Short Takes: Three Stories about Stories (or Books)

[Note: This post analyzes three stories: "Book War," "Bookless in Biak," and  "Disclaimer" (Short Takes)]

"Nor did I even need to open this book. Simply the knowledge that it's there, waiting to be opened, is enough." ("Bookless in Biak," pg. 170).

This passage is why I chose these three stories. "Book War," "Bookless in Biak," and  "Disclaimer" all are stories about the passion to read and share stories - even if they're forbidden, even if they won't be read, even if there isn't a happy ending.

In "Book War" I found myself confused at first becasue the fairytales described were ones that Disney re-vamped and shaped my childhood. The way in which Ping talks about these stories and how much they meant and just how "classic" the stories were at the time, and are now. I love that in the end, the "war is won" becasue to tell a story doesn't mean you have to write it down, or that it has to be on paper. Ping describes this by saying, "...the stories became alive from the inside. They flapped their wings and flew out of my mouth like morning doves" (pg. 168).

"Bookless in Biak" was the story I related to the most. It was written in a tone of confusion and frustration. Why would the airport ask Millman to give up his book? To him, it was the most valuable thing to have. Even if he wasn't to read it - at least the words were there to explore if he wanted to. In the end he claims he wouldn't have had time to read anyways, but that wouldn't have stopped him from carrying around his most prized possession: a book.

"Disclaimer" was an interesting story. At first, I thought I was reading a string of run-on thought processes. The more I peeled back the layers, I realized - Carlson was describing a story that he wishes were true, like those fictional ones in fairytales. I enjoyed that he "broke the fourth wall" of telling his thoughts to say sorry to his readers. His story is about love gone wrong, which almost everyone can understand. The most powerful line for me was the last: "If you want the coincidence where some character based on me gets the amazing girl back and has his heart start again after so many years, you're going to have to look in a book" (pg. 175). An amazing point to make, as we are physically reading his story out of a book.

Overall, what I learned form these three stories from Short Takes is that creative non-fiction stories don't give the obvious ending. They might reflect on someone's life and they might be overly exaggerated. Some have bigger meanings and some are just there to tell us "This is what I did, and this is how it happened." Stories are told for the sake of sharing, and non-fiction cannot be held accountable for a happy ending, becasue that's not always how life works. Regardless, we should all share these stories, if not for ourselves - to inspire others. 

Annotation of Against Jo de Viore

There were many lines/passages that jumped out at me in "Against Jo de Viore" (APE).  Here are the ones I chose to annotate:

1.) "She wanted to seduce me, like a stranger on a plane. But I was too easy, so we ended up seducing others. Then we turned back to each other and with one last desperate attempt, before our marriage fell to pieces..." (pg. 729)

- Throughout this entire class, I said "show me, don't tell me," and that is exactly what Phillip Lopate does here. He could flat-out say that their marriage didn't last becasue they slept with other people and didn't desire each other the same. Instead, he gives us visions and - sometimes uncomfortable - scenarios to describe a delicate topic. This is something I understood and enjoyed.

2.) "It's odd, because there seems to be a contradiction between the curmudgeonly feeling inside me and my periodically strong appetite for life." (pg. 723)

- I found this to be a very interesting line. Curmudgeon is defined as "a person (especially an old man) who is easily annoyed or angered and who often complains."I found this funny, as just becasue someone complains about life and the changes and as Lopote says, "social injustices" - it doesn't mean there isn't a reason to still live life fully. Lopote does a great job of capturing his mixed-upedness and it's something to admire.

3.) "For a moment all become quiet, except for the sounds of eating. This corresponds to the part in a church that calls for a silent prayer." (pg. 721)

- These lines come after a passage describing the dinner party Lopote is at and the people he meets. He talks about how they marvel over the food and who made what and how the entirety of the conversation is around the food. He's saying that the dinner party seems very serious by the way it's exaggerated. And he hates it. This is a hilarious way to describe it.

4.) "It is interesting that society's two most powerless groups, children and the elderly, have both been made into sentimental symbols." (pg. 719)

- I never really have been brought to this conclusion before the line in this passage about the elderly. While I'm aware that both of these groups are socially looked at as "fragile" and "little babies" or "little old folk," it never fully occurred to me that they held such contrast but overlap to each other. This is another thing Lopote does well. He makes his readers stop reading to think Oh, that is true...hmm and then move on with this new light shed on a subject forever.

5.) "I don't really know what I am waiting for. I know only that until I have gained what I want form this life, my expressions of gratitude and joy will be restricted to variations of a hunter's alertness. I give thanks to a nip in the air that clarifies the scent. But I think it's hypocritical to pretend satisfaction while I am still hungry." (pg. 731).

- This is my favorite phrase in the whole story. Lopote does an excellent job of wrapping up his overall topic of being against the phrase joie de vivre (the knack of knowing how to live). I identify the most with the last sentence in this phrase, as I myself see no reason to proclaim myself happy/satisfied with something that I truly want to get more out of. Lopote gives a great metaphor here with the hunter's alertness - and I think it's a great ending to his story.

Once More for the Thrills

[Note: This piece was inspired by "Once More to the Lake" (APE).]

When you're eight years old standing in front of a tall, wooden contraption with dips and turns and dark tunnels that plummets a cart full of people through the woods…you might be a little scared. If you could hear the screams of people echoing or the screeching of the animal noises being played over the speakers in line…you might be nervous. If you could read the signs that said, “No one escapes The Beast” with makeshift claw marks though the material…you might be suspicious. That day, I was none of those things.

In my experience, even at such a young age, my dad had always been right. If he said rollercosters were awesome, I believed him. And if he said the brown, rickety pole wouldn't snap, I believed him. If he said the torn up, orange latch that barely grazed my jean shorts would keep me locked in, I believed him. If he said that once we got over the first hill I would never want the ride to end, I would believe him. As we went up the first hill of my first rollercaster ride I shut my eyes as he put his hands up in the air. Then - 

We dropped. And he was right…I never wanted it to end.

* * * *

We've explored rollercosters at various amusement parks all over the country now. Kings Island was a family favorite, Six Flags; Magic Mountain in California held hidden gems and the Rock 'n' Rollercoaster starring Areosmith at Disney Studios in Florida is one of the greatest. I thought the rides would honestly never end, and that my dad would experience the good, bad and thrilling with me forever. It didn't occur to me after his back surgery a few years later that this might not be the case.

One more year of college left and we were finally taking a family vacation to Cedar Point – an easy one, but a happy one as always. If you’ve ever experienced Cedar Point, there is a rollercoaster there that tops them all: Top Thrill Dragster. Standing at 427 feet, its red, yellow, black and white attire dresses it up as a racetrack. But my dad, sisters and I know better: this is the mother of all coasters. Taking off the platform at 120 mph, it’s up-and-over one, huge, hill – and there’s no turning back.

This visit wasn’t the first time we rode the Dragster, but as we stood in line for an hour or so, I could tell my dad wasn’t as thrilled as usual. After riding the another infamous coaster that morning he hadn’t felt so great and had to sit out on the next couple of rides, leaving as the one that got my sisters excited. Then he said something that I wasn’t ready for: 

“This might be my last one of the day, girls.”

They nodded their heads, but my stomach dropped. Somehow I thought this might mean his last ride ever. The man that had measured me to ride these rollercoasters with him since I could stand, that had stuffed tissues in my younger sisters gym shoes so she could start riding with us, the man that feared nothing might have his last ride. 

As we neared the front of the lines, one of my sisters asked what order we should sit in the cart. Before she finished her sentence, I said “I’m sitting with Dad.” He smiled at me and squeezed my shoulder. And after we climbed into the cart, buckled up, and waited to soar to the sky I looked over and saw him put his hands up. I smiled and did the same.

And up we went.

The Last Wailer: Reaction

I had the opportunity to read a compelling article that Dave sent me. It was written in January of 2011. For reference, here's the link:

http://www.gq.com/entertainment/music/201101/bunny-wailer-john-jeremiah-sullivan?printable=true

The first thing that attracted me when I opened the link was the vibrant picture of an African-American man with some pretty awesome dreads whipping in the wind. My first thought: Bob Marley...? I quickly came to find that this man was not Mr. Marley, but someone that lived with him that goes by the name of Bunny Wailer. Wailer, Marley and Peter Tosh were the makings of "a new template for sound" called The Wailers. The article is written by John Jeremiah Sullivan, who traveled to Kingston, Jamaica and talk with Bunny, the last of the Wailers.

I'll start with my interpretation on the writer: Right from the beginning, this article caught my attention. The way that Sullivan writes is capturing of not only his words, but the intricate details he plays out in his head. He includes links to music and gives his reaction and appreciation to the band before the reader even understands much about where this is going. One of my favorite parts from the article was how he took us through his entire journey to find and contact Bunny. He even includes the email response (his interpretation and the actual reading): 

"It said, You may come. Actually, the language of the e-mail was 'Greetings. You may continue with your travel arrangements. One Love, Jah B.'"

Added lines like this make me excited to read this type of story becasue it shows me that the writer is just as passionate about writing of his journey it as I should be to read it - an important characteristic to capture in non-fiction.

On to the description of the story: I really enjoyed the mixture of Sullivan's journey to meet Bunny and the contrast of what was happening in Kingston, Jamaica. He does a good job of incorporating some history and Bunny's response to it as a public figure. For example,  Sullivan describes the "Dudus war" that was occuring . Dudus is one of Jamaica's biggest drug bosses and the U.S. Department of Justice was requesting he be handed over. As the trial of Dudus is played out, Sullivan touches on Bunny's record release around that time:

"One of the weirdest things that happened during the buildup to the Dudus war was that Bunny Wailer put out a pro-Dudus dancehall record titled "Don't Touch the President." (President, or Pressy, is one of Dudus's many nicknames.) [...] Why would an elder statesman of Jamaican culture take the side of these crowds they were showing on TV, in the streets of Kingston, screaming and putting themselves in the way of justice"

I also really enjoyed the dialogue Sullivan selected to describe Bunny. One of my favorite lines was from their first meeting. After Sullivan says how much of an honor it is to meet Bunny, he replies, "Well, it's an honor to be here, on the earth," he said. "You know what I mean? So we at one. What's up with you, now?" 

It's selective language like this that gives Bunny (who to me is just a picture in the corner of this article that looks like Bob Marley) a personality. It makes him real. Carrying out these lines of dialogue with the contrast of Sullivan's inner thoughts, made this non-fiction profile an great piece to read, and helped me understand a better way to flesh out my profile piece.

 

Reaction: Under the Influence

Sandars does something interesting with his first line of "Under the Influence" - he makes us listen, right away. I was captured by this and couldn't relate personally, but my mom struggled with an alcoholic father. He wasn't violent like Sander's, but it is all and all an interesting and painful topic to see further into.

I enjoyed the listing of different words for drunkness. I think that Sanders did a great job capturing the "funniness that isn't so funny" once you pull back the initial image of a drunk person and adapt them as a drunk parent to a child. Here, Sanders does a good job of putting his readers in his shoes, which is a difficult concept when trying to show and not tell a reader from only the pages of a book.

One more area I enjoyed in this story was on page 733 when he explains the car "new in 1980, battered in 1981" and how his dad interrupts their "game of catch, our building of snow forts, or picking of plums..." again showing and not telling that this was a constant action of his father coming home drunk. It happened day in and day out, throughout the seasons.

Reaction: The Crack Up

"The Crack Up" was an interesting story for me. I feel that Fitzgerald's writing always throws me off a bit at first. His words are loaded - as we said in class, it's as if each word he places on paper has a specific meaning. For this reason, it takes me some time to decode his meanings. His dry humor doesn't always just out to me, but he has a way of capturing ideas I couldn't fathom putting on paper.

To read a story about depression during a big change in my life, it's not hard to compare things I'm going through to Fitzgerald's thoughts. Something that stuck out ot me was his concept about "striving" leading to unhappiness. Does being an adult mean being unhappy? It's a though we discussed in class and one that I feel obligated to note. I don't consider myself a full adult just yet, but graduating college and stepping into adulthood has taken quite the toll on me. Although, I've always been excited to grow up, even when I was a child. I don't think becoming an adult means becoming unhappy, I think it just means replacing some of the fun things you do as a kid and replacing with more meaningful things that will take you places in life.

I also thought the idea of thinking of people who have it worse when I think my problems are bad. I've done this and I really do believe that it doesn't help. My friends and I have discussed this time and time again: your problems matter just as much as any others, because it's relevant to your situation/where you are in life. I think this is an important life lesson to grasp.

Faraway Nearby: "Listen" (pg. 248)

"Listen: you are not yourself..."

What an insane phrase to begin to explain. Am I someone else entirely? What exactly is Solnit getting at with this piece? I think this idea is more fully explored during "Flight" in Chapter Four on page 68.

We are essentially made from two people. In Solnit's words: "two people coming together, by accident whether wisely or not, by the attractions of similarity and difference, who survive each others fears and limits..." and she goes one to explain that by some random force we are created.

From who these others are created - it's all a continuous string of the way they we brought up in the world, who they met, experiences they had. Those people were made up by two pairs of other people and so on and so fourth. We act certain ways and do certain things based upon our past. People around us shape us every day. Some of those people we will never see again, though their impact might have been life changing. And our kids may never know those people though the lessons will be passed on. I think Solnit is pointing out a crazy concept, and it's definitely a larger one to consider.

The American Male at Age Ten - Response

I felt "The America Male at Age Ten" was refreshing and unexpected. I would've assumed from the title that I would be reading a description of how a male at age ten in America looks, acts and talks form an outside perspective. While I still got an outside perspective, I was surprised to find that I also got a profile written in the likes of a grown woman, using the imagination of a young boy. Susan Orlean creates a world that we all once knew: the world of a young child. They way she describes a young boy is how a lot of us thought when we were younger, with the "babies that magically appear" and "having every kind of animal." I really enjoyed that she inserted herself into the picture, so that it was clear we were getting this perspective from the grown woman about a young boy.

"January" Response

"On this place, baling twine is the thread of life" (Klinkenborg, 112).

I really enjoyed this line right away. It tells me that something that may seems so simple to the world, might have a heavier meaning for the person performing the task. Clearly, baling twine gets everywhere but it does so many things, represents so many variations of Klinkenborg's life. Horses seem to be a large theme, specifically the twine or ropes that let humans be in control of them. I would think that Klinkenborg is referring to keeping a hold on life and that sometimes - like the horses when they get lose - we let go of parts of life, thinking it's a "rush" or that we're escaping something. But, when he uses the last line "..exhaling together happy to be connected again" (114) it makes me think that we need to keep the connects that make us happy just to "be" to remember what parts of life we value most.

The Second Plans

"What about you, Sam?"
"Huh?"
I focused back to my circle of friends. Two were seated against the black futon, one rested on the floor against my pink pillow, I sat on my purple rug. I did it again. I tuned out.
"If your wedding was tomorrow, what would your colors be?"
My mind didn't hesitate: Mint green and jade.
My mouth had other plans: "Different shades of purple."
"Oh duh, I should've known," my roommate piped up from the top bunk. "Because your favorite color is purple."
My mind chimed in first, again: Yes, but mint green goes best with piercing blue.
Only to be covered up, again, with spoken words:"Yeah, you got me."
"What about your first dance?" asked one of the girls against the black futon. "Let me guess, a John Mayer song?"
One of The Fray's songs. No even a question.
"Got me again."
My roommate laughed and chimed in again, "Oh, Sami. You're so predictable! What about your venue? I bet it's a beach in California and a huge after party. Am I right?"
The music center in Cincinatti. Alone, with a few family and friends.
"You know how much I've always loved the beach."
That one wasn't a lie. Beaches calmed me. The tide rolled in and out, in and out. It never failed to come back to where my feet were planted in the sand. 
But he always failed - so, I picked a new color.

Comparing: 2

"A Second Time" reminded me of Camille's story. I mostly saw the contrast of staying and leaving between the two. In Camille's, she wants her dad to come back, to show up. In Galvin's story, it seems the person he's referring to does come back, but can't seem to stay. The line I enjoyed the most in Galvin's story was, "Spring was a fallacy that brought you back, but nothing in the world could hold you." I feel that this line makes it and Camille's story worth comparing, if she were to delve a little deeper. In the end, it seems that both Galvin and Camille's stories have come to the conclusions that this is the normal pattern. Seasons change, students come back to school and they both had to come to sad terms that only these patterns could be counted on, not people.

Comparing

I think "I've Got Dreams to Remember" could go with "From Two or Three Things I Know for Sure." The family aspect was what first stood out to me. Dorothy Allison takes a more direct approach, focusing on her femininity in the world and how the women around her made her want to be more, while Taylor's world revolved around these men that made her life more than she could've imagined the day she walked into The Backstretch. I think it would be an interesting comparison to dive a little deeper into. Also, just the title (Two or Three..) reminds me of Taylor's underlying theme of going back and forth correcting her memories and adding on more things she realized she got from her childhood as she told her story.

Lantern Metaphor

"The Lantern Bearers" by Robert Louis Stevenson was not my favorite story in full, but I definitely enjoyed and took to the metaphor of the lanterns. I was intrigued in the beginning of Stevenson's  story regarding how he described his "fisher-village." I especially liked his line about how the "place was created seemingly on purpose diversion of young gentleman" which explains right away that this is probably going to have some reflection of his childhood in it. I also noted his unique way of contrasting things that were so "dear to him" with things that were outrageous, like "startling pictures" or "suggestive names." Another part that struck me was how he called all his distinct descriptions "ingredients of the town." Ingredients are written carefully and descriptive so that the end result is made correctly - something that I understand in Stevenson's story after getting to the lantern metaphor.

The metaphor Stevenson makes about the boys running in the dark with lanterns underneath their top coats can be interpreted in many ways. I like that he describes it from his younger perspective and leaves it to his readers to determine how to interpret it from an older point of view. I personally viewed his story as an overall explanation that, even at a very young/innocent age, we develop uniqueness and greatness inside of us. It's up to us to decide how to use the things we keep to ourselves, to "make your glory public." We learn to conceal things that make us different and - only when we feel comfortable or in a situation that allows us to show our true selves - we shine.

Things I Hate

-Snow
-The snow outside my window.
-The snow on top of my car and under the wheels.
-Did I mention snow?
-Lines.
-Rudeness.
-When someone says "I couldn't really understand what you we're saying but okay..." Just ask me again, I know I talk fast. Sorry 'bout it.
-My sense of direction - or lack thereof. Thanks, Mom.
-When I go home for the holidays and I get asked about my dating life. How about we talk about my future career or how good the chip dip is?
-Thunderstorms (also my biggest fear).
-Being away from my sisters.
-Being away from Mom & Dad.
-Confrontation.
-Mornings.
-When TV shows I love go on a "mid-season break."
-Dishonesty.
-When I have things planned out down to the last minute and something unexpected happens, like my car breaking down or misplacing a key.
-When one of my favorite movies is on TV or one of my favorite songs is on the radio and I only hear/see the ending.
-Being told I'm on my phone too much. My future career is partially involving social media - please understand!
-When it's 2 p.m. and I lose motivation.
-When it's 3 a.m. and I have the urge to write a best-selling novel, paint a mural, organize my room, apply for jobs or teach myself how to knit but....it's 3 a.m.
-When I have a really good idea and forget it in the next five seconds.
-Bad grammar.
-Writing something and officially publishing it, only to find out I misused a word/misspelled something.
-Anyone/anything that hurts my friends or family.
-Voicemails.
-Having a conversation through text that would've been easier through a phone call.
-Mondays.
-That I don't dance anymore.
-Knowing I could probably think of a cooler/more entertaining list of things I hate, but not being able to think of anything good right now.
-Mustard.

Somewhere In-between

I'm somewhere in-between. Although, according to everyone else, that's not acceptable. I'm supposed to be some senior overexposing myself to the "last spring semester I'll ever have." I get that, I do. I just can't part with the feeling that I've grown out of Athens. I'm antsy. Twitchy. I can't sit still.

But I do still sit at a sticky bar stool, on a Sunday night. It's well below any temperature that I can convince myself to put my contacts in for or swipe on some make up or wear anything other than a chunky, thick sweater. Yet, here I am. Sitting with the dear friends I've made that talked me into going out on a Sunday because, "No school Monday equals Sunday Funday." They made a charade out of it, playing dress up with me earlier after offering to wake me up with some bronzer and a pop of the right eyeliner.

We sit at a table off to the side that I'm surprised we were able to snagged. It's wall-to-wall, shoulder-to-shoulder, standing-room-only. I tune out the "I can't believe we're seniors, let's take a lot of shots" conversation and become heavily engrossed in people-watching, catching some tiny brunette with her blonde friend in tow. They make a bee line for the bar, squeezing between some  guys already waiting for drinks. Smiling unapologetic, trying to look like they fit in with a mature crowd. 

I get it. I was them once. But maturity wouldn't be suggested from their mini-skirts with thin, black tights for coverage. And that cotton cardigan is not a coat. They shouldn't be here and yet, I can't help but envy them. They aren't in-between, they're exactly where they should be - and I want to go home.

I Remember Lake St. Mary's

I remember the salt-coated, fishy lake smell. I remember the rumble of the jet skis as they were revved up. The flicker of the nighttime bonfires, the onion-y taste of Aunt Eva's homemade chip dip. I remember golf-cart rides. I remember the all-encompassing warmth of the sun if I laid on the back seat of the pontoon, that could be found floating in front of the A-frame lake house that matched the sky on a clear day.

I remember seeing him in the distance, down the dock. Leaning back in a plastic, uncomfortable chair, he looked perfectly content - just becasue of the fishing pole resting up against the arm of the chair. So many times I watched his shaky hands reach for bait and attach it to the string. So many times I begged my aunt for my own fishing pole to hold steady next to him, stand next to him - barely tall enough to reach the trucker's hat covering his gray hair. 

So few times I actually caught something. He congratulated me, but made me throw it back, the slippery fish wriggling out of my hands as soon as it got a whiff of the lake again. So many times I wondered why we had to throw them back to the water. That day, I remembered all of this as we sprinkled his ashes into the same lake, back with the fish he taught me how to catch, so long ago.

Note: I know I'm a little late posting this one - but I figured I would now and dedicate it to my Grandpa Marlin. His birthday was this past Monday, Jan. 27th. :)

Response: "Those Who Stay and Those Who Go"

First of all, I know we're not supposed to write about what happens, but I have to point out - this story should have been about my hometown. If you don't attempt to go you never will. You'll stay there, get a job, marry someone that grew up right there, next to you. This really helped me understand the structure.

That being said, the way this piece is written is done very well. In the beginning, it's like we get a view of the town from a "behind a moving car window" perspective. Daum takes us on a mental trip down her reality of memory lane, as she uses sentences that don't necessarily stop or continue in the right place. As if she's sitting next to us in the car saying, "Over there is the high school and the other gas stations. There are four more. Oh - there's the food store. The local bar...etc." This is a really awesome concept. When she talks about those who "go" and hearing of them in "bits and pieces" her structure changes to quick bits and pieces. Those who "stay" are described to have longer nights, and the sentence structures seems to last a little longer and flow together. Her writing reflects her descriptions, something I would love to learn to do.

The One With Unagi

I'd like to pause for a moment and randomly rant about the title of my blog page. You have to read it...might as well know what it means, right?

For those of you that are Friends fans, you might understand. There's an episode called "The One With Unagi." There's lots going on in the episode, but my favorite bit is the storyline involving Ross, Phoebe and Rachel. Ross brings up a Japanese concept called "Unagi" or the "state of total awareness."

This video will explain more (and it's hilarious).

Basically, as we find out "Unagi" isn't a real thing (not the concept, at least - the salmon skin roll doesn't sound half bad) and I agree with that. I don't think it's possible to be totally aware of what's coming next - and that's how a lot of the best stories are formed. The stories that come out of left field are the ones that inspired me to try writing in the first place.

So there you go, now ya know. Okay, I'm going to go find some sushi for dinner. 

-Sam

--
 

"Mexico's Children" Response

"When I was a boy it was still possible for Mexican farm workers to commute between the past and the future."

I love that opening line. I'm always stuck on the notion of a good opening hook. They're hard to find but ones like these make you want to keep going. Where is the author going with this? Also, the blatant criticism of the Mexicans' ways from the teacher was powerful. It makes me think that they were denied of proper education just because of the pattern of the Mexican lifestyle. I enjoyed the last scene of the father "slipping" away into America though it would have been a "betrayal." It's a interesting piece with lots of room for comparisons and new angles to study immigrants trying to start a new life.

Add-on: "8.50 & 6.50..."

I feel the smooth, cold surface on my face before I officially rest my eyes in the correct place. It’s a familiar feeling, one that I’ve been aware of since I was about four. I’m not even sure what this thing is called. Justin Timberlake recently made it look glamorous by wearing a suit while standing behind one like I am now. I’m smarter than that – I don’t find it glamorous at all.

After I slightly settle my neck to a less-uncomfortable position, I blink to clear the fuzziness. It doesn’t go away.

            “Okay, Samantha. Tell me which line you think is the clearest and read the letters to me,” says my long-time optometrist, Dr. Davis.

            I squint my eyes and stare at the square of light ahead of me with tiny dots on it. Is that a G or a D? Did it just change to an O?

“Honestly…” I hesitate, “barely even the top one.”

            She pauses. I hear scribbles on a notepad. I was right – I’m getting worse again. At the ripe age of twenty-two, my vision is blurring. The countdown (or countup, if you have my visionary genes) begins to seal my assumptions.

“One or two?”

“Two.”

“Two or three?”

“Three.”

“Three or four?”

“Four.”

“Four or five?”

“Five.”

“Five or six?”

I pause. I pretend I need to see the lens comparisons again. I don’t.

“Six.”

It’s a number game I’m not too fond of. I’m watching my eyes grow older as I stay here, needing them to keep it together. Needing them for late-night papers, relaxed readings, driving home for the weekend, appreciating my sisters dance routines, paint a picture, deciding what to wear. The list goes on.

 We continue until I have a new, clear view in front of me. LASIK eye surgery is surely not in my future now and as the examination that I have memorized concludes, Dr. Davis sighs my confirmation.

            She gets up and rounds the corner to a long hallway. “Pop out your contacts, I’ll get you new, much stronger ‘eyeballs.’”

            If only I was born with different ones in the first place.

Night Song Response

Night Song was a story that I was not expecting to have as much as an impact on me as it did. Since the age of four, I have had problems with my eyes. As I got older, they got worse. I would ask my doctor, "Will I go blind one day?" Most of the time I was joking, but sometimes I wondered what would happen if I did. At this point in my life, I'm pretty confident I won't, but this story makes me think that people who unfortunately lose their vision have their own view of the world. Kuusisto's use of sounds to create a scene are so powerful. It makes me happy that someone without vision still experience so much "color" in the world around them - even if it's created by noises. It also makes me think that he has come to terms with his blindness and, instead of being bitter about it, he makes the most of the senses he is fortunate to have. I really enjoyed this about him.

8.50 & 6.50 with a side of Astigmatism

I feel the smooth, cold surface on my face before I officially rest my eyes in the correct place. It’s a familiar feeling, one that I’ve been aware of since I was about four. I’m not even sure what this thing is called. Justin Timberlake recently made it look glamorous by wearing a suit while standing behind one like I am now. I’m smarter than that – I don’t find it glamorous at all.

            “Okay, Samantha. Tell me which line you is the clearest and read the letters to me,” says my long-time optometrist, Dr. Davis.

            I squint my eyes and start at the square of light ahead of me with tiny dots on it. “Honestly…” I hesitate, “barely even the top one.”

            As the examination that I basically have memorized continues, my suspicions of a blurrier vision are confirmed when Dr. Davis sighs.

            She gets up and rounds the corner to a long hallway. “Pop out your contacts, I’ll get you new, much stronger ‘eyeballs.’”

            If only I was born with different ones in the first place.