Part VIII of an unfinished story.
Copyright Julia Bydulia
---
After school, Michelle went to the hallway outside the chorus room to wait with the other kids who were auditioning. She sat down on the floor and set her books down next to her. The floor was cold and she shivered as she shied away from everyone else, all girls who she knew of, but, didn't actually know.
Mr. James busted through the locked doors of the chorus room, a stack of paper in his hand, his hair disheveled. "Come on in, you guys," he sighed, rushing back into the room.
Kayla, a girl that Michelle liked talking to in chorus class, scoffed at Mr. James's attitude and stood up with everyone else, gathering her books and heading into the chorus room. Michelle walked right behind her and sat next to her when she picked a seat.
"Do you have a pencil I can borrow?" She asked Kayla, when Mr. James gave them each an audition form to fill out. It was the first audition she had ever been to, and she was feeling more nervous than she ever had. She spun her CD between two fingers and ripped the corners of the paper with her monologue on it.
Kayla nodded and pulled a pink led pencil out of her bag. "There ya go," she said. Kayla always seemed polite and sweet and talented to Michelle. She'd never really seen anything below the surface.
"Thanks."
Mr. James ranted for a few minutes, as they all expected him to. A short girl that Michelle didn't quite recognize sat on the other side of the room with a smile plastered onto her face. She wondered what it felt like to be her, with long and dark hair and very round cheeks.
"Whose first?" Mr. James finally finished.
Michelle volunteered reluctantly.
I hope that someday this will be something I laugh about where I do well or not, Michelle thought to herself.
When it was just her and Mr. James in the room, it was even more nerve wracking. She wrung her hands and swallowed hard. "Ok. Song or monologue first?" She asked him.
"Whichever," he said, his tone bored and cold.
So, she started with her song and sang two verses of Penny Lane. Her monologue went off without a hitch. Her heart was still pounding as she waddled toward the door and reached for the cold, metal handle.
Laugh today, she told herself in her head as she grabbed her bags and headed down the hall, preparing for the wait for her ride to get there. That wasn't so bad. Just had to do it like a band aid.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Saturday, April 18, 2009
rorschach
I wrote this one just now, after rediscovering lack of capital letters.
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
---
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
---
give me your secrets and i promise to
tell you just exactly what i see in the
misshapen blackness that they are.
if you gave me your mind i'd hold it close
and tuck it in at night to keep the
nightmares from swallowing your psyche whole.
the papers that you spilled your inkwell on
are sopping wet and dripping broken hearts
over the table and over the floor.
i see the hearts you have left scattered
like a trail of bread crumbs
and i see the smile you flashed
just before you tore mine from my
unsuspecting chest.
they say there are no wrong answers
but i still feel like i have failed.
tell you just exactly what i see in the
misshapen blackness that they are.
if you gave me your mind i'd hold it close
and tuck it in at night to keep the
nightmares from swallowing your psyche whole.
the papers that you spilled your inkwell on
are sopping wet and dripping broken hearts
over the table and over the floor.
i see the hearts you have left scattered
like a trail of bread crumbs
and i see the smile you flashed
just before you tore mine from my
unsuspecting chest.
they say there are no wrong answers
but i still feel like i have failed.
girl on fire
I wrote this when I thought that a lack of capitalization was cool to use in poems.
I wrote this when I thought I was in love with a boy that I realize now I just love.
I wrote this when I thought Gaia was awesome.
Ah, how time has changed me.
Copyright Julia Bydulia
---
we are two different species living in the same world,
so how am i supposed to win your heart?
i like reading harry potter books and fantasizing
about boys in hats and wizard robes
and you like to read about chords and key changes
while you try to learn the flow of the songs.
i like to write about girls falling in love with
music and boys and themselves while they
try to discover what life is--
and you like to write about dreams you've had
and scribbled down in a midnight stupor.
i love you for your heart and your mind
(even if it is filled with new wave nonsense and
religion) so i wish you could love me too.
I wrote this when I thought I was in love with a boy that I realize now I just love.
I wrote this when I thought Gaia was awesome.
Ah, how time has changed me.
Copyright Julia Bydulia
---
we are two different species living in the same world,
so how am i supposed to win your heart?
i like reading harry potter books and fantasizing
about boys in hats and wizard robes
and you like to read about chords and key changes
while you try to learn the flow of the songs.
i like to write about girls falling in love with
music and boys and themselves while they
try to discover what life is--
and you like to write about dreams you've had
and scribbled down in a midnight stupor.
i love you for your heart and your mind
(even if it is filled with new wave nonsense and
religion) so i wish you could love me too.
Story, An Untitled
Part VII of an unfinished story
Copyright Julia Bydulia
---
With her shirt on backwards and her feet bare, Michelle unlocked the stall she was getting changed in, gathered up all of her things and ran out of the bathroom without another word.
The hallway seemed impossibly long and her heart seemed impossibly large for her chest. Her feet slipped and slid all over the tiles of the floor and she found that running without shoes in the halls of the school made it hard to keep your balance.
When she did reach the door to the classroom, she gulped down air and let it all out at once before pushing through it and walking back to her seat, her shoes still in her hand and her shirt still backwards. Vincent was sitting in the same way he was when she left him. His hair was still pulled back in that tight ponytail, which was still resting on the back of his neck.
Without another second wasted, Michelle walked to her seat and sat down, throwing her shoes on the floor. Someone was presenting their monologue at the front of the room, but, no one liked him anyway, so the noise wasn't a real disturbance.
"Hi," Vincent whispered when he saw her.
She held up on finger and ripped out a piece of notebook paper:
Vincent, my darling Italian Stallion.
I don't like you anymore or anyhow or anyway except that I love you. That sounds weird. But it's not the same way. So I hope you have beautiful babies someday. Babies that are in no way mine.
She folded up the piece of paper and threw it at him, grinning as she did.
He smirked at the note while he read it, then he stole her pencil and used it to write a response:
My girlfriend, my penis, and I are all pleased to hear it.
He threw the note at her and turned back to the front of the room, watching Mr. No One Likes Me Anyway with a small smile on his face.
Michelle felt naive. Naive and absolutely stupid. How could she have not known that Vincent had a girlfriend? How long had the two of them been dating? Did she know about all of the embarrassing things that Michelle had done while she was chasing Vincent? She dug her nails into her thigh and felt the urge to punch herself.
Still, a smile crept on her face. Whether the girl knew or not, there wasn't anything to know anymore. Michelle's heart was lighter than it had been in a while. She felt like she might be able to go home without daydreaming about him.
Copyright Julia Bydulia
---
With her shirt on backwards and her feet bare, Michelle unlocked the stall she was getting changed in, gathered up all of her things and ran out of the bathroom without another word.
The hallway seemed impossibly long and her heart seemed impossibly large for her chest. Her feet slipped and slid all over the tiles of the floor and she found that running without shoes in the halls of the school made it hard to keep your balance.
When she did reach the door to the classroom, she gulped down air and let it all out at once before pushing through it and walking back to her seat, her shoes still in her hand and her shirt still backwards. Vincent was sitting in the same way he was when she left him. His hair was still pulled back in that tight ponytail, which was still resting on the back of his neck.
Without another second wasted, Michelle walked to her seat and sat down, throwing her shoes on the floor. Someone was presenting their monologue at the front of the room, but, no one liked him anyway, so the noise wasn't a real disturbance.
"Hi," Vincent whispered when he saw her.
She held up on finger and ripped out a piece of notebook paper:
Vincent, my darling Italian Stallion.
I don't like you anymore or anyhow or anyway except that I love you. That sounds weird. But it's not the same way. So I hope you have beautiful babies someday. Babies that are in no way mine.
She folded up the piece of paper and threw it at him, grinning as she did.
He smirked at the note while he read it, then he stole her pencil and used it to write a response:
My girlfriend, my penis, and I are all pleased to hear it.
He threw the note at her and turned back to the front of the room, watching Mr. No One Likes Me Anyway with a small smile on his face.
Michelle felt naive. Naive and absolutely stupid. How could she have not known that Vincent had a girlfriend? How long had the two of them been dating? Did she know about all of the embarrassing things that Michelle had done while she was chasing Vincent? She dug her nails into her thigh and felt the urge to punch herself.
Still, a smile crept on her face. Whether the girl knew or not, there wasn't anything to know anymore. Michelle's heart was lighter than it had been in a while. She felt like she might be able to go home without daydreaming about him.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Story, An Untitled
Part VI of an unfinished story
Copyright Julia Bydulia
---
The next day, Michelle was nervous. She could recite the entire monologue with little to no mistakes, but, having to perform it twice- once for a grade and once for the musical -made her feel as though she would lose her breakfast. No matter how small that breakfast (of exactly one half of a chocolate toaster pastry) may have been.
In the car on the way to school, she studied the monologue. In her first period class, she ignored geometry for it. In second period, she forced all of her friends to let her recite it for them. In third period, the Spanish language was the last thing on her mind. Research Writing seemed useless as she sat and poured all of her energy into memorization.
Before fifth period, she raced to the bathroom with a plastic bag full of her costume in one hand and her other hand being preoccupied with covering her mouth to hold back what she was sure was vomit. In the stall, she threw the bag to the side as fast as she could and sat in front of the toilet bowl, retching over and over. Her throat was sore and her hands were cold with clutching the porcelain of the toilet by the time she was through, but, absolutely no remnants of food or anything else was in the bowl.
Feeling as sick as she ever had, Michelle wiped her mouth and stood up, holding her stomach. Putting on her costume was the last thing she wanted to do, but, she pulled out the skirt and the top and pulled off her own jeans and tshirt. She felt bloated and disgusting as she looked down and saw her stomach, covered in small, dark hairs and pink stretch marks. To cover it, she pulled the skirt and top on as fast as she could.
When she emerged from the stall, there was a short girl with bright pink hair washing her hands at the sink.
"Were you puking in there?" She asked Michelle, flicking the water off her fingers and hitting the lever for the paper towel dispenser with her elbow.
Michelle pulled on her skirt nervously. "I didn't puke. How long have you been in here?"
"I'm skipping," the girl with the pink hair told her, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I've been wandering around since almost third fuckin' period. The principal almost fuckin' caught me in the hall, so I had to fuckin' pretend to go to the fuckin' bathroom."
Fuckin', Michelle added in her head for good measure. "Well, I'll...see you later? Good luck with that."
She walked out of the bathroom with her clothes in the bag her costume had been in, and a nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach. There was no way to stop her feeling sick and no way to stop her brain from painting pictures of Vincent all over the inside of her skull. This has got to stop, she screamed at her subconscious. You don't even like him! And that much was true. When she stood next to Vincent, she felt no urge to do anything romantic or having to do with romance. There were no images of kisses or weddings when he was in the general area. It was genuine to say she didn't like him when he was in the room, but, for some reason after he left, her brain would go crazy and start forcing him on her heart again.
You love the idea of him, she told herself for the billionth time. A nice, cute, smart, musical, funny guy with the ability to hug the hell out of everyone? You have always thought that that is perfect. You've been telling yourself it is since the fifth grade. But you don't feel it with him and you know it. So stop romanticizing him whenever he is away. Stop putting his face on that guy you made for yourself in elementary school. Vincent is your friend. And you don't want him for a boyfriend. She nearly slapped herself, just to get the point across, but, she thought better of it. Instead, she pictured herself as the pink haired girl, slouching over the sink with her hands under the flowing water.
When she did reach the classroom, she walked inside trying to look confident. Vincent was sitting in his seat with one leg stretched out to the side. She sighed as the lovely feeling she had for him in the hall leaked out of her chest and gathered in disgusting puddle in her gut. Instead of the knight in shining armor her had been while he was out of sight, he slipped back into the roll of...just a great guy. She sat down in the seat next to him and stared at the back of his head while he leaned over his notebook, seemingly concentrating heavily.
"You know, Vincent," she started, waiting for him to look up.
He did, his eyes wide as though he had just been pulled out of the dark and into the sunlight. "What?"
"You're pretty swell," Michelle finished, smiling and flicking his nose.
"Michelle?" The teahcer was calling her to the front of the room. "Michelle, are you ready?"
Michelle nodded and dashed to the front of the room to recite the monologue. When her teacher nodded, she started. After she finished each line, it slipped out of her memory and ended up in some sort of abyss. Before she knew it, the two minutes was over and she was walking back to her seat with a violent blush flooding her cheeks and a dorky smile on her face.
Vincent looked up at her and gave her a double thumbs up. She smiled at him and blushed more.
"Do you want to change?" The teacher asked Michelle over the sound of her classmates all talking.
Michelle nodded and ran out the door with her bag of clothes. It was good, it was good, it was good, she repeated to herself over and over until it finally sank in. He gave you a double thumbs up. It was fine. He was smiling. It was fine. She shook out her legs and stepped into the bathroom, expecting it to be empty.
Instead, the girl with the pink hair was leaning against the wall, twirling a pack of cigarettes between to fingers and smacking gum.
"How old are you, anyway?" Michelle asked, stepping into the first stall and immediately peeling off her shirt and stepping out of the skirt.
"Sixty-fuckin'-seven. What do you care?"
She looked about eleven and her voice sounded about six. "You look too young for smokes," Michelle commented.
"So what if I am? What's gonna fuckin' happen? Am I gonna fuckin' get fuckin' lung cancer?" The girl scoffed and kicked the wall.
Michelle laughed under her breath. "You might."
"Yeah, well, I've spent a lot of time worrying about fuckin' sickness and what stupid fuckin' people think. I'm not going to worry so much about cancer when there are so many other decisions to make."
"You sure aren't scared of sharing," Michelle said as she pulled on her jeans.
"Are you?"
"I don't feel the need to spill my guts to anyone who walks into the bathroom."
"I'm not going to keep my mouth shut if I have something to say. If I feel something, I feel it and if I don't, I don't. If I want to say something, I say it. What's the use of having a head or a heart if you don't use them?" The girl with the pink hair almost shouted.
The image of Vincent flashed in her mind again. Michelle froze with her tshirt half on and half off. If you feel something, feel it, she thought, the words expanding in her head. If you feel something, feel it.
Copyright Julia Bydulia
---
The next day, Michelle was nervous. She could recite the entire monologue with little to no mistakes, but, having to perform it twice- once for a grade and once for the musical -made her feel as though she would lose her breakfast. No matter how small that breakfast (of exactly one half of a chocolate toaster pastry) may have been.
In the car on the way to school, she studied the monologue. In her first period class, she ignored geometry for it. In second period, she forced all of her friends to let her recite it for them. In third period, the Spanish language was the last thing on her mind. Research Writing seemed useless as she sat and poured all of her energy into memorization.
Before fifth period, she raced to the bathroom with a plastic bag full of her costume in one hand and her other hand being preoccupied with covering her mouth to hold back what she was sure was vomit. In the stall, she threw the bag to the side as fast as she could and sat in front of the toilet bowl, retching over and over. Her throat was sore and her hands were cold with clutching the porcelain of the toilet by the time she was through, but, absolutely no remnants of food or anything else was in the bowl.
Feeling as sick as she ever had, Michelle wiped her mouth and stood up, holding her stomach. Putting on her costume was the last thing she wanted to do, but, she pulled out the skirt and the top and pulled off her own jeans and tshirt. She felt bloated and disgusting as she looked down and saw her stomach, covered in small, dark hairs and pink stretch marks. To cover it, she pulled the skirt and top on as fast as she could.
When she emerged from the stall, there was a short girl with bright pink hair washing her hands at the sink.
"Were you puking in there?" She asked Michelle, flicking the water off her fingers and hitting the lever for the paper towel dispenser with her elbow.
Michelle pulled on her skirt nervously. "I didn't puke. How long have you been in here?"
"I'm skipping," the girl with the pink hair told her, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I've been wandering around since almost third fuckin' period. The principal almost fuckin' caught me in the hall, so I had to fuckin' pretend to go to the fuckin' bathroom."
Fuckin', Michelle added in her head for good measure. "Well, I'll...see you later? Good luck with that."
She walked out of the bathroom with her clothes in the bag her costume had been in, and a nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach. There was no way to stop her feeling sick and no way to stop her brain from painting pictures of Vincent all over the inside of her skull. This has got to stop, she screamed at her subconscious. You don't even like him! And that much was true. When she stood next to Vincent, she felt no urge to do anything romantic or having to do with romance. There were no images of kisses or weddings when he was in the general area. It was genuine to say she didn't like him when he was in the room, but, for some reason after he left, her brain would go crazy and start forcing him on her heart again.
You love the idea of him, she told herself for the billionth time. A nice, cute, smart, musical, funny guy with the ability to hug the hell out of everyone? You have always thought that that is perfect. You've been telling yourself it is since the fifth grade. But you don't feel it with him and you know it. So stop romanticizing him whenever he is away. Stop putting his face on that guy you made for yourself in elementary school. Vincent is your friend. And you don't want him for a boyfriend. She nearly slapped herself, just to get the point across, but, she thought better of it. Instead, she pictured herself as the pink haired girl, slouching over the sink with her hands under the flowing water.
When she did reach the classroom, she walked inside trying to look confident. Vincent was sitting in his seat with one leg stretched out to the side. She sighed as the lovely feeling she had for him in the hall leaked out of her chest and gathered in disgusting puddle in her gut. Instead of the knight in shining armor her had been while he was out of sight, he slipped back into the roll of...just a great guy. She sat down in the seat next to him and stared at the back of his head while he leaned over his notebook, seemingly concentrating heavily.
"You know, Vincent," she started, waiting for him to look up.
He did, his eyes wide as though he had just been pulled out of the dark and into the sunlight. "What?"
"You're pretty swell," Michelle finished, smiling and flicking his nose.
"Michelle?" The teahcer was calling her to the front of the room. "Michelle, are you ready?"
Michelle nodded and dashed to the front of the room to recite the monologue. When her teacher nodded, she started. After she finished each line, it slipped out of her memory and ended up in some sort of abyss. Before she knew it, the two minutes was over and she was walking back to her seat with a violent blush flooding her cheeks and a dorky smile on her face.
Vincent looked up at her and gave her a double thumbs up. She smiled at him and blushed more.
"Do you want to change?" The teacher asked Michelle over the sound of her classmates all talking.
Michelle nodded and ran out the door with her bag of clothes. It was good, it was good, it was good, she repeated to herself over and over until it finally sank in. He gave you a double thumbs up. It was fine. He was smiling. It was fine. She shook out her legs and stepped into the bathroom, expecting it to be empty.
Instead, the girl with the pink hair was leaning against the wall, twirling a pack of cigarettes between to fingers and smacking gum.
"How old are you, anyway?" Michelle asked, stepping into the first stall and immediately peeling off her shirt and stepping out of the skirt.
"Sixty-fuckin'-seven. What do you care?"
She looked about eleven and her voice sounded about six. "You look too young for smokes," Michelle commented.
"So what if I am? What's gonna fuckin' happen? Am I gonna fuckin' get fuckin' lung cancer?" The girl scoffed and kicked the wall.
Michelle laughed under her breath. "You might."
"Yeah, well, I've spent a lot of time worrying about fuckin' sickness and what stupid fuckin' people think. I'm not going to worry so much about cancer when there are so many other decisions to make."
"You sure aren't scared of sharing," Michelle said as she pulled on her jeans.
"Are you?"
"I don't feel the need to spill my guts to anyone who walks into the bathroom."
"I'm not going to keep my mouth shut if I have something to say. If I feel something, I feel it and if I don't, I don't. If I want to say something, I say it. What's the use of having a head or a heart if you don't use them?" The girl with the pink hair almost shouted.
The image of Vincent flashed in her mind again. Michelle froze with her tshirt half on and half off. If you feel something, feel it, she thought, the words expanding in her head. If you feel something, feel it.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
The Girl
(Extended Title: The Girl with Long Blond Hair Who has No Idea How Much She Is In My Eyes)
Copyright Julia Bydulia
---
My words can be knots:
tight bound and hurtful when thrown,
but I wanted to remind you
that knots do come untied and
I have a horrible throwing arm.
You're like the leaves that
tumble from autumn's branches:
soft under eyes and under hands
with a spectrum of colors.
You are carried on the winds
that are unpredictable and uneven
but I know you'll go far.
My heart can go crazy
and seems to have a mind of its own
so don't mind it
if it ever tries to dance with yours.
It's only being friendly.
You're like the walls of a museum:
beautiful and strong with
feelings of neglect, but you have to know
that you deserve more than just
pressure from people you support.
You'll make it when the art gets moved
and makes the room for you to shine through.
My words can go unnoticed or
be misinterpreted, as words are known to be,
but you should know
that I mean them all as they are
and will repeat them as required.
You are like a promise:
bound by words and minds
and the metaphysical
rather than the sticks and stones
that knock the rest of the world down
and hold them to the ground
while you stand tall, admirable.
Copyright Julia Bydulia
---
My words can be knots:
tight bound and hurtful when thrown,
but I wanted to remind you
that knots do come untied and
I have a horrible throwing arm.
You're like the leaves that
tumble from autumn's branches:
soft under eyes and under hands
with a spectrum of colors.
You are carried on the winds
that are unpredictable and uneven
but I know you'll go far.
My heart can go crazy
and seems to have a mind of its own
so don't mind it
if it ever tries to dance with yours.
It's only being friendly.
You're like the walls of a museum:
beautiful and strong with
feelings of neglect, but you have to know
that you deserve more than just
pressure from people you support.
You'll make it when the art gets moved
and makes the room for you to shine through.
My words can go unnoticed or
be misinterpreted, as words are known to be,
but you should know
that I mean them all as they are
and will repeat them as required.
You are like a promise:
bound by words and minds
and the metaphysical
rather than the sticks and stones
that knock the rest of the world down
and hold them to the ground
while you stand tall, admirable.
Story, An Untitled
Copyright Julia Bydulia
Part V of an unfinished story
---
Every night for the week, Michelle told herself she would work on her combined monologue/Humanities assignment. Every night for a week, she neglected it and sat on her computer, trying to convince herself it was valuable use of her time to talk to people online about bands from the 60s and what type of peanut butter they preferred. There seemed to be no way to avoid the lazy side of her that screamed to sit and enjoy some leisure time. "You've earned it!" Her lazy side lied to her. So, she believed it because it was easier.
Finally, on the Sunday before her rehearsal, Michelle decided to take a look at the monologue. She grabbed her tote bag full of her school things and pulled out the tattered yellow folder that held all of her Humanities things. Expecting the paper to be on the right hand side of the folder, she sifted through the papers there, keeping her eyes peeled for the sheet of paper. After three times through the folder, she realized it wasn't there. Her stomach dropped. She felt as if someone had just drop kicked her.
Her first thought was to go to her mom's room, so, she did. She opened the door and saw her mom sitting in the orange armchair they used as a computer chair. "Mommy, I can't find my monologue," Michelle announced, putting her hands on her hips.
Her mom took off her glasses slowly and rested them on the computer table, staring at her daughter in utter disbelief. After a long pause, she spoke. "You've been telling me all week you'd work on that monologue this weekend, and now you're going to tell me you don't even have it? Michelle..." She sighed and rubbed her temples.
"I know, I know..." Michelle mumbled, her brain scrambling to think up a solution. "Maybe I can email someone in the class. I should have Vincent's email." At the mention of Vincent, her mom dropped her hands from her head. It was a well known fact to everyone in the house how Michelle felt about Vincent. She had gone on for quite some time about him in the seventh grade. The word "marriage" had been thrown around like a tennis ball. "I'll tell him to email it to me, and if he doesn't, I'll hurt him."
Her mom nodded and she left the room, running for the laptop. When she sat in the chair, she turned it on and opened her email, flexing her fingers before opening a new draft:
Vincent! I seem to have misplaced my monologue. Be a dear and email it to me, or else I'll punch you in the ovaries and we'll never have babie
She stopped typing and deleted the entire thing, hitting herself in the head a few times and whispering "Think nice, think pretty, think alluring" under hear breath. She rolled the 'r' in alluring a few times and started again:
Vincent. You know how forgetful I can be. Well, I do not have my monologue for the assignment in Humanities tomorrow. I think it's in my locker or some bull. Could you type it up and send it to me within the next millennium or so? Thanks.
She read it to herself in her head a few times before hovering her mouse over the send button for a few minutes and finally pressing it when she convinced herself there was no way to make herself seem like wife material in an email about her own responsibility. This has got to stop, she reprimanded herself. You've got to stop drooling over a guy who shows no interest.
He shows interest, she argued to herself. He laughs at your jokes. And he likes The Beatles!
She wanted to slap herself. You two are friends. Stop it, stop it, stop it. He laughs at a lot of people's jokes. And a lot of people like The Beatles, ok. Your mom likes The Beatles.
That's not the same, her argumentative side said, folding its arms over its chest and slouching in the corner of her mind, pouting alone.
There were a few things Michelle had to admit to herself, even if she could never admit it to anyone else. She still liked Vincent a lot more than she said out loud. She still loved him and would say yes to him in a second if he decided he wanted her. She walked the aisles of Julian's when she went grocery shopping with her family, and she imagined running into him next to the organic cheeses. She would pretend not to notice him and purposely reach out for the same plastic packaging as him. Their fingers would brush and she would whisper "Sorry," just as softly as she could. He would tell her it was no problem. They might laugh, and she would blush, and then...
And then she found a new email in her inbox, labeled with Vincent's email address. She clicked it and found that it was only the monologue. No notes, no "Wow, you're stupid"s, no professions of his undying love for her or for anyone else. She copy pasted the words into a document and printed it as quickly as she could, running back to her mom's bedroom to show it to her.
After she waved it in front of her mom's face for a few minutes, her mom told her. "Congratulations," and waved her out of the room.
Michelle headed back out to the living room to memorize the monologue as rapidly as she could.
The air outside was frigidly cold. As Michelle looked up from the paper, she could see small snowflakes falling and resting gently on the porch through the window. She couldn't help but imagine sitting outside with him, their cold, red hands intertwined as the temperature dropped.
Part V of an unfinished story
---
Every night for the week, Michelle told herself she would work on her combined monologue/Humanities assignment. Every night for a week, she neglected it and sat on her computer, trying to convince herself it was valuable use of her time to talk to people online about bands from the 60s and what type of peanut butter they preferred. There seemed to be no way to avoid the lazy side of her that screamed to sit and enjoy some leisure time. "You've earned it!" Her lazy side lied to her. So, she believed it because it was easier.
Finally, on the Sunday before her rehearsal, Michelle decided to take a look at the monologue. She grabbed her tote bag full of her school things and pulled out the tattered yellow folder that held all of her Humanities things. Expecting the paper to be on the right hand side of the folder, she sifted through the papers there, keeping her eyes peeled for the sheet of paper. After three times through the folder, she realized it wasn't there. Her stomach dropped. She felt as if someone had just drop kicked her.
Her first thought was to go to her mom's room, so, she did. She opened the door and saw her mom sitting in the orange armchair they used as a computer chair. "Mommy, I can't find my monologue," Michelle announced, putting her hands on her hips.
Her mom took off her glasses slowly and rested them on the computer table, staring at her daughter in utter disbelief. After a long pause, she spoke. "You've been telling me all week you'd work on that monologue this weekend, and now you're going to tell me you don't even have it? Michelle..." She sighed and rubbed her temples.
"I know, I know..." Michelle mumbled, her brain scrambling to think up a solution. "Maybe I can email someone in the class. I should have Vincent's email." At the mention of Vincent, her mom dropped her hands from her head. It was a well known fact to everyone in the house how Michelle felt about Vincent. She had gone on for quite some time about him in the seventh grade. The word "marriage" had been thrown around like a tennis ball. "I'll tell him to email it to me, and if he doesn't, I'll hurt him."
Her mom nodded and she left the room, running for the laptop. When she sat in the chair, she turned it on and opened her email, flexing her fingers before opening a new draft:
Vincent! I seem to have misplaced my monologue. Be a dear and email it to me, or else I'll punch you in the ovaries and we'll never have babie
She stopped typing and deleted the entire thing, hitting herself in the head a few times and whispering "Think nice, think pretty, think alluring" under hear breath. She rolled the 'r' in alluring a few times and started again:
Vincent. You know how forgetful I can be. Well, I do not have my monologue for the assignment in Humanities tomorrow. I think it's in my locker or some bull. Could you type it up and send it to me within the next millennium or so? Thanks.
She read it to herself in her head a few times before hovering her mouse over the send button for a few minutes and finally pressing it when she convinced herself there was no way to make herself seem like wife material in an email about her own responsibility. This has got to stop, she reprimanded herself. You've got to stop drooling over a guy who shows no interest.
He shows interest, she argued to herself. He laughs at your jokes. And he likes The Beatles!
She wanted to slap herself. You two are friends. Stop it, stop it, stop it. He laughs at a lot of people's jokes. And a lot of people like The Beatles, ok. Your mom likes The Beatles.
That's not the same, her argumentative side said, folding its arms over its chest and slouching in the corner of her mind, pouting alone.
There were a few things Michelle had to admit to herself, even if she could never admit it to anyone else. She still liked Vincent a lot more than she said out loud. She still loved him and would say yes to him in a second if he decided he wanted her. She walked the aisles of Julian's when she went grocery shopping with her family, and she imagined running into him next to the organic cheeses. She would pretend not to notice him and purposely reach out for the same plastic packaging as him. Their fingers would brush and she would whisper "Sorry," just as softly as she could. He would tell her it was no problem. They might laugh, and she would blush, and then...
And then she found a new email in her inbox, labeled with Vincent's email address. She clicked it and found that it was only the monologue. No notes, no "Wow, you're stupid"s, no professions of his undying love for her or for anyone else. She copy pasted the words into a document and printed it as quickly as she could, running back to her mom's bedroom to show it to her.
After she waved it in front of her mom's face for a few minutes, her mom told her. "Congratulations," and waved her out of the room.
Michelle headed back out to the living room to memorize the monologue as rapidly as she could.
The air outside was frigidly cold. As Michelle looked up from the paper, she could see small snowflakes falling and resting gently on the porch through the window. She couldn't help but imagine sitting outside with him, their cold, red hands intertwined as the temperature dropped.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Story, An Untitled
Copyright Julia Bydulia
Part IV of an unfinished story.
---
Humanities. The longest class of Michelle's day. Ryan always talked to her at the end. Vincent would talk to her during. Vincent sat right next to her and made the class bearable.
Michelle sat with two notebooks open on her desk, one for class and one for recreation. In the second notebook, she doodled a cake with seventeen candles for no reason at all. At the front of the room, the literature teacher was announcing a new assignment. "You will either have to make a movie about one of the myths or do a recitation. Groups for the movie can be up to four people. Recitations must be done alone. The assignment sheet goes into more detail," she finished as she started handing out the assignment sheets.
The idea of a recitation excited Michelle. She could memorize things fairly easily. She took a quick look at what she would have to memorize. A monologue by a character in one of the myths they had read. Suddenly, she felt a light bulb switch on just above her head. She could use the recitation for Humanities as her monologue as well. It was a woman scorned by a former lover. Passion and anger! It sounded perfect.
Vincent, John, and Terrence all looked at each other at once. Michelle could tell they were planning a movie, and by the look on John's face it would turn out epic. Michelle tapped Vincent's shoulder. "I guess you guys are doing a movie?" She whispered, laughing at the look on his face.
"I guess we are," Vincent answered, turning back to John and Terrence. It was as though they were all communicating thoughts for a movie telepathically. None of them spoke.
Michelle smiled and watched Vincent's back for a few moments before pulling out the monologue she would have to memorize and staring at it, half listening to the teacher as she read the assignment sheet out loud. There were some words she would have to look up, and for the class she would need a costume, but, as long as she could find a song, her audition was covered. The monologue was the perfect length. Please earn me a good part, she begged the paper with the monologue that was sitting in front of her on her desk. Please.
At the end of class, Michelle actually got to walk out with Vincent, John, and Terrence. She listened to them plan out a movie and make jokes to each other, each one talking faster than the other and making the other two laugh harder. She laughed, too. She felt quiet compared to them, even though she knew she was loud. Vincent's jacket had a hole near the elbow. As she laughed and smiled, she stared at it, peeking at the skin she could see through it. Dry elbow skin. It made him seem more like a human and less like a dream.
She and Terrence and Vincent walked to biology together and she listened while they talked again, not wanting to interrupt and risk them stopping. Their laughs and their clever remarks were like music. She listened closely, not wanting to miss a beat.
Part IV of an unfinished story.
---
Humanities. The longest class of Michelle's day. Ryan always talked to her at the end. Vincent would talk to her during. Vincent sat right next to her and made the class bearable.
Michelle sat with two notebooks open on her desk, one for class and one for recreation. In the second notebook, she doodled a cake with seventeen candles for no reason at all. At the front of the room, the literature teacher was announcing a new assignment. "You will either have to make a movie about one of the myths or do a recitation. Groups for the movie can be up to four people. Recitations must be done alone. The assignment sheet goes into more detail," she finished as she started handing out the assignment sheets.
The idea of a recitation excited Michelle. She could memorize things fairly easily. She took a quick look at what she would have to memorize. A monologue by a character in one of the myths they had read. Suddenly, she felt a light bulb switch on just above her head. She could use the recitation for Humanities as her monologue as well. It was a woman scorned by a former lover. Passion and anger! It sounded perfect.
Vincent, John, and Terrence all looked at each other at once. Michelle could tell they were planning a movie, and by the look on John's face it would turn out epic. Michelle tapped Vincent's shoulder. "I guess you guys are doing a movie?" She whispered, laughing at the look on his face.
"I guess we are," Vincent answered, turning back to John and Terrence. It was as though they were all communicating thoughts for a movie telepathically. None of them spoke.
Michelle smiled and watched Vincent's back for a few moments before pulling out the monologue she would have to memorize and staring at it, half listening to the teacher as she read the assignment sheet out loud. There were some words she would have to look up, and for the class she would need a costume, but, as long as she could find a song, her audition was covered. The monologue was the perfect length. Please earn me a good part, she begged the paper with the monologue that was sitting in front of her on her desk. Please.
At the end of class, Michelle actually got to walk out with Vincent, John, and Terrence. She listened to them plan out a movie and make jokes to each other, each one talking faster than the other and making the other two laugh harder. She laughed, too. She felt quiet compared to them, even though she knew she was loud. Vincent's jacket had a hole near the elbow. As she laughed and smiled, she stared at it, peeking at the skin she could see through it. Dry elbow skin. It made him seem more like a human and less like a dream.
She and Terrence and Vincent walked to biology together and she listened while they talked again, not wanting to interrupt and risk them stopping. Their laughs and their clever remarks were like music. She listened closely, not wanting to miss a beat.
Story, An Untitled
Copyright Julia Bydulia
Part III of an unfinished story
---
When Michelle woke up every morning, her bedroom was cluttered and her mind was in a fog. The sound and sensation of her vibrating phone alarm would wake her up and she would turn it off, opening her eyes cautiously. She woke up before it was light most days, so her room was dimly lit and covered in lightweight shadows. She kicked off her blankets and stared at the ceiling before jumping out of bed, grabbing any clean clothes that matched, and running into the bathroom she shared with her brother and sister so that she could get ready for school.
That morning, when she got into the bathroom she stared unblinkingly at her own reflection and rearranged her face into a variety of expressions. Her short, dark hair was choppy and unkempt, hanging around her face like old curtains that had had a chainsaw put to them. She sighed and tried to comb it into submission, knowing that eventually it had to look half way human.
What is he doing right now? she thought, her mind wandering to Vincent. She had been in love with him for quite some time, but, the passion faded near the beginning of that freshman year. Still, she couldn't help thinking of him when nothing else was on her mind. What's his morning routine? She closed her eyes and tried to picture what he did in the morning. The image of him standing in front of a mirror and brushing his teeth, his long hair out of its usual ponytail and down around his shoulders. She smiled and opened her eyes, finding her own reflection looking radiant.
Stop it, she commanded herself. You're falling into the same traps, she thought, remembering all of the times she had seen herself like that in the years she had chased Vincent.
Her heart felt vulnerable. Michelle finished her morning routine and walked out of the bathroom, preparing to wait for her siblings to get ready so that their dad could drive them into school. She sat in the chair she always did, opened her notebook to a random page, and started begging her mind to give her something to write about other than him. It's time to really move on, she told herself. You know it's not how you feel. Not when he's around. So why are you telling yourself that you do whenever he's not? She wasn't sure if what she was thinking made sense, but, the words did calm the rapid beating of her heart.
School was only ten minutes away. The drive was short. Staring out her window, Michelle could see the grass and the trees almost in a gray scale when the sun was hiding. She kept her eyes on one spot of dirt on her window and let everything disappear as the car flew by. When the car stopped, she knew they were there without having to look. She jumped out of the car and grabbed her tote full of books, running into the school and hoping she wasn't late.
Today will be good, she tried to convince herself at her locker before she headed to geometry, feeling drowsy. Just make it through first period. Then, chorus will pick you up. And Spanish will be tolerable. Vincent in fourth period. Terrence in fourth period. Both of them in fifth...and sixth...and seventh...and eighth...then you get to go home. Easy. Easy easy easy.
So she went to geometry and prepared to glance at the clock a million times, each time expecting it to have changed, but, finding it almost exactly the same until it felt like it would never end.
Then, the bell rang. She grabbed her books and ran, desperate to see Kayla, Elena, her sister Mandy, and Petunia.
Today will be good, she thought, smiling as she pictured her chorus friends. The hall seemed far too long. She rushed to reach the chorus room and ran into Petunia in the hall. She grabbed Michelle's sleeve and jerked her back. "Hey!" She called excitedly. "Ready for Mr. James this morning? It's probably just going to be another class of audition reminders."
"Sounds yummy," Michelle commented, laughing and adjusting her shirt sleeve.
Petunia stared at her, and they both knew her comment made no sense. They laughed and kept on walking toward the chorus room. Petunia was a senior, and Michelle was just a freshman, but, Petunia was friends with Michelle's sister, so they got a chance to talk sometimes. Michelle got the feeling that Petunia liked to have as many people to talk to as she could, and that she liked Michelle's sense of humor...most days. So, they talked in the halls and in chorus class, and sometimes and lunch when Michelle would visit her sister's lunch table.
"Is Penny here today?" Petunia asked, referring to Michelle's sister.
"Yeah, she is. She actually got up on time this morning." Michelle laughed and opened the door to the chorus room, finding it full of all of their friends. "Elena!" She called out, feeling like quite the child as she rushed over to sit next to her only freshman companion in the entire class. Everyone else was a sophomore or older.
"Hey, Michelle," Elena said, quickly turning away from the conversation she was having with Mandy. They seemed to be talking about someone in their family. Michelle listened, though she didn't quite understand some of it.
Just then, Mr. James walked in. The conversations carried on at full force until he started to clear his throat exaggeratedly and hit a few random notes on the piano. Everyone turned to face him. "Thank you," he said softly. "As I told you yesterday, rehearsals are next week. Do any of you need music or monologues?"
Michelle raised her hand. "I need a CD," she told him.
"I'll get my CDs out for you at the end of class," he informed her without even turning in her direction.
"Ok," she whispered, shrinking away.
Today will be good, she promised herself again, hoping it was true.
Part III of an unfinished story
---
When Michelle woke up every morning, her bedroom was cluttered and her mind was in a fog. The sound and sensation of her vibrating phone alarm would wake her up and she would turn it off, opening her eyes cautiously. She woke up before it was light most days, so her room was dimly lit and covered in lightweight shadows. She kicked off her blankets and stared at the ceiling before jumping out of bed, grabbing any clean clothes that matched, and running into the bathroom she shared with her brother and sister so that she could get ready for school.
That morning, when she got into the bathroom she stared unblinkingly at her own reflection and rearranged her face into a variety of expressions. Her short, dark hair was choppy and unkempt, hanging around her face like old curtains that had had a chainsaw put to them. She sighed and tried to comb it into submission, knowing that eventually it had to look half way human.
What is he doing right now? she thought, her mind wandering to Vincent. She had been in love with him for quite some time, but, the passion faded near the beginning of that freshman year. Still, she couldn't help thinking of him when nothing else was on her mind. What's his morning routine? She closed her eyes and tried to picture what he did in the morning. The image of him standing in front of a mirror and brushing his teeth, his long hair out of its usual ponytail and down around his shoulders. She smiled and opened her eyes, finding her own reflection looking radiant.
Stop it, she commanded herself. You're falling into the same traps, she thought, remembering all of the times she had seen herself like that in the years she had chased Vincent.
Her heart felt vulnerable. Michelle finished her morning routine and walked out of the bathroom, preparing to wait for her siblings to get ready so that their dad could drive them into school. She sat in the chair she always did, opened her notebook to a random page, and started begging her mind to give her something to write about other than him. It's time to really move on, she told herself. You know it's not how you feel. Not when he's around. So why are you telling yourself that you do whenever he's not? She wasn't sure if what she was thinking made sense, but, the words did calm the rapid beating of her heart.
School was only ten minutes away. The drive was short. Staring out her window, Michelle could see the grass and the trees almost in a gray scale when the sun was hiding. She kept her eyes on one spot of dirt on her window and let everything disappear as the car flew by. When the car stopped, she knew they were there without having to look. She jumped out of the car and grabbed her tote full of books, running into the school and hoping she wasn't late.
Today will be good, she tried to convince herself at her locker before she headed to geometry, feeling drowsy. Just make it through first period. Then, chorus will pick you up. And Spanish will be tolerable. Vincent in fourth period. Terrence in fourth period. Both of them in fifth...and sixth...and seventh...and eighth...then you get to go home. Easy. Easy easy easy.
So she went to geometry and prepared to glance at the clock a million times, each time expecting it to have changed, but, finding it almost exactly the same until it felt like it would never end.
Then, the bell rang. She grabbed her books and ran, desperate to see Kayla, Elena, her sister Mandy, and Petunia.
Today will be good, she thought, smiling as she pictured her chorus friends. The hall seemed far too long. She rushed to reach the chorus room and ran into Petunia in the hall. She grabbed Michelle's sleeve and jerked her back. "Hey!" She called excitedly. "Ready for Mr. James this morning? It's probably just going to be another class of audition reminders."
"Sounds yummy," Michelle commented, laughing and adjusting her shirt sleeve.
Petunia stared at her, and they both knew her comment made no sense. They laughed and kept on walking toward the chorus room. Petunia was a senior, and Michelle was just a freshman, but, Petunia was friends with Michelle's sister, so they got a chance to talk sometimes. Michelle got the feeling that Petunia liked to have as many people to talk to as she could, and that she liked Michelle's sense of humor...most days. So, they talked in the halls and in chorus class, and sometimes and lunch when Michelle would visit her sister's lunch table.
"Is Penny here today?" Petunia asked, referring to Michelle's sister.
"Yeah, she is. She actually got up on time this morning." Michelle laughed and opened the door to the chorus room, finding it full of all of their friends. "Elena!" She called out, feeling like quite the child as she rushed over to sit next to her only freshman companion in the entire class. Everyone else was a sophomore or older.
"Hey, Michelle," Elena said, quickly turning away from the conversation she was having with Mandy. They seemed to be talking about someone in their family. Michelle listened, though she didn't quite understand some of it.
Just then, Mr. James walked in. The conversations carried on at full force until he started to clear his throat exaggeratedly and hit a few random notes on the piano. Everyone turned to face him. "Thank you," he said softly. "As I told you yesterday, rehearsals are next week. Do any of you need music or monologues?"
Michelle raised her hand. "I need a CD," she told him.
"I'll get my CDs out for you at the end of class," he informed her without even turning in her direction.
"Ok," she whispered, shrinking away.
Today will be good, she promised herself again, hoping it was true.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Snow Flakes Fall
Copyright Julia Bydulia
This is just a rough copy, I think.
---
When I walk in the snow
I like to find an old set of tracks
to pretend to follow them
so that I can feel less like I'm alone
and more like you're back.
But what happens when
snow flakes fall like broken promises
and fill in the footsteps
I tell myself are yours?
It will be years until I forget
the smile on your face and the
sweater with the worn out spots and holes
you wore so stubbornly
when it was the middle of January
and I could see you shivering.
When we walked in the snow
I always wanted to
promise you it would get warmer
even though we both knew
it would be a long season
and at least six months
until you could shed your sweater
and walk in the sun.
Now, when I walk in the snow
I like to find someone else's tracks
and talk to them
so that I can feel less like I'm alone
and more like you're back.
This is just a rough copy, I think.
---
When I walk in the snow
I like to find an old set of tracks
to pretend to follow them
so that I can feel less like I'm alone
and more like you're back.
But what happens when
snow flakes fall like broken promises
and fill in the footsteps
I tell myself are yours?
It will be years until I forget
the smile on your face and the
sweater with the worn out spots and holes
you wore so stubbornly
when it was the middle of January
and I could see you shivering.
When we walked in the snow
I always wanted to
promise you it would get warmer
even though we both knew
it would be a long season
and at least six months
until you could shed your sweater
and walk in the sun.
Now, when I walk in the snow
I like to find someone else's tracks
and talk to them
so that I can feel less like I'm alone
and more like you're back.
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