England Bound

I've always had this nagging feeling that I haven't been in the right place. I have always lived in the city- grown up around cars, sky scrappers, and gas guzzlers. When I was younger my father would take me and the rest of the family to my Godfather's ranch. It really was it. It was out in the open, with life, and air. It was full of horses, pecans, and hay. (So that might not sound amazing to you, but when your a child who lives for adventure and feels closed off in a city with too many walls, and blinding lights, you long to be in the soft glow of the stars, and having your day planned to the punch the freedom of going to the ranch is cool air filling your lungs.) 

When I was out there, I loved to explore. I was a very wired kid so the first couple of trips it took me a while to figure out that, I wouldn't be waking up and watching Scooby Doo. I remember wanting to just ride my horse into the mountains and explore all day. I just wanted to look at everything, and find places that no one had seen before. I wanted get lost in the country. Unfortunately when we would leave I would be thrust into a happy life of sign posts again, where you couldn't get lost if you tried (or at least I couldn't). 

My father grew up in England. His mother was born there, and then when he was in his teens they moved over here to Alabama. (Why they picked Alabama, I don't know.) So every now and then my father would take me over to England to visit my family there and get to know them. I was so excited to go to England. It is one of my favorite places. My cousins and I would ride are bikes up and down the streets, and I could get lost just following the horizon. 

I think I felt more comfortable searching the country inside the island of England, then I do speeding the familiar streets of my 'homeland'. 

Junior year I plan to go for a year long study in England. I guess it is me kind of testing my British legs. I will be able to see if that really is the place for me. 

Writing

I m sorry about not posting in a while, but I haven't had enough to say. Here is something I wrote near the end of the school year- thoughts?

Cane sat a while at his mahogany desk. His left hand pulled at the bridge of his nose, stretching the skin into a vibrant pink hue. His right hand was thumbing the corner of his yellow legal pad. The pages passed so quickly from the zenith of his thumb to the rocky bottom of the blank yellow pages, that they blurred in a speedy brush stroke. Although he willed it so, Jerry could not fix his mind upon any subject specific enough to satisfy his quivering pin. Tracing the same scribble he had for the previous ten minutes he willed the words out, his brow turning an increasingly darker shade of pink.

To will the pen upon an end,

Create a world with just your hand

To mask outlined reality

And splash a watercolor soft imagination

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This story is not about me. I am just waiting. Not like Jona was waiting, but in my own way. Jona waited in the belly of the dark cavernous alleyway. Fire escapes climbed, bone like, up the sides of the adjacent buildings, and trash dumpsters floated stagnantly, like dead fish, waiting to be gutted. Jona’s hands were sweaty inside his jacket pockets. Rubbing his four fingers with hi thumb, he had rubbed the pads raw. A loud bark sounded at the back of the alley. Tony and Cobain sauntered out of the disapaiting steam seeping from the sewer drains, breathing under the sculpted dumpster.

Tony pierced Jona with a charcoal pupil, “So have you got it?”

Jona’s lips quivered and his fingers twitched in heartbeat, metronome clicks, “well… half.”

“All I ask of you is if you had it. You said you did- you don’t. I wash my hands of you.” Tony turned on the ball of his Armani tux shoes and paced away with Cobain at hi side. Cobain’s hips sauntered with an arrogant pop in each step. They both disappeared into the fog and Jona stood with his arms outstretched and forgotten as they began to quiver.