WA 6 Final

I was only seven when I figured out exactly what I wanted to be when I grew up. My family was visiting my cousins who were hosting our fourth annual family reunion in Pennsylvania. I was excited to see my cousin Jay who was the athlete in the family. In addition to being the MVP of his basketball team back home, he was a musician and today he was providing some entertainment for the special get-together. He played a couple of songs, of course I didn’t know what they were at the time. Afterwards, however I remember my mouth dropping to my feet when I saw his fingers doing the quick step up and down the finger board. When he finished playing, the whole family cheered. I remember wishing I was the one up there, everyone clapping for me. 
 
  When we were on our way home to upstate New York, the very next day, I mentioned that I had a new passion to my dad. I begged him for a guitar of my own. He kept saying no, that it was unnecessary and that I would get sick of it with in a month. He did not have me convinced so I kept begging until he finally agreed to get me a guitar for my birthday if I behaved until then. That was good enough for me, after the long hours of begging. So I would have to be a good boy for 10 only day. It wouldn’t be too bad, definitely worth it.

My birthday came around, and, soon enough, I had my very own guitar. My father helped me tune it and bought me a “Teach Yourself Guitar” book. I sat down that day for over six hours, running my fingers up and down the board, trying to figure out which position made what noise. I had already been able to read music notes since I had been playing the piano for three years so it came down to memorizing notes and chords.

There was never a single day after my eight birthday that I put the guitar down. I played all the time and I learned how to play almost all the classics on my dad's computer and using a site. When I got to high school, I had already decided I wanted to be a musician so what was the point? I dropped out as soon as I could to become a musician. I wanted, more than anything, to make it in the business though I knew it would be hard. I had another cousin in New York city so I decided to live with him until I could find a job and pay my own rent.

Little did I knew, the music business was about ten times harder to make than I had thought. I played show after show in little clubs, but every time I met a producer, he told me I wasn't strong enough to make it, that I was too young, too inexperienced and not what they were looking for. I changed my sound around and still, nothing. I was forced to leave my cousins apartment when her boyfriend moved in. I applied for any, and every job I could find but was denied every single one for my lack of a high school education. I guess I didn't think that one through when I decided high school was unnecessary since I was convinced people went to high school to decide what they would be. I still had no job so I ended up with out any place to live and only a couple friends. I stayed with my friends until they kicked me out after three month of my skipping out on paying my share of the rent. I was forced to live on the street.

I thought about moving back home, but a) I had no money to buy a train ticket back and b) I couldn't show my parents that I had dropped out of high school to become a failure. It was a hard life on the streets. I was cold at night and my clothes were deteriorating quickly. The rain left smelly, moldy spots on my back. I moved from shelter to shelter but they were very crowded, not any better than the extra long bench on 13^th street. I was forced to sell my guitar. This was probably the hardest day of my life. I couldn't help thinking that my whole past would be traded for a new outfit and a week's worth of food. That was the day I lost my identity. I had nothing to define me anymore. No friends, or family or anything to show for. I was a homeless man and I had to get used to it.

There is no happy ending to this story, in fact no ending. My life continued like this, in the dump. I say that in an almost literal tone. This is merely a warning to anyone who is reading. It can be harder than you think, to become a musician. In fact, I don't recommend it at all, not the way I reached for my dreams anyway. I recommend staying in school and keeping a well-rounded relationship with family. Think about your future before you live it.

WA-6

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"Get out!" she said, her tone angry and anxious. "I never want to see you again. You messed up. It's time for you to pay the price." I remember it clearly. She left me. It was not my fault for liking another woman but I was responsible for the affair but it was over, and no matter how many times I apologized, she never forgave me. I didn't blame her for not wanting to see me again, so I did as she pleased and left. This was a year ago, a year from the dirty streets and creaky cart. 

I didn't ask for money or a place to live. She had earned all the support for our family and I didn't deserve any of the life we made together. I was laid off at work when my company shut down and I didn't bother to get a job afterwards. I regret that too. Now I have nothing but a cart I roll along with me in the streets of the Bronx. I could not afford an apartment and it was hard to get a job so I traveled from shelter to shelter looking for nothing but warm soup, some rest and maybe a few friends here and there.

I had lots of time on my hands, to think, to read, to wander aimlessly through life, or what was left of it anyways. I went to the library almost every day and each time read a book from a different shelf. Today I was in the romance section. I found a book entitled Love Story, it was the same as the movie, my wife and my favorite movie of all time. It was about two young college students. They love each other a great deal but went through many highs and lows during their relationship. The girl was sick and died but he still loved her and they make it through till the end, together. One line, however stood out. “Love means never having to say you're sorry.” How can this be, I asked. Would anyone believe such a lie to be true? I love my wife. I never go a day with out thinking of her. I had some regrets but I decided to find out if she still loved me. No one could make a movie with false script.

I stepped back to take a cold hard look at the new life I had created. It was filled with cheap food and old clothes on my back. My wife, she was my everything. She completed me, made me who I was and now that I didn't have her, my life was a wreck. Half of me was gone, all because of a stupid mistake. As soon as I gathered enough money, after weeks of begging on the street, I bought a bus ticket up to northern New York where my life was living.

When I got back to my hometown, I walked to the house we had lived in together a year ago. I knocked and immediately took position 5 steps from the door. I was nervous about seeing her again. What would she think, do, say? She opened the door and took a look at me. She checked me up and down for signs, information as to why I was there. I smiled hesitantly and shrugged. All of a sudden, a tear fell to the ground from the tip of her nose. She had her eyes planted on the ground at her feet. I stood for a minute and started to turn towards the street. I knew she didn't want me here. I looked back as I was leaving and she was lifting her face. Her mouth dropped a little as if she was going to say something, but nothing came out. I stopped just to watch. She was beautiful, prettier than I remember and her eyes twinkled in the sunlight more than her now-damp cheeks. She closed her mouth and again opened it but this time the words came out. “Love means never having to say you're sorry.” At that moment, my mouth dropped lower than hers. I hesitated for a second but then we both started moving forward. I grabbed her shoulders and pressed her body into my chest. Now more than ever, I realized what exactly love meant and I couldn't possibly think why I could ever deny such a beauty between my wife and me. 

WA5

Part 1

It was the day I had dreamed about my whole life. I looked around the church, which would soon be filled with 200 guests,  making sure the decorations were perfect. The flowers were tinted colors which shone down from the stained glass windows. 

I glanced at my watch. Soon guests would be arriving. I quickly hurried to the ready room. My maid of honor sat in front of the mirror surrounded with make-up and my veil, shaking her leg impatiently. She quickly wished me luck and secured the veil carefully under my bun. She then left me alone in the room. I sat there soaking the last minutes of my unmarried moments. 

The door opened and I quickly turned to see my father standing paused in the door way. A tear formed in the corner of his eye but was soon hidden by a blink, as he reached his hand out to mine. We stood outside the front church doors until Mendelssohn’s Wedding March began to flow from the same organ I had played earlier. The doors then opened. I could hear the gush of air they created over the silence that fell upon the guests. 

I started down the isle, each step matching the beat of the music. I was watching the ground, making sure I wouldn’t trip. My eye caught a white rose that lay on the side of a bench. As I walked, I kept my eye on the beautiful rose. I couldn’t look away. I felt a tug on the front of my dress. Suddenly, I saw the ground fly towards my face. I was inches from the carpet. I quickly put on a straight face and kept moving as the guests tried to hide their gasps. In what seem like forever, my father and I reached the alter. He gave me a quick kiss, mumbling, “I love you.”

I looked into the eyes of my fiancée. He held his hands out to hold mine, trying not to giggle about the unexpected trip, but his eyes were gleaming with happiness. We said our vows and placed the wedding rings on one another’s fingers. He then took the lower of my back and pulled me in for a kiss. He took my hand and walked me to the doors as the guests followed. 

Part 2

I sat on the side of a bench in the church. The mumbling sound of over 200 people vibrates through the air. The voices of the guests sound excited, as people discussed their relation with the bride and groom. 

Suddenly, Mendelssohn's Wedding March rings from the organ. The mumbling fades and the front doors open.  

I feel the gentle gush of air that passes through the aisle and the sound of the guests turning in their seats to take a look at the bride, who I cannot see. However, I can see the groom standing under the alter. His eyes light up, a huge smile stretching across his face. He is the happiest man in the church, yet no one sees but my fellow flowers and me. The march continues until the bride reaches the alter. 

The music stops and the minister begins the vows. Looks of love pass from the bride to the groom until they are told to place the rings on one another. The minister gives the groom permission to kiss the bride. The groom wraps his hand around the lower back of his new wife and pulls her in for a kiss. He then puts his hand in hers and turns to walk her to the front doors, the bride’s maids and best man following, as the clapping grows and the guests stand to watch the couple leave. 

The church slowly empties. I am left alone with the other decorations after everyone clears to go celebrate the new couple. We sit quiet and alone until the next day when we are removed from the church.