Chapter 1
The room circles around him like the rotating propellers of the helicopter overhead as he leans his head against the wall, letting his eyelids drop over his blue eyes as the world crumbled to the carpet at his feet. Sliding down the wall, his chest heaves with the pressure, his heart barely beating behind his ribs. He lifts his arm heavily and runs his fingers through his hair, its thick shaggy locks matted close against his sweaty skin, the uncomfortable feeling adding to his stress. He opens his eyes and glances around at the unused, never-to-be-used-again furnishings in the sparse apartment. The once blue paint chipped like artwork off the walls and onto the stained carpet. The sofa against the wall is now leaning towards the floor, as if heaving with the weight Chris feels in his own chest.
His cell phone buzzes in his pocket, a phone call he will probably never return. He pulls his hands to his knees and rests his head against them. He came to the Damien’s apartment to gather the last few nick knacks that were scattered around on the furniture, and maybe to find a little bit of closure in the empty rooms. It tore him apart though, and he was exhausted from the eruption of emotion that sent the couch, pillows, and tables all around the living room.
A dog barks outside, dragging him to memories of the restless woods, the ghosts among the trees silently stepping over dry twigs, hearing the hammer of the gun drop moments before the gunfire.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
The rifle goes off in Chris’s mind.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Eyes. He sees the soft grey eyes of his brother, Damien, blinking slowly as he breathes in, out, in, out, and pulls the trigger. The buck goes down, the bloodhound instantly bolting to ensure he stays down.
Bang.
Someone else is in the woods.
Bang.
This is no hunter.
Bang.
Chris glances at the gun case next to him.
Bang.
He hears the grunt, the drop, as his brother falls limp to the ground.
Bang.
They aren’t in the woods. This isn’t back home. This isn’t a memory from long ago. Bang.
Over and over again, that sound.
Bang.
The flight home is just a blurry picture, like smeared paint on a canvas, but becoming ever clearer.
Bang.
He sees the eyes of the man behind the gun, brown, cold, inhuman.
Bang.
No regrets.
Bang.
Bang.
Chris stands, walks confidently to the couch, puts it back on its feet. He glances around the room, pulls a small key from the pocket of his brother’s brown jacket, the one that now never leaves the truck, locks the large oak gun case, and leaves, locking the apartment door behind him. Remembering the phone call, he checks his phone. Stephanie again, he must have forgotten to tell her he was going to Damien’s. He sends their sister a text, only to let her know he’s ok. Trotting down the stairs outside the apartment, nodding casual greetings to Damien’s neighbors, thankful they ask no questions, he reaches the truck. Damien’s hat sits on the dash, fading in the sun, which shines intensely through the windshield. Reaching for his aviators, Christopher stops short.
Damien’s fiancé, Amber, sits stone-like in the car next to him, staring down at the clasped fists in front of her. She must have wanted to stop by, maybe she, like himself, was hoping surrounding herself with Damien’s life would erase the pain of his death.
He steps out of the truck and knocks on the passenger window of her car, instantly regretting it as she jumps, obviously not aware of his presence. Chris sees the tearstains on her cheeks and walks slowly to the driver side door, gently pulling her against his shoulder as she whimpers quietly against his flannel shirt. Amber and Damien were going to be married as soon as they got back from this tour, which would have been only three weeks away. After their parents, Amber was the first person Chris had to call, numbly speaking words he didn’t quite believe, that Damien was coming home early, bearing his nation’s flag, proudly giving his life to his country, a promise that every soldier is willing to make, but only a few are required to carry out.
Amber’s tears slow, and she pulls back, her lips quivering.
“Does it look the same?”
“No,” Chris hesitates, “it’s too quiet.”
Amber nods. Even though Damien was a quiet man, always lending a shoulder to cry on or an ear to listen to anyone’s fickle problems, his absence from that apartment would cause a silence so deadening, even a stranger would be able to feel the weight of his loss.
“I’m glad you were there, Chris,” she whispers as she turns back to her car. Resting her small hand on the door, she sighs and twists toward him, “Damien…” she stops, unable to finish her thought, wipes another tear from her pale cheek and drives away. Chris stands, stuck in the parking lot, memories triggered by her words flowing into his mind like the river he and Damien visited the summer after high school, that was so powerful they had to yell to hear each other. But these memories aren’t like those. They don’t bring a smile to his face or laughter to his tired eyes, only pain.
The memories are interrupted by another phone call, Stephanie again. This time he answers.
“Chris? Oh…oh, thank God you…you p-picked up.” Something must be wrong; she is talking quickly, stumbling over her own tongue.
“Stephanie, what is it?”
“It’s a…guest.”
“Stephanie…”
“No. Chris, it’s...he’s s-standing here, in the l-living room.” She said, almost sounding happy if not for the quickness of her voice, her own characteristically nervous habit.
“Stephanie…are you ok?” Stephanie had handled the news of Damien’s death badly at first, but it’s been two months now. She hasn’t been this shaken in several weeks.
“Chris…come.” He needed no other reason, his sister needed him, something was wrong.
Unwanted, I sit by the phone
Waiting for the buzz-
The ring that never comes.
Why don't you call?
Unwanted, I drive
Through rain and sun
To meet my someone.
Why do I try?
Unwanted, I cry.
Almost every other night.
I give him everything.
Why can't he care?
Unwanted, I am hurt
Unwanted, I am abused
Unwanted, I love
Unwanted, I am used.
Baby don't leave me.
All I want is your time.
Baby please need me.
I need you to be mine.
Unwanted, I am left
Unwanted, I am forgotten.
Unwanted, I drive...
Unwanted, you killed me.
Lately I have been battling with something: Other People's Expectations.
Growing up as a pastor's kid, I had not only the expectations of my parents, but those of whatever church we were in at the time as well.
My father's expectations of me-to be a godly young woman, who respected his wishes regarding the male species, and who could be both quiet and ladylike while I rode in muscle cars and learned how to shoot. That last part I'm okay with.
My mother's expectations-to be a musician, a teacher, craft, creative, motherly, a good sister, a confidant, a lady.
My siblings expectations-fearless, clean, selfless, there.
Church-perfect, basically. A good singer/musician, a volunteer, a missionary, a teacher, a friend to young and old, biblically a genius...
Teachers-straight A, dedicated. I've been expected to have nearly 7 hours a week for each and every class, and I have 5 classes right now. My music teachers expected at least an hour of practice every single day, and preferred more. I was supposed to have a MINIMUM of nine hours of practice a week for my college music classes.
Other students/peers-smart, but loose. Dedicated and responsible, but willing to go out and drink on the weekends.
Employers-expect me to be willing to come in to work at any time, and to put all things aside for my job-even though it isn't my career. Or maybe it is. Barista for life?
Myself? Who knows.
For twenty years I've been expected to go to college, get married, have children, be there for friends, family, make good grades, have fun, be this and be that.
Now I don't even know what to do. I could be a teacher, but I can't. I could be a barista, but no one believes that's good. I could move out...but I can't. I want to teach, but I don't really want to teach. I wanted to open a coffee shop, but I can't do that either.
Can't?
Or trying to please everyone so much that I'm letting everyone else's expectations of me smother me?
Other people do what they want, aspire to things, and don't let other people get in their way. I try to decide to move out and can't even bring it up because I know my parents wouldn't like it and wouldn't want to support that decision.
This is just a vent.
Lately I have been thinking a lot about where America is headed. We talk about and sing about our pride as American citizens, and then turn around and complain about almost every little detail of this country. So what are we really?
I believe that we have lost sight of what America was supposed to be, a place for freedom, and creativity, and new beginnings. Even since the beginning of this country, we have been shutting people out for things such as their skin color, their social class, their political views, OR EVEN THEIR CHOICE IN MUSIC OR ART. This is not fair. Surely you know that.
Tolerance has been a huge promotion in America over the last few years as well. Not under that name of course. It's labeled "Coexist" or "acceptance", among other things, and we are told to just accept everyone's differences. Yet suicide rates continue to grow, generations of TEENAGERS are facing depression and bullying in ways no one knows how to handle anymore. Technology has limited connections between families and friends, and provided an unhealthy escape from reality. This is not a rant about technology, but I want you to really think about how much time you spend on your phone, computer, iPod, MP3 player, tablet, kindle, xbox, playstation, or anything like this in comparison to sitting down and having a conversation with your sister, brother, best friend, mom or dad...I can almost guarantee you spend more time "connecting" with people on your cell phone than you do having a real conversation. --people do not know how to carry on a real conversation anymore--
So what needs to change?
We need to actually mean what we say. -we say we believe in accepting everyone's beliefs, but even our government has a hard time proving they mean that. -we say we promote self-confidence, while kids find ADVICE ON HOW TO BE ANOREXIC on the internet, which is, of course, where so many of the generation being raised right now get all of their advice.
We need to believe in a better future-->and get there.
There should no longer be a "they", when there could be a "we".
I never liked the phrase "be the change you want to see in the world"...I would change it to "be the inspiration that makes the world change."
It has recently come to my attention...well, it has recently become the object of my attention, that education has really suffered. This generation coming after me, and some even my own age, are receiving the crappiest education in American history. This society in which we can receive awards simply for participating is creating a group of Americans who feel that they can refuse to work simply because they don't want to. This group of Americans is the future of our country, they are the foundation of the political system that our children and grandchildren will be raised under. Who will my children look up to, if our entire society is built on being "happy" instead of successful, or proud, or kind...
Where are the morals in our society? They have been lost in the belief that it's okay to question everything, to disprove everything you grew up believing. I don't believe this is what John Locke and others meant when they spoke of Tabula Rasa: blank slate. We don't want our twenty-somethings and thirty-somethings still "finding themselves" and "searching for happiness"...our grandparents grew up believing that happiness was a side effect of success, of living a life worth looking back on.
So what does education have to do with all of this? Is it not obvious? Our children spend 6-8 hours a day, five days a week, 180 days a (school) year in a classroom, out of their parents' watchful eye, learning the views of a stranger whom the parents may never know, or may never speak to. Our children grow up learning that "everyone is a winner" and that it's okay to misbehave in a classroom, we'll just give you some medicine to calm you down, instead of teaching self-control. We send our children to these schools in which children are taught that you'll still get at least a B on your paper if you can spark-notes the book you were supposed to read, because the teacher probably didn't read it either. I was in a classroom one time, in high school, it was a Geography class...my teacher performed for us his cheer from his high school cheer leading experience. We also learned all about his lesbian wife and her life choices after they had their daughter. I shouldn't know anything about his personal life, he was a high school Geography teacher, with a doctorate...
Would it not be better, and safer, to place your child in an educational program where you could be involved? A place that not only teaches your child valuable, and useful information, such as how to use economic ideas in a small business or in everyday life, or how to write a professional looking paper and deliver it publicly as well...but how to think. A program that teaches that everyone has purpose, and promise, and potential to be great, and not just how to get a job. A school in which a child is able to propose ideas and discuss them with their class, their teacher, and be treated as someone with a brain instead of just another part of the machine.
This industrialized society has neglected to bring up educated children to run the country. It has neglected to teach children how to think for themselves, how to be responsible, and respectful, and...regretfully, how to be adults. We teach our children how to be college students, but after that we leave them to fend for themselves...believing that questioning truth is the answer to maturity, instead of teaching them that maturity is earned, after a lot of hard work, and some brains to back it up.
My children deserve to be taught. My children deserve to learn how to respect other people. My children deserve to learn how to respect themselves. My children deserve to learn, every day, because knowledge is power, and knowledge opens doors to so many incredible, and unexplainable worlds within our own.
Would you want anything less for your own children?
