March+31st+Workshop

EVAN QUADE Souls Chapter One

I was in the middle of my novel //Unwind//, a book about a future that negotiates the practice of “unwinding” termination. I’ve been relaxing on one of these comfy chairs at Dubuque Hempstead High School’s library. It would cause me to fall to a deep slumber on the chair. It was 6th hour, my free hour; usually 6th hour is my P.E. class, but its Wednesday, and that’s when I don’t have gym. I was so skinny, but I liked it. I hated being fat so much. I would never get fat as my old friend Nick, from middle school, who eats a total of ten pizzas. As for me being skinny, I use less weight when I’m doing Fitness in gym. My cell phone (made by Motorola) abruptly vibrated. I keep the ring tone on vibrate so no teacher can notice. It was the only rule I break in school: NO CELLS IN CLASS. I received a text from my girlfriend, Lily Herbst. Lily and I have been dating for two weeks now. The text read, //this weekend is booked, I’m gonna be on a joyful day with Terry to the Sunshine Harbor hotel, and next weekend we’re going to Wisconsin Dells.// I didn’t text back, but this was getting utterly absurd. And why would Lily say “joyful day with Terry?” This quote that she said on the text made me a bit leery. Something was going on. The librarian approached from behind, “Sir, you have to get going, the bell rang. It’s time for 7th hour.” Without saying a word, I marked the page on my novel, left the chairs without looking directly at the librarian for one second, and sauntered out the door. I seldom speak up just to say “hello” randomly to students in the hallways. I haven’t made many friends here in Spartan High School. It’s not that I’m freaky; I’m different than these people. I’m deeply religious. My view is Christian-Catholic. When I found a piece of lifetime to always believe in forever and never change, they’ve become entirely envious because they have been struggling to find their own belief. They don’t care what I have to say about God. I couldn’t fight their disagreement, I was too gentle. “Hey look, it’s the strict religious boy who thinks he has spiritual powers,” a student said as I walked past him. I continued along to Algebra—my 7th hour class.

Chapter Two

“Okay students, turn your textbooks to page 502,” said Mr. Hathaway, my Algebra teacher. I was an intelligent person in this subject, when it comes to equations and shapes. I’ve been an //A+// student since 7th grade. I’m usually quiet though, as if I were a wretched loner who doesn’t like to communicate, even with someone who’s trying to help. I stare at my teacher, with my head tilted a little, trying to listen clearly. “Now who can tell me the square root of thirty-six? Mr. Finn?” I flinched when he called my name. “Six?” “Come on. Why do you have to say it like if you were asking if that’s right?” said Mr. Hathaway, feeling annoyed, “Say it like you mean it.” A few students laughed with their hands on their mouth. Again, I said, “Six,” like I actually //know// what the answer is. “That’s better,” said Mr. Hathaway. Mr. Hathaway doesn’t normally call me to volunteer to the board or tell him an answer to a question, since I’m way far in the back. I liked being back there; since he barely notices me when I have my phone tucked under the desk, texting my girlfriend as fast as I could, but I text too slow. “Ethan put your phone away!” shouted Mr. Hathaway. It sounded like the first time I got caught. It was 2:20, and the bell rang.

I waited at the front doors at school, waiting patiently and quietly with obnoxious kids with insane attitudes, for the city bus to pull in. It’s so hard to find out what these black kids are saying, especially when they’re dancing and rapping like maniacs (rap really isn’t my favorite music), or when they’re shouting like they’re at a loud rock concert, and you can’t hear yourself speak normally. They give me ominous looks because of my look like I’m some kind of emo, which I’m not! I hate it when they call me emo. I just enjoy the colors of black and white. I’m just being Ethan Finn. Just myself. The bus pulled in, the black kids shoved me aside and ran up the steps. One fat kid, who was a bully to me, John Raymond, stared at me like he’s about to hang me on a flagpole, and tried to get past the driver, but he pulled him back, and asked him for 50 cents. John always forces little kids for money. Why can’t he just be like other responsible people who make their own budgets? Why is he always egging people on? I showed the driver my bus ID—an ID I use for free rides—and sat on the seat next to the driver, still feeling riled about the black kids misbehaving for the umpteenth time. I didn’t attempt to yell “Shut up!” at them.

Chapter Three

//Thank god it’s over now,// I said to myself, walking apathetically uphill on Martin Drive, the street I live on, after getting off the city bus. I pull out my cell phone and looked again at the suspicious text Lily sent me, just as she guaranteed that we would go out this weekend. Still, who is this Terry person? Is he just an ordinary friend? I was hoping he was. I try to get over it and slid the phone back in my pants pocket. We’re in a relationship for crying out loud! She couldn’t possibly do anything weird, could she? It’s hard for me to elude a bad sign of what could happen to me. “How was school, honey?” my mother asked. “Okay,” I replied. I proceeded to my bedroom. The relationship with my parents is fine, but a bit uneasy; it would depend on the attitude and personality of the face-to-face talk. I love them so much, but I don’t get the point why I’m acting like they’re pissing me off. I know it’s always started by me when an argument goes on. But from time to time, the guiltiness comes into me. I get a feeling I’m disobeying one law of God: //Honor you mother and father//. In the night, before I lay down, sleeping like an angel sleeps, I take a little round-shaped blackish prayer rock, and ask for forgiveness, free me from sins, let him know they’re still my true family.

The prayer rock was a gift from the people of the St. Anthony’s Church Youth Group Retreat. The retreat was a special get together to learn the message in God’s words, a time of meeting new people, and even learning a way of praying. The team members would share their sides of their stories of anything having to do with “friends,” “family,” “happiness,” “gloominess,” anything that relates to God’s feelings. A team member sent me the rock as a thank-you gift for attending the retreat and going forth to a path of better faithful success. Inside the bag was a note:

// I am your little prayer rock…and this is what I will do. Just tuck me under your pillow until the day is through. Then turn the covers back and in to your bed, and WHACK, your little prayer rock will hit you on the head. Then you will remember as each day is through to quiet yourself and say your prayers! When you are finished just drop me on the floor. I will stay there thru the nighttime to give you help once more. When you get up the next morning CLUNK, I will gently stub your toe. So you will remember once more to say your morning prayers before you go. Put me back upon your pillow as you quickly make your bed. And me your clever little prayer rock will continue in your aid. Because GOD cares and loves you so he wants you to remember to HIM you know! God Bless, we are praying for you as you make you self connection with your FAITH and our LORD!! //

All of the instructions said by the rock gained more experience in me. Never underestimate it. Always take that advice. They will listen, and guide you.

I had to figure out what is going on with the details of Lily with Terry. There has to be someone who will be able to listen, understand, and be able to share any feedback of how //this// could help me out. I went to my mother, who was making enchilada in the kitchen for dinner. “Hey is it alright if I meet with Sophie O’Conner anywhere and anytime this weekend?” Sophie is my youth administrator for St. Anthony’s Catholic Church. “What do you need to see her for?” Mom asked. “Umm…just for something I want to ask her about serious situations.” I felt jittery about mentioning my girlfriend with some other guy I don’t know. I didn’t want her to feel apprehensive about what’s going on. “Do you have her number?” said Mom. “Yes.” “Okay. Well if you want, go ahead and call her.” I picked up the phone adjacent to the kitchen table and walked back to my bedroom to speak with Sophie in private. I waited impatiently for Sophie to answer, but it still kept ringing. There was no answer. I left her a voice message. “Hi, this is Ethan Finn, and I was wondering if you would like to meet with me anytime this weekend to have a talk? I--I have many…questions to ask you. If you could, that would be great. Thank you.” I hung up the phone. I sat on my green cushioned rocking chair—which I call my “throne”—in the living room, turned on the TV., and waited wistfully for Sophie to respond to my voice message.

Chapter Four

Nothing. Just nothing. What a shame. So much luck, just to get a little help. I moped back to the kitchen and put the house phone back on the charger. “Did you get a hold of her? Mom asked. “No,” I mumbled, “I’ll try her again later, but I left a message anyway.” I sat back on the green, pillowed chair—or the throne as I call it. “So what were you telling me before? What did you want to see Sophie for?” “It’s this relationship business…” My voice was beginning to quaver, “I want to ask her how she would feel if she were betrayed. How she would feel if she were being cheated on. You know what I mean?” “Ethan, are you like worried about what might happen between you and your girlfriend Lily?” I was silent for a second, hoping she wasn’t dumbfounded, like my statement wasn’t making any sense. “I…. Never mind.” I walked away. Suddenly, the phone rang. “Hello?” Mom said as she answered. “He is, hang on? Ethan! It’s Sophie!” “Hello.” I said. “Yeah there’s something very important I want to explain to you about…. It’s about my relationship…. Uh-huh….” I stood intently listening to her guidance. “Oh thank you so much, you’re the best…. Ok, I’ll see you then… Bye.” I hung up the phone. “Sophie says she’d be happy to chat with me this Saturday afternoon. She’ll be down at Panera Bread.” “Sounds good,” Mom answered.

// 7:00 pm // I tucked myself in to my fluffy bed with a red maroon mattress and blanket as soft as a fat, fluffy cat, feeling the suffer of anxiety with distress, known to be the curse I’ve had. Like I was turning to a non-humanist, so strict I couldn’t let my future kids experience the outside world. I sat up on my bed to use my used Compaq Laptop on my right side to find entertainment to elude the dangers of the troubles that worry me. In order to prevent chest pains, cold sweat, and a twitching area of my pale skin. I tried to keep in touch with the mouse, my back stabbing me a bit like a gentle tap with a hammer. I collapsed, my head striking the pillow. I gave up. The prayer rock from the St. Anthony’s Youth Retreat called out to me as I faced the other direction. I probably knew what it was time for. I took a firm grip onto the stone and sat it in front of me. “Our Father,” I started out, taking a deep breath as I got ready to say the next lines, “who are in heaven,” a dramatic pause, “Hallowed be thy name.” My heart started to pound at the speed of an active athlete, “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done. On earth as it is in heav—” I had to stop for a second to calm down, my muscles clenching until it cramped. Everything around me is edgy; I would be compared to the same quiet character Melinda in the book //Speak// by Laurie Halse Anderson. After my heart slowed down, I continued to finish the prayer, “Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses,” it was working out pretty well, “as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” Silence. I released my hopes to see what God can do for my issues. // 9:00 pm // I desired to make it through the night, and not turn cranky with too much anxiety causing a lack of sleep—as if it were insomnia—and might as well daydream of a nightmare. If only I were breathing adequately, all my sorrows would drift away, my greenish-gold eyes will remain closed, and an adventurous land will come to me. This would be the beginning of a new world.

~ by Riley Schultz
 * Afternoon Coffee**

The girl peered through the sliver of the doorway. The faint yellow lines cast themselves across the bed, providing the only light. She pressed the door open and stepped inside, letting the door slide off her elbow and close. The coffee cup rattled on its saucer as she moved to the nightstand. She set it beside the other cup, stained from yesterday. The two cups clinked lightly and the girl's eyes glanced at her grandmother. The quilt didn't move, and her grandmother still laid dormant. She backed away from the bed, stepping on faded limp slippers. The girl slid her bare feet into the fleece, and she rubbed her toes together, feeling the grit of dirt and cookie crumbs scratch her skin. She shuffled over to the vanity. Necklaces, bottles of perfume, and picture frames cluttered the dark wood. The girl peeled a string of pearls from the array and hung them behind her neck, clasping the ends with small twists of her fingers. She studied the bottles, each one a different cut, some tall and smooth, others short and jagged. She stretched over the vanity, lifting with her toes, reaching for a yellowed bottle with a pink balloon sprayer. Her fingertip flicked the underside of the amber-stained balloon, but she barely nudged it. She dug her chest deeper into the side of the vanity and flicked again. The bottle clattered to the tabletop, and she quickly grabbed it and held it to her chest, as if to mute a cymbal. Again, she glanced behind her, but nothing stirred. She turned back to the vanity and for the first time studied her reflection. Her dark eyes that sank into her skull, the tangle of hair at her shoulders. She continued watching the reflection of herself, as if unable to see without this lens into her existence. The girl lifted the bottle to her neck and squeezed the balloon as she stared into the mirror. It wheezed dry air. Again. The third time, it spit a bit of perfume onto her neck, and the fourth time it was a heavy cloud. She placed the bottle as far as she could reach near the others. Her eyes returned to the mirror. She wiped the strands of hair from her forehead. Looking down, she picked up the cold pewter handle of a hairbrush and began running the bowed bristles down her hair. Stray follicles curled upwards with static. She returned it to the table and picked up the matching comb. She pulled the comb through her hair, tearing through knots, musically plucking the ivory teeth. She stopped, squinting at her own tears. She put the comb back, ignoring the knotted hairs wound in the teeth. Mirabel studied her reflection again. She still didn't smile, but it wasn't a look of disappointment either. She appeared to be taking an inventory of the contours of her face, the rounded curve of her nose, the tips of her ears peeking out of her hair, her squared-off chin. She turned back to her grandmother and walked to the bedside. The woman's face was pale even in the dark room. The girl pulled back the covers and crawled in beside the woman, but her grandmother still did not move, though her eyes were partially open. “Grandma,” she whispered. The woman did not react. “Grandma, your coffee is here.” After a moment of silence the girl slid off the bed and returned the quilt, smoothing the wrinkles. Then she turned and lifted the coffee cup off the saucer and walked to the rocking chair that faced the window. She carefully crawled up and sat deep in the chair. The girl stared out the window, though all she could see between the blinds were fragments of night. She lifted the cup to her mouth, took a sip, and twisted her mouth. She took another, and another. She woke up to the sounds of her father crying. The sun was just breaking through the blinds, and the girl discovered the remaining coffee absorbed in her pajamas, dark stains across her lap. Her father's whimperings lulled her back to sleep where she stayed unnoticed, facing the brightening window.

__**Numb**__

I don't think I can lie anymore I don't think I can try anymore I don't think I can drift by anymore I don't think I can die anymore

Killing my sel---f so--- swee---tly I--- don---'t see--- me cry---ing--- i---nside dy---ing--- i---nside X2

Sweet promises of ha-pp-ne-ss just how perfect ca-n thi-s ge-t nobody here to- wi-t ne-ss my fall into the pre-ci-pice

Killing my sel---f so--- swee---tly I--- don---'t see--- me cry---ing--- i---nside dy---ing--- i---nside X2

Never beleived mu-ch i-n fa-te still hard to go arou-nd thi-s bai-t falling down into- the- pai-n suffocated by a-ll thi-s ha-te

Killing my sel---f so--- swee---tly I--- don---'t see--- me cry---ing--- i---nside dy---ing--- i---nside X2

__**Corrupted Courage**__

So few of us left those who can see your soul Whish i werent so adept cuz what i see turns me cold and its hard to accept that your heart is gold I see through all your threats how can you be so bold?

I see your corrupted courage I see your twisted lies I here your drunken slurring as you ignore the cries Now we're converging To pull off your disguise Had enough of this purging Just look me in the eyes

Actin like you're bumblein I see you for what you are Actin like you're stumblein I see you with my scars All I am is numberin your Self inflicted bars I see your courage crumblein I see who you are