Story 14 // Jump

She wiggled her toes at the end of the pier, looking at the rippling water with hesitation. The color was unreal--teal/blue/green/awesomeness that no paint swatch could ever emulate. The sun dipped behind a cloud, and she thought:

This is stupid, why can't I jump?

It's just a lake, come on. Just do it. Come on just jump.

No one is looking. Well, not yet. Get on with it. Get into the lake!

...

photo here

Sarah put on her sandals and got ready to leave. Why was it that every time she came to the lake she chickened out? It frustrated her, putting lines on her forehead as she clasped the left one. The red coloring had faded but these were by far her favorite pair of summer sandals, having never found a replacement for eight years running. Her style was a little different when not at the lake. She could usually be found in blazers, pencil skirts, and crisp button ups at her job downtown. But she turned into a boho-hippy whenever summertime hit. She just couldn't get enough flowy skirts and loose fitting tanks. Once she clocked out she changed into her off duty uniform. It was her summer alter ego. All she needed now was to convince it that jumping off the short wood pier into the lake was a good idea. One day.

After collecting her things she trekked inside her family's lake house and opened her laptop. She had promised not to work while on vacation here, but no one was currently in the small bungalow, so she decided to take a peek at the chaos of emails. Scanning down the list, she clicked about two dozen that were clearly spam but for some reason in her "important" section. Those sneaky emails, she thought. They may have tricked gmail but they didn't trick me! She kept scanning, clicking on semi-interesting titles, moving some to a file marked REPLY BY FRIDAY, keeping her ears perked up for anyone coming into the house.

She worked in media, but her true passion had always been film. She learned that it was a lot tougher to make it in the film world than in the media world, and she had a knack for media that pleased her boss but not herself. So she decided to take the money over a happy career path, since let's be honest here, she got paid quite well. Much better than when she was a PA on film sets. Fetching people coffee and moving apple boxes for twelve hours a day got her around $120. Sitting at a desk and analyzing analytics for her boss paid her that amount every two hours. She had already paid off her student loans and she wasn't even thirty. Life was good, for the most part.

Suddenly one title grabbed her full attention: CONGRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE BEEN ACCEPTED INTO THE FILM STUDIES MFA PROGRAM AT COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY.

WHAT?!?!

On a whim she had applied to Columbia. That alter ego, the lake house chick, she had applied. She had made a reel and sent it in, polished off her test scores, and crossed her fingers. She couldn't believe it. This was really happening. It didn't feel like reality.

She looked towards that short pier through the window, and quickly took off her bikini coverup. She ripped her sandals off and threw them without looking. She opened the old french doors that led outside and ran as fast as she could towards the lake. Without even thinking she jumped in.

She stayed under for a little bit, then emerged a new person. She was now her summer alter ego, living her true life again. And it felt good.

Story 13 // Fog

First off, I apologize for not being on top of publishing my stories. After my grandma's funeral,  creative writing just seemed to stop. I had a really hard time getting focused on personal projects and have instead been getting lost in books to keep my mind unavailable. But I need to wake it up and get back to this, after all, that's what she would say to me. And to stop procrastinating and to maybe run more. She was a great motivator, even now that I can't talk to her. So I promise to get back to work, and publish stories once a week as I originally planned. And maybe some personal inspiration too. We'll see. 

FOG

The pine needles crunched under her feet as she walked down the well beaten path towards the ridge. It was a very deceiving path. You would never know it lead to anything special. The trees loomed in on both sides, as if trying to hug each other. The air was muggy but cool, like a summer evening that breaks through the heat. Only a few birds flew by, most avoiding the narrow spaces between branches. She saw a nest up high on one branch, little babies sitting calmly under their mother. All of the trees were a deep green that no paint color could describe.

The path opened up a little to another walkway, leading to a moss covered cabin. It looked abandoned, or closed for the season. Either way, it seemed to be doing just fine by itself. The weeds had grown into teenagers and the vines had partially covered the front door, but the red coloring seemed to shine in defiance. It was just about the cutest little place she had ever seen. She pulled out her film camera and snapped a few shots. She could of sworn the cabin was smiling in the last one.

As she got closer to the ridge, the breeze started to pick up a little. Smells of fog and pine needles thickened, filling the air with a cozy aroma. Light peeked out from behind a few young saplings, and suddenly there it was.

The ridge.

The rock cropped out towards the valley below, steel blues and grays of stone as old as time. White and black moss peppered the surface, helping hikers not slip on the lightly dewed surface. The timing couldn't of been better. She got her film camera out once more, and took photos until her film supply was all but spent. Then she turned back to her backpack, and slowly lifted out an urn. She walked to the very edge of the ridge, making sure her feet were well placed before opening the lid. After checking the direction of the breeze, and muttering a few words under her breath, she opened it up and let it fly. The ashes joined the low hanging fog and together they watched the sunset from the best view in the world.

Story // 12 The Crash

I remember thinking that time had frozen. It obviously can't freeze, but sometimes I think logic stops existing for a few seconds every now and then during an event of great importance. It's as if the world is set on pause, and you realize that you are only a tiny part of it, with different universes and plans of existence...then you blink and everything is back to normal, or at least time is. My life wasn't normal after time un-paused.

.
.
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Getting a tattoo wasn't as painful as I had thought it would be. It's that annoying pain you feel after you get a flu vaccine, only for hours on end. It itches, feels scratchy, but pain itself isn't exactly at a high level. At least that's how I felt after getting my first tattoo. Eighteen and new in college, it was what I had wanted to get for years while in high school. Hidden on my right hip, not broadcast to the world, it was perfect.

I hopped in the car after it was done with my two friends, ready for a fun night out, well in rather, since we were all underage. We were going to a friend's house to hang out and relax, tell stories of how college was going so far. Finally all of us were back in town, and it was going to be a fun reunion.

I didn't fasten my seatbelt at first, since my hip was still wrapped in cling-wrap. I didn't want anything to rub against my fresh ink since it felt a little raw still, and I was only driving around town so what could happen in a dozen blocks? I had the steering wheel to keep me steady, my teenage brain thought. We decided to go to Starbucks, then to the party/hangout.

.
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The crunch was the first thing that broke the long lasting silence in that frozen second of time. Tire wheel on windshield, it sounded like it was coming from a megaphone speaker right into my ears. The car bounced back twenty feet, scraping up the road with tire marks. When we finally stopped, I grabbed at my seatbelt, forgetting I had absentmindedly fastened it after Starbucks. Then I grabbed my hip. The wrapping was no where to be found, and all I felt was metal against my stomach. How is this possible? I thought about what I should look like, but all I could see was the door dramatically bent into my side, L-shaped. I checked for pain, but felt nothing, thanks to the adrenaline boost. Then, this terrible whirling started, the truck that hit us was trying to start his car with his foot on the gas, making his tires spin. The windshield looked like spider webbing, and started to smoke from the new friction. The engine roared on and the truck jumped alive, trying in vain to crawl up my car and down the road. It attempted a few times, like a monster truck does in an arena, but the engine died again.

The man responsible for the accident stumbled out of the truck, three times over the legal drinking limit. Neighbors poured out of apartments and houses to watch everything. A few men saw the drunkard and corralled him until the police got to the scene. My two friends had gotten out right after the crash since their doors were working, and were on the phone with 911.

I felt the car slowly start to move backwards down the slight incline. I hit the brakes but nothing happened. Still not able to move my torso, I wasn't sure what what causing the movement. Was it a tow truck? I tried to open the door, but the handle was no where to be found, twisted out of sight. I banged on the window, started screaming at the people watching me. I felt like a fish in a tank about to be flushed. It was the most helpless feeling I've ever experienced. I thought the car would explode with me in it. I panicked. Suddenly a crowbar showed up in the seam of the door, and slowly started to work it open. It finally budged just enough for me to crawl out, thankful that I could still move all my body parts. I got out as blocks were being put on the back tires of my completely totaled car.

I grabbed my friends and we huddled by the wreckage until all the reports were filed. This was the drunk man's third DUI, and he would get a felony for the accident since he injured people. His bail was set at a hundred grand. My back began to get stiff, as well as my neck. I found out I fractured my tailbone, but nothing was broken. I would need to take therapy for two years so my tailbone could heal.

After a while, I looked down at my hip, forgetting I had gotten a tattoo. There was a medium amount of blood, and when I lifted my shirt, I saw a perfect seat belt line across the middle of it. Right through the design. But you know what? I walked away from the worst car crash of my life. A little damage to my tattoo was fine by me.

Welp

Well, I've missed a bunch of weeks of stories, and I want to say I've been taking time off for my bday, crummy personal stuff, and being sick but honestly, it's the inevitable writers block. It's like a creative funk, but with words. I've had it many times, and I'm used to this cycle. I just have to take a break and ride it out. Try new creative outlets, reflect on stuff, blah blah blah. So. I started a Tumblr account, for starters. Gotta get away from my brain to find my way back to my mind, ya know? It happens, and I'm just bummed to be missing some posts and letting anyone reading this down. Well just a little, it is my blog after all. My space to do my thang without judgement. Know what I'm sayin? Exactly.

With that being said, I have been thinking a lot about the short story fragments rolling around in my brain, and I've been trying to outline a few. So be on the lookout for those lil gems! In the meantime, I'm going to keep taking some photos of my cat for my very unimportant new Tumblr blog. If you have some minutes to waste, check it: 

HANIMAL LURVES YOU

It's almost embarrassing to admit that I started a blog for my cat. Almost. 

Have a good Monday!

-HM

Story // 11 Library (story + memory)

I remember as a kid I used to spend my summer days at the library. The minute I walked inside, the cool air brought a sense of calm to my sweaty face and frazzled hair. It was relaxing to be inside a building with so many worlds housed together. What adventure will I go on today? Who will I meet? What city will I visit?

The sci-fi section was always a good choice. Depending on which series I started with, I could travel at speeds that scientists could only dream of. I've seen planets with blue vegetation covering everything, run by little red fireflies. There were an infinite amount of adventures to go on when you traveled intergalactically. But watch out, enemies were around every corner. And oxygen was never abundant enough. Especially when you were stranded on a lava planet.

Sometimes I would feel like solving a mystery or two with my girl, Nancy. She always had a thing for detective work, and still kept up a trendy wardrobe at the same time. She was amazing, and I wanted to go on every mission with her. Sometimes we would have to deal with ghosts, which was my favorite part. Those sneaky spirits were always out to get us, but Nancy knew what to do every time. 

For some reason the stories about the struggle for equality always drew me in right away. Like quicksand I would sink into the plot, never budging from my wooden chair in the reading space. I wanted to know about how other people kept their faith, how in the mist of tragedy they clung to hope. Or how they abandoned it altogether, only to discover it was there with them all along. It terrified me how awful some people were to others, and how the justice system didn't always deliver a fair ruling. Tears would sting in my eyes as I tried to hold down a fast forming lump in my throat. Then I would look up to make sure no one saw just how upset I was getting. 

I remember all the friends I made in each story, all the adventures they took me on. The good news and the bad. The battles we fought. The opinions we influenced. The incredible power of a book will stay with me forever. 

I think this summer I'll wander through the Wild West section. Or maybe take a trip around the world on a pirate ship...I'll let you know if I find any treasure maps. 

Whoops & Story // 10 Catching Waves (poem)

Sorry for not posting this past Wednesday, I was busy with a new beauty blog I just started with my bestie. I did a video so that took longer than I anticipated with editing. Even though I edit pretty fast, it still took me a couple of hours from start to finish. But it was pretty cool feeling like I was back in film school, working on a class project. Geez I miss that! Late nights in the editing room, lining a script for the next day's shoot, organizing the shot list...

Anyway, if you like makeup/hair/beauty in general, check us out HERE. We are just getting started and it's the best thing ever to have a blog with your best friend. I would highly recommend starting one! I can't wait to see this one grow with our changing beauty inspirations, and to be able to look back at the archives and get a laugh out of our dorkiness. Chloe is the most fun to work with, and her tips are what I love to read about. I tried her hair tutorial today actually, see it HERE.

On another note, I have a weird addiction to writing poetry, especially haikus, so I thought I would write one this week. It's about surfing, which I sorely miss ever since my board got a massive ding in it right after moving. I'm so bummed, my poor little blue board, laying all sad and lonely along my patio wall. Hence my sad little poem. Just a heads up before you read this or any future poetry of mine, I only write sarcastic/ironic poems, so just remember to not take any of it seriously. The more ridiculous the better in my opinion! 

Story // 10 Sylvia Plath as a dramatic surfboard

Day 45

The sun beats down,
Can't help but frown,
My life is done forever.

Call me dramatic,
but my last aquatic,
outing might of been my last endeavor.

What will she do with me?
How can she not see,
that I am as lonely as a stray.

Life out of water,
is so much hotter,
it's literally melting me away.

Oh what I would be,
when back in the sea,
the envy of all who have surfed.

But for now I'm beached,
and have almost reached,
my last bit of hope has dispersed.

This gigantic hole in my side,
this enemy that I bide,
the time away with is no happy thing.

So here's to my once happy life,
I now live in strife,
Curse this retched ding!


THE END! Thanks for reading! :)

Story // 09 Being a Female Breadwinner (Essay)

This isn't necessarily a story, it's more of an essay. I wanted to write about this after reading an article this morning about women in power who are seen but still invisible (link HERE). But then again, as long as I'm writing something once a week, then it counts in my book. This is a little bit of my opinion on being a female breadwinner, and being a female who is invisible in the spotlight.
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It seems that there are never enough hours in one day to get everything done, but that's not saying I don't get a good chunk of my todo list checked off. That said, it doesn't really matter what I accomplish in the grand scheme of things, since I will never be looked at as equal to a male counterpart. I can make enough money to retire tomorrow, yet there will still be someone out there saying I could of done more, made more, or been a better role model to women. I've found that in the past few years of marriage that a female breadwinner in the family isn't praised, and that I need to constantly prove to others that I am just as capable as a man to do my job, balance my personal finances, and that I in fact don't think with my emotions for every decision I make. I'm used to it, but I'd be lying if I said I don't get jealous of the freedom men have sometimes.

Ever since I got married my family has been wondering what's wrong with my husband, since he is unemployed. Like he has some type of disease, they think we are constantly struggling with one income. The reality? We are doing fine. It's not like I'm raking in the dough, but I'm making enough to pay for my family to live in a condo in an expensive town and eat healthy foods every day. That, my friends, is an accomplishment. Ya I don't have much in my savings, but thats primarily due to my wedding two years ago that I had to partially finance. Weddings are expensive, and I'm still working through the bills. But it was an amazing night, so definitely worth a little debt. I don't get that feeling of pride from most of my family members about my job status, instead I just get worried calls and frustrating emails asking me about updates on my husband's status. This isn't saying that everyone in my family is like this, but more than a few have been disappointed with me about this fact. Like I can control the job market. Like my husband is purposely not working. Like I am not enough of a person to be the breadwinner. Yep that's me!

My friends have been mostly positive about our financial situation, maybe because I talk to them about everything so they know me the best. When my husband and I go out with new friends, we always get the question: "so, what do you do for a living?" It's really made me think hard about how much American's define themselves by their careers. As much as I love working, I don't want to be defined by my job. That's the last thing I want someone to think about when they think of me. It's weird, and usually we say some baloney answer to fill in the gap, but I just don't like that question. Maybe I'll make something up next time I'm asked. Astronaut sounds plausible.

I for one really appreciate a non-traditional household. I don't believe in typical gender roles, and I think that men sometimes vacuum better than women. I get asked a lot about how I have time to run home and make meals after working so much, and when I say I don't cook what's their answer? Usually always: "oh, you'll learn eventually when you stay at home with the kids". Ummm excuse me? When did I even mention children to you? But if you see commercials these days, there are only about two that show stay at home dads. So it makes sense that the public thinks this way. It's also depressing that the public can't think outside the box. We will never be able to change these stereotypes unless we can change our culture, and that will take a while. Like, my grandchildren will be the first to benefit from my changes today. And that's alright with me, if it pays off for them. If one day they can look back at this biased generation and wonder why the world was so close minded. To be able to see that evolution is progress, even if they have new issues to deal with.

I just wish one day I can stop fighting two battles at the same time: the battle to win the bread and the battle to earn the position of winning the bread. One day.


"Only when women in positions of power become the norm will they be able to fully exercise that power." -Ava Thompson Greenwell, author of article linked at top of essay.


If I offended anyone with this essay, I'm sorry. That was not my intention, I just want to share my opinion. And if you are offended ask yourself this: can you not see outside the box? Maybe your opinions are just as offensive.