Short story that has yet to have a title...

My name is Charlotte Burka but everyone calls me Peaches. It might have something to do with my living next to a peach orchard. But to be honest, I’m pretty sure it started with a couple of boys in fourth grade making fun of my-erm-”early development” of a womanly figure. Not exactly the kind of thing I want stuck with me all the way to highschool but whaddya gonna do.

My mother and I live in a small, two-floor house that my mom will probably be paying off for the rest of her life. But, we get as many free peaches as we want which will totally make up for it as soon as the bank starts accepting fruit instead of cash.

For as long as I can remember it had just been us. We lived with my grandparents until I was four because my mom was still going to school when she got pregnant. World’s Greatest Dad packed up and left before he ever knew so my grandparents had a really big part in raising me to be the stellar person I am today. They’ve been closely involved in our lives ever since. But mom wanted to branch out, show that she was her own adult so we hitched up our skirts and moved to the middle of nowhere. Yup, sure proved that we’re self-sufficient alright, considering there is no one else around. I guess it’s not too bad though; like I said before: all-you-can-eat peaches. The farmer guy who owns the orchard is super old and lives, like, three billion miles away so he said we can take what we like if we keep an eye on the orchard when he can’t come around.

I know I gripe a lot about being really secluded but it saved my life and I will be forever grateful for my mother’s mule-like stubborness. Stubbornity? Stubborn-you know what I mean. It all started a couple of months ago. It was a dark and stormy night...okay it was seven in the morning, but it was raining pretty hard. My mom was driving me to school and as usual, she was not very gracious to the other people on the road.

“Don’t they know we have somewhere to be? Sometimes I feels like these people know I’m in a hurry and slow down on purpose,” she said, exasperated.

“Yes, I’m sure that poor old lady you just cut off has only one purpose in life: to make sure you aren’t the first one to the copy machine in the morning.” My mom was a teacher at the same school I was forced to learn things in. What did that mean? I couldn’t get away with anything.

“Hey, if you don’t like my driving you could always ride your bike to school.”

“Ride my bike, what, seven miles? Noo thanks. I’ll take the dirty looks from other drivers. You and your aggressive driving.”

“I like to think of myself as a determined driver, not an aggressive one.”

“Sure, okay,” I replied and we both laughed.

This was pretty much how every morning went until we got to school and parted ways. Like I said, even though I don’t have her as one of my teachers, going to the same school my mom works in means any and everything that I do gets reported back to her through a complicated network of gossipy janitors and nosey faculty.

I shook out my unicorn umbrella and hurried to my locker before the starting bell rang and the teachers came out for a hall-sweep of the shamed tardy students. As I ran down the hall towards my trig class with, ugh, Mr. Meyer, I bumped into a security guard standing next to a window, watching the streets.

“Sorry!” I called breathlessly but didn’t have to time to stop.

“S’okay,” he mumbled but something about the tone of his voice made me look back.

The guy was tall, too tall but lean and young-looking. He was wearing a baseball cap and tilted it down towards his nose and shifted his shoulder to cover his face like he was hiding from me. It was definitely weird but I didn’t have time to think about creepy, but strangely familiar security guards considering the second bell had just rung and I still needed to memorize SOHCOHTOA for my trig test.

The rest of the school day ran by in kind of a blur. It was Friday which meant classes didn’t matter. I don’t think I answered a single question or wrote down more than a couple notes on Aristotle's algorithm. I wasn’t completely unproductive though; I had two whole pages worth of doodles by the end of the day. Very much worth it.

My best friend Judy caught up with me at my locker and waited for me because we had shopping plans that afternoon. “Hey hey, you’ll never guess what happened. Okay, you might guess but only ‘cause you know me so well but anyway it’s totally about Mason and it’s totally, unbelievably amazing and you’ll never guess it!” She didn’t take a single breath during her rant. Not one. I was waiting. As much as I love Judy, and that is a lot, sometimes I just tune her out until her voice comes back down from a pitch only dolphins can hear. “Yeah, so then I was like, weell you haven’t really asked me, and he was like, that’s kinda what I’m trying to do but you keep interrupting, and I was like oh my gosh sorry go ahead, and he was like, it’s okay ‘cause you’re cute and I was like, holy crap. No. Way. You’re cute and then he was like yeah that’s true too and seriously I think a little piece of me died and went to heaven and not to creep you out or anything Peaches, but that guy has been staring at you for the last ten minutes.”

“Wait, what?” I snapped back to attention when Judy said my name. “What guy?” I looked in the direction of Judy’s stare but didn’t see anyone out of the ordinary. Well, I saw a lot of people out of the ordinary but that’s highschool. No creepy peepers though. Anyway I was used to being stared at. All my life I’ve had someone following me.

At my elementary school, we always put on these musical performances for open houses or for holiday celebrations. All the kids’ parents would come and film their sons and daughters and we would put on our best show for them. Since my mom was a teacher and the shows were always in the middle of the day she had to work during them and could never come. I couldn’t look into the audience, searching for the one grinning face that I knew was watching only me. I put on a darn good show alright, but I did it for myself. I didn’t blame my mom. I never blamed her. I never thought to blame her. It was just the way things were.

Sometimes I’d look out and meet someone’s gaze. Usually it wouldn’t register until later that the man had been looking at me first. He was very tall, you could tell even when he was sitting because his head poked out from the sea of heads around him. His skin was dark and his head was shaved. I could feel the intensity of his dark brown eyes even from the spotlighted stage.

It turned into a game; look for the tall man, see that his eyes never leave mine. And it didn’t end with the school shows. I’d see him standing on a street corner when riding in the car with my mom. I’d see him browsing through the aisles at the grocery store. I used to try to point him out to my mom but somehow he’d disappear before she looked around. She put it off as a kid having an imaginary friend until I was getting too old to have one without being insane so I stopped bringing it up. He became my secret. Secret stalker, sure, but I didn’t realize there was a name for it back then. We’d never interacted, never came anywhere close to each other. But I watched him watching me. Sometimes I wondered if the man even knew that I was keeping as close tabs on him that he was on me.

“Weird, he was just there. Oh well. So MegaMall or Downy County Strip?”

“Huh? Oh, Downy Strip for sure.” I closed my locker and we headed to the school parking lot. All thoughts of classes and anything else even remotely school related hid in a dark closet in my mind and all I thought about was new clothes and late night movies with my best friend. I was so ready for this weekend.

After satisfying our teenage girl need for shopping, Judy and I left the Downy County Strip mall and headed to my house for some good ol’ fashioned chick flicks. Judy’s cute little bright-blue buggy was turning in a major intersection when the lingering yellow light finally turned red.

“Ju, you should’ve stopped. You’re totally getting a ticket for that-” Just as I was making fun of the pout on Judy’s face, the car behind us that would’ve been stuck at the light revved its engines and raced forward to make the turn, narrowly missing a bumper to bumper collision with cars coming the other way.

“Woah. Someone’s in a hurry,” Judy said sarcastically.

“Yeah.” I peered into the rearview mirror, trying to get a better look at the maniac driver. I could only see a dark face with a set jaw through the now pouring rain but I knew instantly who it was. This time was different though. He wasn’t sitting in a seat somewhere, watching me sing with the rest of my classmates or pretending to decide on different detergents while looking at me and my mother from the corners of his eyes. This time he was close, he was following me and I was scared.

“Hey, Ju, let’s not go straight to my house, actually. I totally forgot that I wanted to pick up-something from the gas station.” My voice wavered.

“Sure,” my best friend said hesitantly. “Are you okay? You’re sweating like a pig.”

“Yeah, it’s hot in here isn’t it?” Ju was looking over at me worriedly, not at all focused on the cars in front of her, and glanced at the temperature reader on the dashboard.

“Babe, it’s sixty three degrees. Do you need me to pull over? Are you gonna throw up? Please, God, don’t throw up. At least not in the car. Are you gonna throw up, because I can pull over.” Judy didn’t wait for me to answer and parked the buggy on the side of the road, ignoring the honking of indignant drivers she swerved in front of.

I unbuckled my seatbelt immediately and hopped out of the car before Judy had even pulled the keys out of ignition. The car that was tailing us didn’t have time to stop with us thanks to Judy’s lack of turn signals. It was a red-ish Toyota Camry. Right, because white vans were too mainstream. I watched it drive a little further down the road and stop at a small corner store. The driver didn’t get out nor did the engine stop running.

“You know what, I’m fine now,” I said and flashed Judy my most convincing smile. “In fact, I’ll drive.”

“Are you sure?” Judy looked reluctantly towards her pristine, tan leather seats. “You’re sure you’re not gonna hurl?”

“Don’t worry,” I laughed. “We’ll drive with the windows down since I’m pretty sure it was the smell of your hairspray that was suffocating me. I’ll try to resist the urge to throw my head outside the window and let my tongue flap in the wind.

Judy chuckled at my usual idiocy and we got back in the bright blue car and started on our way. Just as we passed the maroon two-door it turned its wheels and raced down the road behind us. Not this time, sucker. I turned the steering wheel nearly full circle to make an unexpected right turn and then again for a quick left turn. It was a little sharp and I wasn't anticipating the tow sign poking out into the street so the ear splitting scrape of metal against bright blue metal was gut-wrenching. Judy looked back and forth between the car door and my determined face incredulously. She was speechless for three whole minutes which I think must be a record. But I didn't stop the car, I didn't even slow down. I was gonna lose this stalker if it killed me.

“Peach, you’re going to total my buggy! What are you doing?” Alright, so maybe it would kill me.

  After maybe five minutes of narrowly avoiding grisly accidents and Ju screaming in my ear threatening to call the police, I pulled the car to a stop and stared intently into the rearview mirror. Finally, I was satisfied by the absence of the maroon Toyota of stalkerish death on our tail.

I was so focused on checking if the coast was clear that I hadn't realized Judy was talking to me until she used my real name.

"Charlotte! I'm gonna call the police! I am! You're freaking crazy!"

"You don't have to; we're going to the police station right now. This is the last time I'm letting that guy follow me around."

"You know what? I'm calling your mom. Maybe she can figure out what vein popped in your brain."

"Judy. Shut. Up. Just for one minute of your life."

But she didn't shut up. I put the car in drive and proceeded towards the police station while Judy tapped indignantly on her cell phone and did exactly as she said.

"Ms. Burka? Yeah, hi, it's Judy. Oh I'm fine actually, no thanks to your daughter. 'What happened?' What didn't happen? First Peach nearly threw up on my vintage leather seats and then she decided she didn't feel like following basic traffic laws and whipped us through the crowded streets of our beloved city. Oh, you want to talk to her? Peach, your mother wants to talk to you. She sounds serious." I glanced over at her, annoyed, and shook my head. "Hm, Peach says she's busy trying to kill us again. I'll you back later Mama Burka. That is if I'm still alive. If' you don't hear from me in ten minutes please call the police and tell them they can either find my body and arrest your daughter, or they can arrest me because I strangled her to death. Ciao!" Judy hung up on my confused mother and sighed loudly.

"Are you satisfied?" I asked, only half expecting her to actually reply.

"Can you just tell me what's going on? Can you just give me that? Because I'm trying my hardest not to freak out, here-"

"Not that hard.."
"Charlotte!"
"Sorry, sorry. Okay. There's this guy that's been following me around since I was a kid. At first, I thought maybe he just lived somewhere near me because I saw him everywhere I went but no one lives near me. He's always kept his distance, I'd only notice him if I was looking. For a while I thought I'd made him up because I was lonely or something. But the last few weeks have been worse; he's been closer, in the same gas stations, corner stores, here inside the school building, once he even followed me to a set of port-o-potties at a forest reserve. I think the only thing that stopped him from hopping into one with me was the group of tourists taking pictures of everything. That was him in the car behind us and I flipped a little bit and drove like we were in the Indy 500 because I was trying to lose him. Him following me around and watching me all the time used to be kind of reassuring, flattering even, like I was worthy of being stalked. But now I realize how demented that is and it's scary and twisted and I'm done being some grown man's walking TV set." Man, that was two times in one day that I'd left Judy speechless. There must have been a disturbance in the universe.
"I don't even know what to say to that. I'd say you were lying except that was probably the most normal thing you've said today." Judy turned away from me and frowned. "Okay, let's skip past the part where I freak out some more and then get mad because my best friend has been keeping a colossal secret from me.

I'm Thankful For.....yikes..

I'm thankful for a lot of things this year-friends, family and food included, the three F's. And I suppose I'm thankful for my classmates as well. The group that I sit in makes class fun and interesting and I'm not afraid to share my opinions with them when doing group work or peer editing.
          I'm thankful for Kayla because she's always willing to share her kindle with me when I forget my book. She's really funny and makes me laugh whenever she gives attitude to Keduse. I also enjoy reading her writing and hearing what she has to say during group work. Though usually when doing group work we spend ten minutes on each question because we can't always agree on the answers (this is usually Keduse's fault).
          I'm thankful for Kyla because she's really good at bsing the answer to a question that we haven't answered as a group yet. She's really talkative and keeps the conversation going when we seem to hit a dead end. Plus Kyla brings food and shares it with Keduse so that keeps him quiet for a little while. (Funny how these things keep coming back to Keduse, huh?) She has a great sense of humor and I know that even when we argue about the answer to something we can walk away from it still friends.
         I guess I'm thankful for Keduse too sometimes. I think he shared his book with me that one time. And sometimes he makes a funny joke. Nah, Keduse is actually pretty okay. Even if the only reason he's in this blog is because he threatened me. He's really smart, unfortunately, and more than often we actually get along pretty well. He also makes class enjoyable because it's easy to annoy him and get him  all flustered. (Sorry buddy)
        As I said, I'm thankful for a lot of things this Thanksgiving. And my English II classmates definitely make the list.

I Celebrate Myself

I celebrate myself.
          But I do so for the wrong reasons.
          I don't celebrate myself for being honest because I'll lie if it means keeping myself or someone else from getting hurt. I don't celebrate myself for standing up to anyone because I back down from any sort of conflict. I don't celebrate myself for being different because it's hard to be different from anyone these days as everyone stretches more and more outside the box looking for individuality.
          I wouldn't say I'm especially pretty or smarter than average. I don't really think I'm all that different from any of my friends or very original. I don't have any special talents and I don't play any sports or instruments.
          I celebrate myself all the same because I come to terms with the fact that it's okay to not stand out in a crowd of people. As long as I'm okay with who I am I'll celebrate myself.

Poe

          Edgar Allan Poe led a very unhappy and unfortunate life and this very likely bled into his writing and would explain all of his moody, depressing, horrific stories. From a young age he was separated from his siblings, raised by a cold father, and went through financial problems for basically all of his life. 

          Poe's momma died when he was two years old and she had taken him and his two siblings to live on their own. Poe was separated from his brother and sister and raised by Mr. and Mrs. John Allan who   lived with pretty good conditions. Edgar went through elementary school in England and then moved to the US to continue his studies at the University of Virginia when he was seventeen. Poe's foster father was wealthy but he did not share much of his wealth with Edgar so he soon racked up a bunch of debt and started drinking heavily. 

          He had no job and no money so Poe enlisted in the US army when he was 18. He got up to the rank of sergeant major when Mrs. Allan died and Mr. Allan decided to be a little more amiable towards Poe. He signed Poe's application to go to West Point for the army. Poe lived with his grandmother and cousin, Virginia, while waiting to enter West Point. John Allan refused to send Poe money so he didn't stay long and was soon dismissed from the army as well. 

          Poe moved to New York where some of his poetry was published but most of the works he sent to magazines and newspapers were rejected. He even begged John for help again but never heard from him and John Allan died three years later. Poe was one of the only writers trying to make a living off of his writing only instead of having another job and writing as a hobby. His style of writing wasn't popular either because his stories were gruesome and horrifying so they didn't sell and he didn't get much money for the ones that did get published. 

          The last days of Poe's life are a very mysterious mystery. On September 30, 1849 Edgar was supposed to take a train New York but supposedly took the wrong train to Baltimore. Three days later he was found lapsing in and out of consciousness and was taken to the hospital but he couldn't say exactly what had happened to him. Edgar Allan Poe died in the hospital four days later, his life a spiral of depressing events and his death an intriguing mystery. 

          

What is an American?

America the brave, America the true. America the free land. America is home to the independent and strong, the hardworking and the leading people. America the power country, right?
       Or I suppose you could look to the other extreme. Those fat, lazy Americans. Those gun toting, hard headed Americans, eating their McDonald's and dropping out of high school.
       But no matter which stereotype you turn to, whether it be honorable or shameful, it's just not true. I know a lot of hardworking people who earned their land and built their house by hand. But they'd turn someone away from work because of their sexual orientation. Or walk to the other sidewalk because someone of a different skin color is passing by. I know a lot of people who are in bad living situations or money situations and can't find work because of their lack of a high school diploma. And yet a smile seems to find its way onto their faces and they treat everyone they meet with great respect.
       "America the brave"; sure it's easy to be brave when you know that the "fear" you're facing is made up or twisted into something its not. "America the true" as if we're told the truth about what happens behind the colors and costumes that politicians put up. As if we know the real reasons why wars are started and how people are repeatedly elected when all they've done is drag us down. "America the free land"? Teenagers are profiled and pulled aside and questioned by police in the middle of a street because of their skin color and the assumption that kids walking in groups must be up to gang activity. Is that freedom? The government has the right (I use this term loosely) and ability to tap into our phones, computers, our lives if we're suspected of any kind of criminal activity. Suspected, not charged. Is that freedom? No, but it sure is all about the power.
       I can also safely say that I haven't a McDonald's meal in about eleven years. I don't stuff my face with fast food everyday. I wouldn't go as far as to say that I eat terribly healthy food but I take care of myself. I don't like guns. I don't like violence. I don't like war. I don't like the idea of children roaming the streets packing heat but I definitely don't assume that every black, sixteen-year-old guy is. I plan on finishing high school and going to college. College was never really a question for me but I suppose that just shows what kind of environment for me. I don't think it shows what kind of person you are if you don't finish school. That's just one part of your life and shouldn't be used to judge your intelligence or personality.
       I guess what I'm trying to say is that there isn't a one thing that makes someone an American. There are all these values and characteristics that are used to describe Americans but if you take a step back, you could use them for almost anyone. In the end I don't think there's a way you can take a whole nation and fit it under one category. In the end we're all human and our humanity is the only thing we all have in common.

Modern Day Puritan

Although Puritanism doesn't exist as a religion any more, many traits and values have been passed down and made a part of other religions and common principles.
          The Puritans believed that a single mistake in life could cast you down in hell and out of God's favor forever. Nowadays, religions are a lot more lenient about repenting for sins and confessing so that you may have a clear conscience once again. I personally am not religious so there's not much I can say about this without stepping into unknown territory. But I can say that I haven't a lot of the straight-as-a-ruler laws of Puritanism in modern society.
          While we do have some rules that aren't as bendable as others, they're nowhere as harsh as those of the Puritans. For example, in the book The Scarlet Letter, Hester Prynne committed adultery and while she got off with what seemed like a simple punishment, some of the townspeople were saying that she should be put in jail or hanged for it. Whooa, nellie that's super extreme. In our society, cheating is certainly frowned upon, but it's not something you can be arrested for! (Usually..)
          That's another thing. Hanging. I'm not too caught up on the different ways death penalties are carried out but I think death by hanging isn't one of them anymore. Let alone to have it done in front of the entire town for everyone to come watch. That's just absolutely barbaric. This doesn't only apply to the Puritans though. Back in ye olden days hanging and decapitation witnessed by ruthless, bloodthirsty townspeople was the norm and I'm so glad that's been shunned since then.
          Most of the traces of Puritanism is gone from our society these days but there are still some values that have been passed down and altered. We have come up with new, more-but definitely not completely-humane ways of dealing with breaking the law or rules of a religion. And I'm sure down the road there will be people analyzing how primitive our society is as well.

Proctor...Hero or Stooge?

          Definitely a herooge. Stooro? Whatever you might call it, I think John Proctor was both a hero and a stooge.
          John was a stooge in the way that all men are stooges. He was an idiot, not cognitively but in his mindset. He did foolish things without thinking about the later consequences. However each (well, maybe most) of his actions were brave and were done with good intention.
          Proctor's affair with Abigail? Foolish. I'm not sure what went on before Act I between them or how she may have been appealing. But she was not at all attractive while wildly accusing her rivals of witchcraft. Abigail was crazy bonkers no doubt about it. Like I said though, men are generally idiots so maybe Proctor just couldn't help himself and couldn't see past her pretty face. His wife was pretty cold and whether or not all of her shrewdness resulted from the affair, their marriage didn't seem all that happy. So this could be another factor of John running into another's arms.
          Standing up to the unfair justice system for himself as well as countless innocent others? Heroic. It's clear that no one who was accused was really guilty of witchcraft. However, everyone was encourages to admit to it anyway to same themselves from hanging. Obviously there's something wrong with that logic. When Proctor was accused he remained vigil and would not confess. He had a last minute panic and falsely admitted to performing witchcraft but he soon saw how he could not live with the lie and would rather die with the truth. Although Proctor was murdered, he spoke up against the insane court system and the people who confessed to a crime they did not committ and then blamed an innocent person to save their own skin.