Wednesday, February 28, 2007

His childhood- Our beginnings

He liked music, he was something of a maestro, well not really, but one can dream. His mother played the piano, what a brilliant mother he had, a very brilliant mother.
Not many can live up to her, but then he doesn't even try to see if anyone will. Every picture perfect fairytale has its holes, unless it is of course written by Hans Christian Anderson, but not the Brothers Grimm, they had too many goblins and witches.

His mind, it goes back and forth like this writing, it's a brain version of scat, that old type music, you know, scat, scat, scat. He can't scat though, he doesn't have that type of talent. He prefers to create his own mixes, likes the keyboard and funny stuff, you know remixing and the such. Oh, if you could have heard some of the things he wrote, it would have you in tears, good tears, funny tears. At least he thought they were funny. I did as well. We would laugh and laugh and laugh, until tears were rolling down our faces. I treasured those moments. We said we would start our own band. Tour the world. Get back up-singers. Be stars.

We don't talk about that now. Well we don't talk about anything now.

But i'm skipping ahead. I said I would start at the beginning. We have to start at the beginning if you are to understand. And you have to understand. You must understand.

His father was brilliant, just like his mother, but in different ways. He had a way with words, a presence, a look. It was the look that he tried to perfect as he grew older. He would pierce his eyes in the same way, he got that from his dad. When he was naughty, his dad would give him that look; and now, now he is the image of his father. But we can't blame his father.

I remember his father you know. He gave me a dollar once, to go and buy candy. I was touched, a dollar was alot of money in those days, and I never forgot. Even after he stopped talking to me, I never forgot. His father wonders as well, where he went wrong? He questions himself. I wish I could tell him that it wasn't his fault.

None of us could have known that this would happen. I still have the friendship bracelets that we made. Blue and yellow they were, both of our favourite colours. I miss him. The day we made them, we went swimming, and they got all ratty but we wouldn't take them off. We vowed to never take them off, that we would always be friends. And we played a game of thumb war to seal the deal. We always sealed the deal that way. "one, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war," he always won though, he didn't let me win because I was a girl. Not once.

And he wasn't dreadfully big either, he was a skinny boy, though he was tall, and he was strong. Not in the mind though. I didn't realize that until it was too late. He was older than me you see, only by 3 years but that was enough, he went to High School before me and then college as well. But I'm rushing again.

We saw a dog die. That was the bond that jumpstarted our relationship. He was 10 and I was 7, and we were chasing butterflies, well I was chasing butterflies and he was talking about some book he read. And as I was chasing a beautiful red and green butterfly, I ran into him. And then he started chasing after me, and I with a squeal of delight went running. I ran as fast as I could, through the green pastures and to the side of the road, and then I saw a dog. It was golden, with big brown eyes, and it was dirty and shaggy, and I fell in love with it right away. He caught up with me, and we both stared at it.

And then, as if we were in a movie, the dog started to run towards us, and a truck was coming and it hit the dog and it just kept going. And the dog howled. And that's what I remember the most vividly, the howl. We ran over to the golden dog that was lieing there, we called her Atlantis. She smiled at us, her big brown eyes smiled at us, and then within minutes her body went still. Of course, I burst into tears. And he held me towards him and let me cry. We didn't bury her. We left her there. I wish we had buried her.

And we didn't run back to the field. We walked slowly, gangly, depressedly, and then he saw some daisys and he picked about 5 of them and he gave them to me and put one in my hair and called me "the daisy queen" and he made me smile and forget that I had just witnessed a death. He called me Daisy for a long time after that.

He doesn't call me Daisy anymore.

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

A character study

He grew up knowing exactly what his life was going to be like, what he was going to do, how he was going to live, the people he would impress. He had it all planned, down to the very detail.

There was no stopping him, with his boyish good looks and a brain that impressed and made his parents proud. He knew how to study, and how to goof off. But he curbed the goofing as much as he could, that was part of his charm but it never ruled his life.

There was a girl, there always is, she bewitched him with her smile, her hair, and her smarts, for she was intelligent as well, the perfect girls, they really do have it all. Beautiful and dumb is a myth made up to make the not so beautiful and not so smart feel happy. But this girl, she had it all. And she was nice as well, she was his first love, but he, he was not hers. He can still picture her face though, even now, 20 years later, and he still wonders, "What if?"

But he's a different man now, in some ways he's still the same child, fighting to achieve the same goals, with the same voices in the back of his head asking him, "Is this it?"

Life holds different meaning to him though, the beliefs he grew up with have been questioned and tossed away like so many childhood toys; only maybe he was too quick, too hasty, too eager to be done. This problem can arise in one whose head has been turned too many times, when they begin to believe that the questions that have been left unanswered can't be answered. That the foolishness and archaic ways of life they have been fed are nought but ridiculousness that has accomplished nothing much.

If you don't look closely enough, you won't see his heart. It's hidden in the depth of his soul. He sometimes forgets that it exists, it's easier that way. But every so often he feels the pang, the loneliness; he likes to think he is above it, he's working towards a goal you see.

A very important goal, a lofty goal some may say. He knows that it won't be as satisfying as...but still he plods on. You don't go so far and turn back. Plus he has admirers, and he still thrives on the admiration, it feeds him.

You see, for all his brains and glory, he isn't complete, and he doesn't feel good enough. Because he knows that he isn't the best, but he does try. Really he does. But secretly, deep down, he's not as motivated.

However, he is still brilliant, and he knows that he has something and that his something is quite special; only he has thoughts, thoughts that he shouldn't have. Not really, he gets upset at himself sometimes.

Because he needs to be in control. You will find that control is very important to him, and direction. It goes back to his childhood you see, and that's where i'll start.

I'll start with his childhood. Maybe sometime tomorrow.