper, and we don't necessarily write about paradise.

Make a Living Writing

This isn't paper, and we don't necessarily write about paradise.

Be a Freelance Blogger

Learn to make REAL money blogging for hire

Lightning Droplets

Little flecks of inspiration and creativity

Star Spider

The Musings and Writing of Star Spider

The Dreamers Adventures

This isn't paper, and we don't necessarily write about paradise.

YA Writers - Alumni

This isn't paper, and we don't necessarily write about paradise.

Jeff Korhan

This isn't paper, and we don't necessarily write about paradise.