A Short Story - The Ditch In The Hole

A little while ago my mother turned to me.  She was talking about her friends at work and how they were up in arms against some injustice and how they were going to brainstorm later today at Cafe Vulduna.  The steering wheel under my grips suddenly veered to the left and the car swung sharply.  Fortunately for us we were in the furtherest left lane and didn't hit anything when swerved to the left.  45 minutes later AAA tells us that we probably hit a big pot hole on the freeway.  They change our tire and our quick jaunt into the City turned into a three-hour ordeal.

"Let's get lunch," my mother cried, as we got back into the freeway and made our way into the City.

"All this for a stupid plant" I say, my hands a little shaky and loose from the ordeal.

"Don't remind me.  Let's get off at Moonrise and eat at Laramie's, we're definitely going to need some ---"

"COMFORT FOOD!"

"Comfort Food." 

We both say in unison.  I was excited but I could tell in my mother's voice she was still deflated with the whole situation.  It could have been worse I tell her as we drive through the city-streets.  We could have hit a car, a person, the wall divider even.  We got off surprisingly well, all things considered.  Just one bum tire, got AAA to reach us before traffic started - we got lucky.

As I turned to her with more words to say, I notice her fast asleep next to me.  

"Mom," is all I can mutter, as I wipe a tear from my face.

The traffic's already set in and I'm zooming through the city-streets hoping to get to Laramie's soon.  Usually the traffic just gets on my nerves and I get super angry but today I find the ride a little hypnotic. All my stops are perfect.  When the green light shines, the car moves forward in such a fluid action I think I'm the captain of a small skipper ship on the high oceans.  The radio is at a lull and surprisingly there isn't much honking going on.  I make my way across the streets, the high rises, and the many sorts of people walking on the streets living their own lives.  

I wonder about this often when I course through the City.  How many of these people are heroes of their stories?  How many are villains?  Side Kicks?  Are they succeeding?  Are they failing?  I always wonder about this and about people.  My mind racks with these questions and a plethora of possibilities when I find myself stopping and putting the car in park.  We were here at Laramie's.

"Now how the hell did that happen," I whisper to myself.

I reach for my mother's shoulder.

"Are we there yet, Sarah" she musters from her sleep.

"Yeah Mom, we're here!"

Walking up the steps I know what she's going to get.  Tuna melt sandwich with a side salad with 1000 Islands dressing.  And a small tomato.  I ask her why she always gets this and she always says "you like what you like and you should never be ashamed of that".

It's at the table that I find myself wiping another tear from my face.  I put aside my hand before our waitress comes to us.  

"How can I help you," she says as she puts more napkins on the table.

"I'm still deciding," I say as I look at the menu wondering what I should try today.

"Go ahead, Mom."

I'm looking at the menu, when my eyes fall to the sandwiches and I start to think that the Tuna Melt doesn't sound so bad tonight.  I look up at the waitress who's face now was a little strange.  I didn't hear Mom give her order.  I catch a tear running down my cheek again.

"I don't know what's wrong with me today," I say with a chuckle.  "She'll have a tuna melt sandwich with a side salad.  1000 Island dressing and a small tomato on top, too, okay."

"Excuse me," she says.

"It's for my Mom."

"Will she be joining you tonight?"

Perplexed I put down the menu and point at my mother.  But she's not there.  I look back at the Waitress who's face is now white.  The restaurant begins to spin and I can feel more tears running down from my cheek.

And that's when I remember.

We didn't get lucky.  Only I did.  I did hit a pot hole and I did swerve to the left.  But we weren't the only car.  A truck behind us followed as well and hit the car.  I was already unconscious but the paramedics told me that after we hit the wall, my Mother saw the truck behind us and went over to me.  She protected me as the truck tore through the car and took her away.

I remember.

I take the napkins and wipe away the tears from my face.  I look over to the Waitress and tell her what I want.  I'm not sure how long it took from that moment until the tuna melt sandwich was in front of me, and the side salad with 1000 Island dressing with the small tomato also staring up at me.  But it felt like Forever.

"Are you alright dear?  You've been crying an awful lot."

"No it's ok. It's ok."

"If you want, I can box up your food and you can eat it later."

"No it's alright. I want to eat it now. It was my Mother's favorite."

I Need My Fix

It was lightly drizzling around us.  Quintein, Nick, and myself were making smores by one of the open fire pits at the side of the house where Taco Bell was having a house party in Pasadena.  Across from us, huddled under a tent, Damon, Matthew, and Jon were talking.  It was a bit melancholic as the rain dropped all around us.  Inside the house there was a wood-patio for an outside performance that was getting slick from the drizzle.  Inside there was karaoke, a bar, and a kitchen full of Taco Bell burritos.  Hands went to grab some, and just as the burritos dwindled, a person would return with more for the masses.  

Polaroid pictures were snapped and developed as people and groups formed.  There were lines for the drinks, for the food, and for the in-house bathroom.  There was one room filled with blank canvases for people to mark their names and messages to Taco Bell.  Another room hosted a silent dance party.  A DJ spinned some great hits to a score of wireless headphones, and outside at the back was a mechanical bull ready and willing to throw riders off.

As the night wore on, Kaleb, Taylor, and Joe joined us after their appearance on Dr. Drew's talk show.  We all stood on a small round table draped with a black cloth.  Some were eating, some were chatting, and I found myself ansy.  I wasn't the only one.  To get into the party we had to check in our phones, and by this point I was feeling the withdrawal.  I'm always so use to snapping pictures, or checking Twitter or Instagram, or doing any sort of other things AS I socialized with people.  But now we were dropped without it.  Without watches it was actually HARD to tell what time it was, and for myself who LOVES taking pictures, I was relegated to snapping Polaroids back when I had one.  It was interesting watching us all vie and pine for our phones.

The night was not without its spectacles.  Quintein had ridden the bull twice, getting himself quite wet since most of the rain water got caught in the inflatable air bed that surrounded the mechanical bull.  Kaleb, too, went up to ride the bull to a lively crowd and stayed on for a good while.  As the house party got busy, people crowded the tents and fire pits at the side of the house making smores.  I saw people now roaming around with the wireless headphones listening to the mad tunes that the DJ was spinning.  People were coming in and out.  I passed by Matt, Diana, and Paige who had headphones on dancing to the beat.  Going through the side, I caught Jon, Cat, and Sam talking.  Briefly back by the bar, I passed by Joey and found Quintein talking with Damon, Nick, and Matthew.  Quintein bumped into Meghan and we all caught up for a little bit.  It's going to be fun again seeing her and Joey compete in the Amazing Race.

The night concluded with each of us reunited with our beloved smart phones and each of us furiously checking our poisons.  It was a fun night.  It's hard to frown when the night turns to new friends and free Taco Bell burritos.    

You Spin Me Round And Round

I was standing in the studios of Bite Size TV with Quintein as we watched our friend Derek host his talk show, "The After Party".  It's a small and tidy studio by the W Hotel in Hollywood where you could see the Pantages Theater behind the windows and the people walking from the Metro Station below.  Derek, dressed in a nice suit and his hair slicked up, has such a charm as he joked with his co-host and his guest, a comedian, who was talking about a one-legged duck who was cut from the opening monologue but was brought up.  As I stood next to Quintein who had chuckled at some joke, my thoughts turned back a few years ago when I had first met Derek.  

I met Derek through Quintein and Dave but it was made more personal after we had met at the Santa Monica beach for some event but which afterwards turned into a group of us agreeing to see a taping of Conan O'Brien.  What I remember especially was when after the taping, Derek invited us over to his place that he had rented with Dave, who wasn't there at the moment.  We had some drinks, we had some music playing, and as such things most likely are to happen, we got drunk and happy within the moment.  For my part, I found myself a little inebriated and muttering nonsense from the bottom of Dave's closet, laughing like a mad man.  

I returned from the past and found myself looking at the main stage back at Bite Size TV where Epic Lloyd was spinning an original rap.  We were now around the stage, Quintein and Dave by my sides and Derek at the corner, and I couldn't contain a smile on my face.  Things turned out well for us, those drunken happy fools dancing.

New Year, New Me, New Execution

I find myself struggling.  I let many things affect my thinking and especially my emotions.  I always fancied myself a logical, rational being, but when it comes down to it, I am not that person.  I have always been emotional.  I have always made decisions by how I feel and by how my gut reacts.  And this is where I find myself now, back at a crossroads with my life.  

I decided to start 2014 absolutely new.  I started the new year without a job and had a small family vacation with my immediate family, which we hadn't had for quite some time.  It was nice and relaxing.  It was new and different, but it didn't mask things.  Though while I decided it was time for me to move and find a new job, mostly in the hopes of growing and learning, I didn't fully realize how hard it would be.  I didn't have any jobs or interviews lined up.  A logical person would have made steps safeguarding this but me, it felt like the exact right time to leave.  

And here I am, at a coffee shop pondering questions that were thrown at me back in high school.  Questions like "would you rather do a job that you enjoyed or a job that paid well".  Of course at the time I choose the job that I enjoyed than the rather practical one.  That's one thing I never understood about adulthood and how it was a marked change for any other phase growing up.  It seems to me that being grown-up comes hand-in-hand with compromise.  But I don't want to compromise.  Maybe that's childish.  Maybe I am.  But that's all I see around me.  Maybe it's sacrifice.  Maybe it's the reality of choices that they've made and stuck with.  I just know I'm not there yet.  

I don't want to compromise just yet.

When I was younger, I often dreamed of being older.  And now that I am, all I do now is wishing that I was younger.  It's such a contrarian way of thinking but also a rather safe way of thinking.  Often I wish to relive past moments or have the luxury of re-doing them but with the foreknowledge of what already happened or the possible outcomes.  But all that thinking remains in the Past.  What matters is the Future and the Present:  why I do from this moment on.

I'm afraid.  I'm afraid of so many things.  When I was younger I read countless comic books featuring super-heroes heading straight into danger conquering their fears but as I got older, those villains with bright colors and devious schemes were no where to be found.  Instead my battles were with myself, in my mind.  Battling self-doubt and failure.  Formless villains but just as deadly if not more.  I imagine so many possibilities, mostly those where my plans and efforts come fruitless.  I imagine it so strongly that I convince myself often not to try and waste my time.  But that's the problem.  It's only a possibility.  Often I shut out the possibility of things going my way for fear of the unknown or the untried.  This is something I need terribly to control and understand.

It's this combination - of doubt and fear - that leaves me in a state of paralysis so often, but I'm not going to let that stop me from my goals.  I'm older now.  I'm a little bit wiser.  I've been around the block a bit, I know things.  I'm no longer totally alone.  I have friends.  I have connections.  I have a drive, a desire.  I want things.  I want to explore the World.  I want to meet people of the World.  I want to leave my mark on the World.  I want all of this and more.  

It's around twenty some odd days into the New Year and I've already accomplished so much.  There's still much work to be done in the days and weeks ahead.  And I still need to make due with the promises of year's end.  This is the year that everything changes.  I need to grow and change.  I need to be bold and brave.  I mustn't let things deter me.  The year is still young.  The days are still fresh.  There's many tomorrows for a dreamer to still dream.  The possibilities are still out there.

Another Start

It occurs to me that I have neglected the one thing that I found most comforting:  writing.  Beyond making videos or taking pictures or even being most sociable online, I defined myself foremost as a writer.  True I have yet to be published or had anything created that I wrote, but I believe in being that which you aim to be, and that for me has always been a writer.  Before I die I want to write a book and have it be published, same with a comic book.  Sure I have loads of notebooks filled with ideas, story beats, and heavily sketched out characters but almost always life gets in the way and I lose interest.  The only consistent thing being my journal entries.  For a long time - years even - I was consistent with near daily entries.  I contribute that to two factors:  one, I was out of work and really had the time, and two, I didn't have much friends to converse with both online and in the real world.  Now that those things have changed and with the Internet, cell phones, and social media, all of my once concentrated ideas and thought are dispersed among the digital masses.  I'm going to change that.  I'm going to start documenting my life again, hopefully in a daily or near daily basis.  I aim to write about whatever's on my mind, if not a gentle recap of the days events, perhaps some ideas on a single subject like regret.  It's been a while since I flexed my writing muscles and I know it's going to be ugly at first but I hope to get back into shape soon.

Taking Stock

Where do you begin, when you've been so lost and confused?  I guess, I can begin where I am right this moment and move backwards, with some hope that it'll help me move forward.  I'm 31, I live with my parents, live in the great city of irony that is Los Angeles, and I work at a part time job that doesn't fulfill my creative desires.  But I have friends.  Friends close by and across the globe with whom I stay hyper-connected to by the Internet.  

Oh the Internet!  How I love you!

Five years ago, I was in a similar state.  I had moved back home after finishing college with a degree that didn't offer any jobs and most of my friends had begun drifting away as they began new jobs, new loves, and new lives.  My brother was off at college and both of my parents worked.  I had been desperately looking for jobs with no luck, and I was terribly lonely.  Even being so close to a bustling city, I didn't want to have anything to do with it.  So I was left utterly alone for a very, very long time, so much so, that I ventured to Target to some days feel some sort of social interaction by pretending that I was in the store getting some things before going off to continue with real life.

And real life happened.

Soon after this sad story in my life, I found work at a local library that was filled with all sorts of ups and downs, and filled with a cast of characters that I wouldn't forget.  And while this was happening, I was also making friends over the Internet.  From YouTube, Twitter, Dailybooth, and BlogTV, I had begun making friends and acquaintances all over the World and also some closer by in Los Angeles and Hollywood.  Soon these friends-on-the-screen became people that I met and cared about.  YouTube Live in San Francisco, the NorthWest YouTube Gathering in Portland, and the first VidCon in Century City: each of these big events cemented my friendships and solidified my ties to the Online World.

And real life continued on.

Social sites have come and gone, and like the Norse cycle of life, people, groups, and fads have risen and fallen countless times.  But like so often, I feel as if I'm standing still while my friends and most everyone else moves on.  I've seen people move from their homelands to new places like LA, San Francisco, Portland, and Seattle.  I've seen people travel, join bands, find jobs that they love or careers that they thrive in.  But I haven't really changed.  I'm still in LA and at a job that's not at all fulfilling.  At least I'm not alone now.  I have friends home and abroad, but I want more!  I want my own place, I want my own life.  I still seem to be connected to my old life or rather a second (or third) high school live, and I want more than what I have now.  But I'm afraid.  There's so much about the future and my bid to change things that I get paralyzed too quickly.  I have so much debt, to credit cards and towards my student loans, and I also am, unfortunately, saddled with having diabetes which makes medications and medical insurance cost a pretty penny.  

I want to reclaim what was lost.

I use to read so many books and write so many things, from little blurbs on scratches of paper to long-form journal entries, but right now, not so much.  Much can be said and argued with how the evolving Internet and social scene changed things.  Instead of writing elaborate AIM away messages, there's tweets, status updates, and tumbr posts.  Not to mention Instagram and SnapChat.  People still read but where the reading happens is now so fractured and plentiful.  Where once I would write things in my journal or online journal, it's been spread across pictures, videos, and what nots.  Perhaps the correlations between my reading and writing output is related to my level of friendships/being alone.  No longer do I have a vacant space of air to call friend, when I have friends so readily available.  Maybe there is a connection, maybe there isn't but there is one thing I want to change.  I want to write more.  I want to be more creative.  I need to find that spark that lit off so many ideas in my head.  I want to read more.  I want to write more.  I want to create MORE!

Promise.

I promise that I will do my best.  I promise that I won't let the shackles of fear hold me still.  I promise that I will be the best that I can.  Though I have been lost and confused, the promise I hold to most of all is that I promise I won't be lost for long!