Dear Scott,
Oh how the wind is changing
Whipping around us everyday
The waters unsure
The currents unknown
I’m living day by day
We need a pause
From life itself
And from the world
As it twirls around
Not from you or from us
But from them looking in
They see just what they want
They ignore what we both see
Scott, we’re new this time
Different words tell me so
The look in your eyes
It promises me, this time
You're here to stay
“Now class,” Mr. Mike began, pacing around the front of the room, a stub of chalk clasped tightly in his hand. “I want to start something new here with these journal entries. You may continue writing as you have been, but each day I would like you to write about a dominant image from the last twenty-four hours.”
“What exactly is that suppose to mean,” Amy called out without raising her hand.
“Well, Amy. It means that each day, you are going to come in here and write about something that was the most important thing to you in the last twenty-four hours.”
“I still don’t-” she interrupted before he cut her off.
“Let me give you an example before you get all excited, Amy. Say since yesterday, I have done a few things that have been really meaningful to me. One thing is that I got to watch my son’s team win an in-door soccer conference. When I close my eyes and think back on it,” he closed his eyes. “The memory that plays back for me is the look on my son’s face, that excitement and adrenaline rushing behind his smile,” his eyes flickered open as he smiled, tiredly. “That’s what I would write about. I would try my best to describe that scene. Maybe the view of the field from where I sat, or my wife’s proud face, or my son’s team chanting as they embraced each other…” he trailed off.
“This is going to be so stupid,” Amy whispered as she turned her head to me.
“I want you to try your best right now with a dominate image. Remember, this is something we’ll be doing in here for the next week or so, so I want you to start getting used to it now. You have ten minutes,” he announced, sauntering off to his desk at the back of the room.
I picked up my pen before letting my arm rest on the cover of my closed notebook. The weight of that school day held me down as I slouched, idle in my seat, my classmates doing the same. I had no desire to write anything in those ten minutes of work time, no desire to waste energy lifting my hand to write. I’d write something about an “image” later.
The minutes ticked by, each one passing with a year before the next. I felt my chest rise and fall slightly, my breathing growing shallow and relaxed. Mr. Mike moved about the room, semi-energetic in an attempt to engage the sleepy class. My eyes could hardly keep up with him as he paced to the left and right. The thick lashes on my lids slowly began to droop over my eyes, creating thick lines through everything I saw. I was ready, oh so ready, to fall asleep right then and there.
YOU ARE READING
Dear Scott
Teen Fiction"Growing up around fairytales, Disney princesses and teen films, we are raised to believe that happy endings are always in store for us. But more often than not, reality sinks in, and the happy ending doesn't occur. Especially in high school. The ma...
