Friends

PART ELEVEN: PEACE

January 21, 1998, Wednesday

The next day, after we were dismissed, I contacted Fiona's parents. Harry stared at me, "Rode, this poem must've been a dedication now that you're typing fast." I checked my spelling before I hit send. "Can't you do it, instead?" He said pointing at Jade who was overwhelmed by the sun as she covered her head with her bag.

"I may have won the people's hearts but I cannot win another parent's heart. And that is something Charlie's good at," she replied, running to a spot that had no glimpse of sunlight. "I could message your parents but that wouldn't mean a thing to them, Harry."

There, I hit send. "They automatically approve when it's me they're talking about."

"Charlie, you are such a gem in this group," Fiona said, walking to the alley as she heard the news and making us follow her steps.

I also pressed send for my parent's permission. We headed to the alley, and I sat on one of the benches as the sunset. I tried writing different things at school—different notes and ideas. I let them be free as they roam around the shop stores. I stayed in my seat as I wrote another idea for my poem. I began to write about how it feels to be stuck in one of the store's displayed models. I motivated myself. A soul that is pure waiting to be bought.

"Do you need anything, Charlie?" Jade asked me.

"No thanks, probably an extension but rather than that, I'm good."

Even though there's the concept, there's the model, there is the display, nothing is still happening. No notes, no poem, no words, no nothing. I may have judged this contest-making way sooner than I expected. I turned around to see the four of them laughing around the stores.

Due to a lack of inspiration, I had to pause and hang out with them. After all, the day isn't gone until it's gone in our naked eye. I got an idea.

I walked home and ran as fast as I could. I got to the doorstep; no lights. I ran to my room and started writing about my household as an inspiration. If Wayne were here, he would've called me the greatest machine that ever lived. The fastest probably.

My first thoughts were the kitchen, living room, television, pets, and family. But none of that mattered when winning a contest, nor did I think so. I grabbed a pen and a piece of paper, dedicating a theme to what I've experienced in my household. Even the deepest ones that none could ever imagine, but exiting towards that tunnel and forcing another mind of mine to make it relatable to many people.

A metaphor hiding a surface beneath a well-written text. Emotional creatures or beings, e.g., a dove, turtle, or shark. I never knew what to judge first before thinking. I tried to create a diagram to organize my thoughts—here's the dove being surrounded by peace in a circle, the television that's being kept in a suitcase, and the living room where bad things happen.

At first, I thought this was all an adventure which happens to be the title of the poem. Adventure, even though I'm not discovering something I'm figuring something out. I watch the night end, but not my mind. I finished drafting the poem—needed more to fill the word count.

"Adventure"

Me and the dove can't change life
It is between the desires mine
To be able to cooperate
Even peace can't control it

Is it too young to be happy
Or too late to feel happy?
Is it too early to be like this
Or too late to feel like them?

Being kind, and being high
Doesn't change life
Is it because of pride or glamorization?
Like weakened until I go back to dust

I've traveled enough to know
That I'm the adventure to the future
It hurts me, but never underestimate
I'll take it to a grave, and have a nice dream

I don't wanna go outside
I just want to sit and stare
At the television alongside the treasures
If it's an addiction there I say, "Sorry"

I was always accompanied, Mom
Never meant a heartbroken
I've been redeeming a growth
For I've been so lost lately, Dad

Like I wasn't aware
That I was too young
But this time can be everything,
Will it change like last time?