Today. Today was the day that the newspaper was going to come out. Whales did not tell me who got the front cover, neither did she tell Riley. A couple of the people on staff knew who got the cover, but they would not tell any of us until the yearbook staff passed them out during first period.
Whales told me to stay home so I could not see who was on the cover until I got to school. She told Riley the same thing. She also told us that if she saw any of us during the first half of the period, she would give us a zero as a test grade on a random quiz (we never do quizzes in class, we just call them quizzes when they are actually just grades for working on something).
Alice and Laura left, taking Oliver with them so that they could drop him off at school. Mom and dad left right after them, leaving me alone in the house. Letting me ponder and wonder if I had got the front cover.
If I got the front cover, I had bragging rights with the entire school. A first time writer getting on the cover. Colleges are going to love that. Even though applications were already due a few weeks ago... I will let them know what happened some way or another.
I stayed down at my pajamas, picking at a stray string.
There was absolutely nothing for me to do in the house except for wait for Whales to text me that I could come in.
I grabbed my phone and went through my messages until I found Evan. Are you in class?
He replied back almost immediately. You shouldn't be texting me, school has started. I could get my phone taken up and then I would have to pay $15.
Then why are you texting me?
Evan: Because I know how nervous you are right now. He sent me another text message. Have you heard if you got your story on the cover yet?
Nope. And I am not suppose to found out who got the cover until I actually get to school.
Evan: Do you know what the other girl wrote about?
I don't know anything about her story. Wait a minute, don't you have a test this period?
Evan: I do, but the teacher decided to not give us a test without a a few minutes of studying.
You should be studying.
Evan: And you shouldn't be worrying about the article. Just relax, you got this in the bag.
I'll leave you alone so you can go study. Good luck.
Evan: You too.
I now had nothing to do. The anticipation for waiting to see if I got the cover is killing me. What am I suppose to do?
Taking my camera off of my desk, I opened up the window and stared outside, trying to take my mind off of the article. The only thing that was interesting was the oak tree that I spent most of my time climbing through the limbs to get to the other side.
I raised the camera up to my eyes and began to photograph the tree. One day, when I live out on my own with my own kids and a job, I would want to remember this tree. The tree where I would escape my house and go to someone who I cared about. Sneaking out at night, using the front door to get to another place that almost ruined my brother's life.
I want to remember my first love. Who knows how much longer I have l left here; spending time with my family and friends. I want to remember the good times, because all we ever focus on are the bad memories. I want to be able to remember the times where I could forget life a little bit and experience the life of a teenager. A teenager with a perfect social life, grades, and friends. I missed the times where the hardest thing to do was how to spell pandemonium. Now the hardest thing to do is getting enough sleep, keeping up with a job, and maintaining grades. Life is not what I remember what it used to be, and I just want to remember the meaningful parts of life.
I took a couple more pictures of the tree before I decided to call it quits. I glanced at the clock on my phone. I had five more minutes before I could start heading over to school.
Getting my converter cord, I opened up my lap top and began to import the pictures onto my computer. On my desktop was the final version of my story. Just to past time, I reread it, looking for any mistakes.
In Six Words, Entire Stories Exist
The famous "For sale: baby shoes, never worn," by Hemingway has prompted the world for decades to come up with their own 'six word story'.' It has tested writers' ability to create such short masterpieces that are filled with clever words. The Six Word Stories have now started a new life, from being memoirs to being ideas on Tumblr and other social medias.
These abridged yarns do not fall into one genre, or even one tone, their only similarities being their strict adherence to the mandatory word limit. Some anecdotes are funny, some are introspective and others are down right heartbreaking.
Each story has a piece of the person who write it within the those small six words.
The top ones on the internet are:
I'm a mess of unfinished thoughts.
'You think too much,' I pondered.
Male?' 'It's an old driver's license.'
Paramedics finished the text, '...love you.'
Can I scratch out my existence?
The melancholy ones are the ones that make you think about the person who wrote them. But who makes the clown laugh? Think about the person that makes you laugh everyday, who has a smile on their face every time that you see them. Do you ever see that person with a frown on their face or at least make a serious comment about anything?
The statement ones are just that, a statement. Artist's Bane: Fresh Idea. Empty Pen. They can apply to anyone and they make you go, yeah that's true. It doesn't effect you that much.
Around school and homes, people have had their own six word stories.
Senior: Once addicted, trying to get better.
Junior: Good luck, you're gonna need it.
Sophomore: Hands covered in paint and ceramics.
Freshmen: There's no pool on the roof.
My father gave me his story. Boy. Girl. Daughter. Turned dad, daughter.
Other families have their own stories.
It's been a year, come back.
Making you laugh is my heaven.
Home doesn't feel like home anymore.
Some of these six word stories have their own meaning behind them and it makes people wonder what else is this person hiding. It makes you wonder what this person has been through.
What have you been through? It is your own six word story?
Hopefully this gets me on the cover of the newspaper. If it does not, at least I got it in the newspaper and got it published.
You can come down now.
Now , it is time that I face the truth.
* * * * *
Riley wrote a power column. A personal power column that that was single most amazing thing that I had read.
My Eight- Year Old Mind Could Not Understand
I laid there unable to move. I didn't want to move. I didn't want to open my eyes. I was afraid.
I could feel his heavy breath and lips against the back the of my neck. It was always this way; he thought I was asleep. He thought I couldn't feel his wrinkled hands caressing my eight- year- old body.
He leaned in a bit closer, wrapping his arms around my limp body, pressing himself against my back. His breath got heavier.
"You're so sexy. I want you so bad," he grunted.
He was thorough. He knew my body well. His hands never stopped. One went to my shirt, feeling around for something that was not there. The other went down my pants. After he finished, he made me touch him until he was satisfied. I couldn't move. I was afraid that if I did, he would make me participate. I rolled over. It was over this time.
He jerked me by one arm. "Let's go, let's go! Your mom is going to wonder where you are. I'm going to tell her. I'm going to tell her it's all your fault. I'm going to tell her you overslept again." He pulled me by my right arm, having no time to zip up my pants.
He opened the door and pushed me outside. Outside. Outside the old trailer there I stayed everyday after school. Outside it was wonderful.
It was silent in the old minivan. I pitched my feet in the blanket of sand that nestled at the bottom of the floor. Three miles away seemed like forever, I just stared straight ahead.
We finally arrived at my house. My hand reached for the door handle. He poked at me then nudged me, expecting a good- bye kiss. "Close your eyes," he said. "Give your grandpa a kiss."
I just sat in the same position until he pulled my head in and forced his tongue into my mouth. I turned my head, and his thick saliva smeared against my check.
"You better never tell anyone. Now get out."
I lowered my eyes and said, "Yes, sir."
"And don't forget I love you." His haunting words followed me like a bad smell that lingered for hours.
I braced myself to open the door with a straight face. My face had to glow with radiance, so I applied my newly acquired smile to hide my inner disgust.
I was afraid. I was afraid of being beaten until I couldn't walk. Just the slightest frown would piss my stepfather off. The more tears, the more I got beat. He always made sure that I knew he would make me feel the way I looked. If you keep crying, I'll give you something to cry about. I'll knock the shit out of you.
I didn't want to find out, so I put on a happy face and fought back the remembering tears.
I opened the door, looked to see if he was anywhere in sight, and then walked inside. My smile quickly faded- his face peeked around the corner.
He started at me with a sort of happy satisfaction on his face. It was too late to try to act happy now because he saw that I was hiding something.
"You know where to go," he said. He was right. I did know where to go- the wall imprinted with roses and thorns, my own prison of torture.
I knew what to do, how far to count- 10- and how to stand- hands against the wall, feet firmly planted on the floor.
I walked in front and he followed. His voice filled with anger. "You're not walking fast enough. Move it."
He smacked the back of my head to let me know that he wanted to stop. Then without saying a word, he took off his new, brown leather belt.
I didn't speak to him. I knew better. My voice started to crack as I counted- one... two... three... four... five. He hit. I received.
I wasn't allowed to cry. I couldn't cry. I would not cry. That hurt worse than the licks that came from his leather belt.
I had to hold it on, the pain, the thoughts, the tears. I felt like a horrible person and that all of this was my fault.
He told me that he didn't want to hurt me, but he had to do it for my own good.
Six... seven... eight... nine... 10. His hunger was fulfilled by now.
I kept my composure as I limped away.
I was a strong eight- year- old who carried the burdens of an eye that saw almost everything.
Where was my mother? Would she be next?
No. She was passed out on the couch, and the smell of alcohol reeked from her drunken body.
It was always this way- her eyes were closed.
She didn't see the hands that invaded my body, the deceptive tongue, the destructive I love you, the heavy hand that bore down my fragile body.
No one saw.
And my eight- year- old mind could not understand.
There were rumors around the school about what happened to Riley at her town. A few people found an article in a old newspaper from her old town that was about a grandpa getting arrested for sexual assaulting his granddaughter. The grandpa had had her last name, so people assumed that she was the granddaughter that was in the news article.
After that day, everyone kind of forgot about it and never brought it up and no one ever asked her if she was the child in the article.
Now, it is confirmed.
I looked up from the newspaper and looked up at Riley. "It's beautiful," I told her. "I wish I would write something that powerful."
She gave me sad smile. "I wrote the article when I was in junior high back in my old town for a project in English. After my teacher read it, she called child protective services and my grandfather was later arrested, same goes for my step- father. For my testimony, I read the article and they were both found guilty and went to jail for life. I did have to clean it up a bit so it sounded more mature for the newspaper."
"Why weren't you writing for the newspaper?" I asked her. "You can write really powerful words."
Riley shrugged. "Writing it kind of personal to me and I don't like to share it with anyone else. I like photography. Things just look pretty, but with words, you actually have to explain what is going on and they have to have meaning. Like your six word story article. Words have meaning."
"But pictures can say a thousand words."
She laughed, "No wonder why you take so many."
* * * * *
I walked around the school with a camera, talking pictures of students roaming around the hallways. Nick is writing an article over students who skip class and just roam around, not actually leaving campus, just staying in school. And running away from security officers every time someone tried to talk to them.
Straying away from the task at hand, I went out to the track to talk to the spring sports team and ask them when they were going to start scrimmages so I could start taking pictures for the yearbook and newspaper.
Boys' baseball and soccer were sharing the football field and track and cross country was running around the track.
"Hey, it's Autumn Riles," some baseball player shouted. "My six word story is, Baseball is life, nothing else matters."
"Patrick, go take two laps!" the baseball coach yelled. As I approached him, the coach smiled at me, "Miss Riles, what can I do for you today?"
"When does baseball start their scrimmages and when is the first game?" I asked him.
He thought about for a moment, "We have a scrimmage on the day of the winter formal, and the Saturday after Christmas. Our first game will be the day we come back from winter break." I typed the information into my phone. "Autumn," he said and I looked up at him, "I read your article and I loved it."
"Thank you," I told him. But it is not as good as Riley's.
I moved on from baseball and found the soccer boys taking a water break. Jace was standing the middle of the herd, handing out the water to the players. "You are a water boy, now?" I asked him as I approached.
A couple of the players that I had never seen before came up to me, and introduced themselves to me. Suspecting that they were freshman players that made it onto the varsity team, I kind of ignored them. Now was the time to introduce yourself to me. Even if you know that I am popular with the coaches.
Sooner or later they dispersed and I had to re-ask Jace my question.
"Football season is over with now, and I did not want to do AP Psych so I volunteered myself to be the water boy for soccer this year. What are you doing year, Autumn?"
I told him what I was doing and he took out his phone to send me the schedule for soccer.
When he was done sending the schedule to me, he glanced between me and the guys that ran passed us on the track. "Are you going to talk to Evan?" he asked me. "I heard from Alice that your relationship with him is progressing."
I shook my head, "You shouldn't be listening to Alice. She does tend to bend the truth a little." As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted it. "I shouldn't have said that." I looked up at Jace, "She is a wonderful girl-"
"But she does have her issues. I know." He gave me a small smile. He looked behind him at the track guys stopping at their coach.
Evan spotted me but quickly looked back at his coach because he snapped at him.
"You should probably go talk to him before they start another lap," he advised me.
"Don't you know track's schedule?"
"I do, but you should go over there," he grabbed my shoulders and pushed me towards track.
The track guys saw me coming before the coach. "The six words that I would put in my story are: want to share a bed, Autumn?" some sophomore yelled.
Before the coach could say something about it, Evan kindheartedly yelled, "Shut up." The sophomore's smirk immediately disappeared.
"How are you doing today, Miss Riles?" the coach asked me.
"I'm doing good, how about you?"
"Good. What can I do for you today?"
"I just need the schedule for track," I explained to him. The coach took out his phone but told the guys to run two laps then come back to him.
The track guys started to take off, but Evan stayed. "Aren't you going to get in trouble with your coach?"
Evan shook his head, "Coach understands. Right coach?"
Not looking up from his phone, the coach said, "You will be running a mile when you are done."
"See, he understands." Evan took a step forward, closer to me, "I saw that Riley got the front cover. I'm sorry."
"It's fine, her article was a million times better than mine. Chick can write," I told him.
The track people came back around and in unison, they yelled got calls and teased Evan. "Get yourself some!"
Evan had to close to his eyes, keeping his anger in. I put my hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him, "Ignore the idiots."
He opened his eyes, and put his hand over mine, "They are just cruel jealous people, that are upset that they do not have a girlfriend that is as amazing as you."
I dropped my hand off of his shoulder, shocked by what he had said. I knew that I should not be, but he took me by surprise.
"Sorry, I should have-"
I shook my head, laughing a little to myself. "It's fine." I stood up on my tiptoes and pressed my lips to his cheek. I tasted his sweat on my lips and I had to pull back quickly and wipe my lips to get rid of his sweat.
"Yeah," he laughed at me, "I'm a little sweaty, sorry about that."
"Evan go run your mile before you traumatize Miss Riles even more with your sweat," his coach told him.
"See you tonight," he waved goodbye to me and started his mile a little bit before his track friends finished their two laps.
"Can I email you the schedule?"
The coach handed me his phone and I typed in my email. And just like that, I finished my chore.
Yep, it has been a while.
The article about the eight year old girl, was not written about me. I attended a convention in San Antonio for high school journalists and one of the panels was for power columns and this was one of them. The article was written by Sylvia. It did not give me a last name.
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