(no subject)
ROB THE DOG
When most girls see rob they instantly lapse into a coma of giggle fits. I was no different. Back in fifth grade when he had a bowl cut and small glasses that sowed off the odd shape of his ears. Then in seventh grade, I walked the long way to class, so I could pass him. Every day, never saying hi, just walking.
It’s funny now to think about it…
But that’s in the past now. Thrown back and left behind, like my Lite-brite and the scruchies I lost in the move. In eighth grade we had the same friends, the same classes and went to the same parties. Inevitably we started talking and eventually becoming friends. The closer we got the less I felt attracted to him
…
The other day I was sitting down by the creek, on my favorite swing. The speaker crackled on my Nextel, It was my mom and she sounded tired.
~“Rob is standing in our driveway”
*“Tell him to visit the swing”
~“All right, will do”
*“luv ya”
~“bye”
It only took me ten minutes to hear the rustle in the bushes. I stopped moving. A quick analysis reviled what I was looking for: black hair.
PHWOOSH!
Out he pounced, Rob. My dog, mans best friend, my best friend.
That's not My Baby
As I stopped to pick up the last box of fruity pebbles I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. An old lady was glaring at me with sharp, menacing eyes that stung like angry wasps. I'd almost gotten used to it by then. So, begrudgingly, I piked up my feet and began pushing the cart, baby and all. Every where I went with Nicky people stare. They were always assuming I was a terrible person, whispering behind my back, and avoid my eyes when they speak to me. They hate me for having a baby. But was no teen pregnancy case, what really they were glaring at is 15 year old girl watching her baby brother.
In July my mother was having contractions, so we rushed to the hospital, I remember sitting in the triage thinking that this was the most boring day of my life. How would I have have known that boring as it seemed, nothing would be the same, not ever again. How could I have know that in all the slums of teenage angst and depression, this little boy, too young to understand my problems, would be the only one to make me try to conquer them? How could I have known I'd spend days sick but to busy taking care of him to worry about my own ailments.
What I never would have guessed was that other people would judge me for watching him. I could've told them all, I could have shoved it in their faces. I could have shouted “oh Nicky, you just love playing with your sister don't you?” Or I could've said “isn't my brother just soo cute.” like I did at the mall. But it would really achieve nothing. These people were so preoccupied with themselves they wouldn't stop to see the truth. I love my brother, and if he where my baby it would make no difference.
Little diamond in the rough
I live in the middle of nowhere. Well not exactly. I live on a small road off a huge boulevard. We're the only house on th right side, smack dab between “business” and “wilderness”. Our little dwelling is .6 acres with a small house dropped near a feroucius barn of a garage. Don't use the front door, it's a closet, has been since before I was born. Needless to say we don't have many neighbors, none of them my age. So I walk, everywhere/ at least two miles a day.
There's a special place ,a place I walk to when I need room to think/ It's my little haven, my get away. Masked by bushes and hidden between buildings , down a steep gravel path lies a creek . Just up on the hill there is a magical tree. It magic is making people fly. The long hope which holds the deteriorating fence post blends in nicely with the old bark. But, if you look closer you'll see our swing, Athena's, Rob's, David's and mine. We share it, a little diamond in the rough.
If you fell off our swing you'd roll down, down, down, to where Rob built the bridge so Athena could see the car seats. When I say car seats you probably think of the little box things babies sit in. These are completely different, somone must have taken them out of their pick-up years ago and left them there. Now all that is left Is the musty foam base clinging to a rusty metal frame. You wouldn't even think of sitting in them, not with the grass growing in the middle.
There's also a bright end of the creek, past the clearing which some opld guy must have mowed so he could “get some action”. The place I'm talking about is just beyond that, where you can hear the creek sing. Each note is fluid and crisp as the water laps at a rusted old bike half sunk in the water bed and each note is loud and echo-y as the water gushes from th pipe Jutting out from below the road...
The road I walk every day to find “my place.”
~those are the real me,
there you go I'm at your feet,
sitting there for you to read.~
~ X_Zennith___*_x
When most girls see rob they instantly lapse into a coma of giggle fits. I was no different. Back in fifth grade when he had a bowl cut and small glasses that sowed off the odd shape of his ears. Then in seventh grade, I walked the long way to class, so I could pass him. Every day, never saying hi, just walking.
It’s funny now to think about it…
But that’s in the past now. Thrown back and left behind, like my Lite-brite and the scruchies I lost in the move. In eighth grade we had the same friends, the same classes and went to the same parties. Inevitably we started talking and eventually becoming friends. The closer we got the less I felt attracted to him
…
The other day I was sitting down by the creek, on my favorite swing. The speaker crackled on my Nextel, It was my mom and she sounded tired.
~“Rob is standing in our driveway”
*“Tell him to visit the swing”
~“All right, will do”
*“luv ya”
~“bye”
It only took me ten minutes to hear the rustle in the bushes. I stopped moving. A quick analysis reviled what I was looking for: black hair.
PHWOOSH!
Out he pounced, Rob. My dog, mans best friend, my best friend.
That's not My Baby
As I stopped to pick up the last box of fruity pebbles I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. An old lady was glaring at me with sharp, menacing eyes that stung like angry wasps. I'd almost gotten used to it by then. So, begrudgingly, I piked up my feet and began pushing the cart, baby and all. Every where I went with Nicky people stare. They were always assuming I was a terrible person, whispering behind my back, and avoid my eyes when they speak to me. They hate me for having a baby. But was no teen pregnancy case, what really they were glaring at is 15 year old girl watching her baby brother.
In July my mother was having contractions, so we rushed to the hospital, I remember sitting in the triage thinking that this was the most boring day of my life. How would I have have known that boring as it seemed, nothing would be the same, not ever again. How could I have know that in all the slums of teenage angst and depression, this little boy, too young to understand my problems, would be the only one to make me try to conquer them? How could I have known I'd spend days sick but to busy taking care of him to worry about my own ailments.
What I never would have guessed was that other people would judge me for watching him. I could've told them all, I could have shoved it in their faces. I could have shouted “oh Nicky, you just love playing with your sister don't you?” Or I could've said “isn't my brother just soo cute.” like I did at the mall. But it would really achieve nothing. These people were so preoccupied with themselves they wouldn't stop to see the truth. I love my brother, and if he where my baby it would make no difference.
Little diamond in the rough
I live in the middle of nowhere. Well not exactly. I live on a small road off a huge boulevard. We're the only house on th right side, smack dab between “business” and “wilderness”. Our little dwelling is .6 acres with a small house dropped near a feroucius barn of a garage. Don't use the front door, it's a closet, has been since before I was born. Needless to say we don't have many neighbors, none of them my age. So I walk, everywhere/ at least two miles a day.
There's a special place ,a place I walk to when I need room to think/ It's my little haven, my get away. Masked by bushes and hidden between buildings , down a steep gravel path lies a creek . Just up on the hill there is a magical tree. It magic is making people fly. The long hope which holds the deteriorating fence post blends in nicely with the old bark. But, if you look closer you'll see our swing, Athena's, Rob's, David's and mine. We share it, a little diamond in the rough.
If you fell off our swing you'd roll down, down, down, to where Rob built the bridge so Athena could see the car seats. When I say car seats you probably think of the little box things babies sit in. These are completely different, somone must have taken them out of their pick-up years ago and left them there. Now all that is left Is the musty foam base clinging to a rusty metal frame. You wouldn't even think of sitting in them, not with the grass growing in the middle.
There's also a bright end of the creek, past the clearing which some opld guy must have mowed so he could “get some action”. The place I'm talking about is just beyond that, where you can hear the creek sing. Each note is fluid and crisp as the water laps at a rusted old bike half sunk in the water bed and each note is loud and echo-y as the water gushes from th pipe Jutting out from below the road...
The road I walk every day to find “my place.”
~those are the real me,
there you go I'm at your feet,
sitting there for you to read.~
~ X_Zennith___*_x