Way of Looking

Table of Contents
Author biography...................................................................................................................3
Oh the places you’ll go……………………………………………………………………..4-7
Tattooed…………………………………………………………………………………….8-17
The Cry……………………………………………………………………………………..18
Venom……………………………………………………………………………………....18-20

 
Author biography
Let’s cut to the chase. I hate small talk. And even more than that, I hate small writing. I mean, let’s be honest—you don’t really want to know where I was raised or how many pets I have—for the record it’s Parker and zero—so I’m going to make this something that I would want to read when I got to this page. I believe that we as humans have a problem. And that problem is that we allow life to get in the way of simplicity and beauty. Things don’t flow as they should. There is no poeticism to our days in high school. So we create it. We dance, we sing, we draw—we write. As a human being whose poeticism is forcibly stripped from her life on a daily basis, I write to raise it back to where it should be. My love of writing began in first grade, and I must say my endless stories about animals that became unlikely friends were inspiring.  However, as I grow older, I have realized that there is more to say, more to tell, different perspectives to give than those of a porcupine and a cheetah. And one more thing—I write for myself. This may seem selfish to some, but I find tranquility in metaphorically dumping the depths of my brain onto a page. I am offensive. I am brutally honest. But I believe that is what readers deserve. If you wanted sugar-coated stories and political correctness, you should have opened the newspaper. In closing, I will let you in on the words that I live by, because they will tell you more about me than the rest of this paragraph has; life is not measured by the number of breaths we take but the moments that take our breath away.
 
Oh the places you’ll go
Put your hand
On your heart
That beat?
That beat means
You’re worth something
It means you play a part
In the world around you
And the lives
Of the people you know
Just think like Dr. Seuss
And oh the places you’ll go
With each step
Is power
Your stride has authority
The demand in your mind
Has become the priority
Let nothing stand in your way
Because it’s the little things
That will keep you
From being on top someday
Put your hand
On your lungs
Breathe in and breathe out
And with each breath
Remember the doubt
That came from the tongues
Of the minds you adore
The ones that your mind
Refused to ignore
The ones on which
Your energy fixates
The ones your lips
Refused to accommodate
And remember the times
That you proved them wrong
The ones that you disproved
To prove that you’re strong
Put your hand
On your ear
Trace its shape
You’re responsible for it
So don’t let it be raped
By the venom that flows
From the snakes
Unable to compose
A coherent thought
Protect those ears of yours
Innocence can’t be bought
Put your hand
On your eyes
Don’t let them wander
Instead zero in on
The things you can ponder
Colors and emotions
Galaxies and creation
In the pivotal moment
Keeping them sealed
Is salvation
Put your hand
On your mouth
Don’t speak a word
Don’t let what you say
Be what you heard
They say what goes in
Trumps what comes out
But that’s not what
This poem’s about
See, this poem is about
Disproving that concept
Because, you see,
Life’s not a contest
It’s not about making
Your insides blacker
It’s about using them
To make the world whiter
And no I’m not talking about
Color or race
All I’m doing
Is making a case
For letting what’s inside of you
Be what shines through
Let whatever light’s inside
Be what’s you
And let me set this straight
Life is not a function
F of x doesn’t always equal y
In this class
You only get points if you try
Because this equation
Doesn’t balance out
Because inputs
With perfect outputs
Are not what life’s about
Put your hand
On your head
Think of how
With years it will grow
And think, with years
Oh the places you’ll go

Tattooed
Act 1, Scene 1
(Enter Layla)
Layla:  (Enters room with a bottle of pills, dressed in pajamas, sits on the floor with her legs to her chest, hugging them, and stares out towards the audience) I can’t take it anymore. I can’t handle the pain, the empty place in my heart that you were ripped from. They said the knots in my stomach would unravel with time, but with time they have only tightened. This world doesn’t make sense without you. Colors have faded. Smells have lost their appeal. I’m miserable. My life has no purpose with you removed from it—my existence became trivial the second your last breath escaped your lips. (Hangs head down to rest on arms)

(Enter Addison’s ghost)

Ghost:  (Enters room silently and sits down to the left of Layla. Looks out to the audience and pauses before speaking) Can you really be this stupid?
Layla: (Lifts head in confusion) Addison?
Ghost: Yes?
Layla:  How… How can you be here? You’re dead. You died. I was at your funeral, I— (Cut off by ghost)
Ghost:  Yes, that’s all true. But I’m only part of Addison, I only look like her.
Layla:  Ok, ok, so you’re like… A ghost or something?
Ghost:  Yes. Something like that.
Layla: Huh, great. I’m going crazy.
Ghost:  No you’re not.
Layla: Really? How many people do you know that see ghosts who aren’t crazy?
Ghost: Well, I’m more of a guardian angel than a ghost.
Layla: (Sarcastic) Believe it or not, that doesn’t make me feel any better.
Ghost: You’re still just as I remember you.
Layla: I’ve never seen you before, so how could you remember me?
Ghost: As soon as we knew that Addison was going to pass away I showed up to watch over you, gather information, stuff like that.
Layla: So you’re my guardian angel? Not Addison’s?
Ghost: Correct. But I took the shape of Addison and acquired all of her memories so I’d be able to interact with you in the ways that Addison would have.
Layla: Why are you just showing up now? Addison died two weeks ago.
Ghost: Again, I’ve been here for a while. But I chose to wait to reveal myself to you when you were in true danger.
Layla: (Looks around) I don’t see any danger.
Ghost: Try looking in the mirror.
Layla:  (Angry) Ok, why exactly are you here?
Ghost:  You know exactly why.
Layla:  (Frustrated) No, I don’t. That’s why I asked.
Ghost:  Ok, well if you’d calm down I’ll explain it to you (pauses for confirmation). Layla, when she was alive, she was your best friend. But now that she’s gone I’m sticking around to make sure you don’t do anything you’ll regret. I know that her death was sudden and that it’s left you with pain and confusion, and that you’re not taking it well. I’m here to save you from yourself.
Layla:  That’s it? My best friend was murdered in a drunk driving accident and all you can tell me is something I already know? Of course I’m in pain! One second we’re sitting in the cafeteria laughing and the next second I’m watching some dumb--- college kid plow into the side of her car? That’s not how life is supposed to work. She was gonna go so far, be so successful. And now? Now all of that is gone. Now all she’ll amount to is bones sitting in a graveyard. All of the plans to decorate our dorm room, staying up late studying, getting ready for dances—all of it. All of it is gone. And I’m not going to do it all by myself, no, I’m not going to do it. (She reaches for the pill bottle, opens it, and dumps a heap of pills into her hand)
Ghost:  Layla, stop! I’m not going to sit here and watch you kill yourself because you’re lonely. Losing someone isn’t easy; I know that. But suicide, it’s a permanent solution to a temporary problem. I’m not going to lie to you; the pain isn’t going to fade for a long time. There will be days where it won’t be as bad and you’ll forget about it for a little while, and as soon as you remember you’ll cry because you feel guilty for forgetting, even if it was just for a second. And there will also be days where you can’t make yourself get up and face the day without her. And it will feel like your skin is going to rip at the seams and your bones are going to dissolve into your blood that’s boiling with anger. And you’ll cry so much and so violently that your tears will literally run out and all it will be is mutterings—(Cut off by Layla)
Layla:  Well I’m not about to let that happen to me (Starts to move her hand full of pills to her mouth)
Ghost: Wait! You didn’t let me finish! (She moves her hand back down and listens). What I’m saying is that that will be the worst that it gets. Eventually you won’t need to cry anymore. You’ll be able to talk about the amazing memories you made without having flashbacks about the crash. And someday you’ll forgive the dumb--- college kid who hit her (Layla starts crying). Stop telling yourself that the pain will never end, because it will. Look at the tattoo on your wrist that she went with you to get no more than a month ago. If you don’t believe it, you shouldn’t have gotten it. Read it. Out loud.
Layla: (Stops crying, clears her throat, reads the tattoo on her left wrist) Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened. Dr. Seuss.
Ghost: You got that because you once believed that life was about finding the good things instead of dwelling on the bad. So why won’t you do that now?
Layla: (Yelling) Because it’s different now, Addison! (Pauses) Yes, I got a tattoo back when she were alive to remind me to let it go when an acquaintance cuts me out of their life or a guy breaks up with me. But no amount of inspirational quotes and ink could have ever prepared me for this. This is different, Addison, and you know that.
Ghost: (Raises voice) No, actually this is the perfect time to take those words to heart. But I know you won’t because you have to have a loophole to negativity and self-pity. And I wish I could make you see why I’m right without having to bring up the accident, but your life is too important to me to protect your feelings anymore. I was there on the day of the crash, looking over you. Watching you pull her from the car and cradle her lifeless face in your hands. If you recall, most of what was said was ‘sorry,’ and that it was your fault. As if a drunk driving accident that didn’t involve you could be your fault. But among the unwarranted apologies and tears, and blood, you said something important. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but now I realize how important it really was—(Cut off)
Layla: (Annoyed) Will you please just tell me what it was?
Ghost: (Annoyed) Fine. You looked into her empty eyes and said ‘I will never give up on you.’ You know better than anyone that she didn’t like being lied to. Were you lying to her?
Layla: Probably, Addison. (Sarcastic) My rush of adrenaline must have caused me to say things I didn’t mean. I say a lot of things. But I will tell you this—I’m not doing this anymore. I’m not going to sit on the floor crying while the ghost, oh, excuse me (Air quotes) “guardian angel,” of my dead friend tries to talk me out of a decision I made a long time ago (Dumps handful of pills into her mouth, swallows hard, and coughs violently). (Yelling) There! (Starts crying). Did that look like a lie to you?
Ghost: (Starts crying and runs out)

(Enter Layla’s mom)

Mom: Are you ok, sweetie? I heard you yelling from upstairs.
Layla: (Tries to hide the pill bottle) Yeah, mom, I’m fine. Just, go back upstairs, I’m fine.
Mom: (Walks over to her, kneels down, picks up the pill bottle) What is this?
Layla: Nothing.
Mom: Layla. What. Is. This?
Layla: I said it’s nothing, don’t worry about it, I’m fine (tries to grab bottle).
Mom:  (Moves out of her reach) Layla, did you take these?
Layla:  (Crying) Yes! Yes! I did!
Mom:  (Yelling) Layla, how many did you take?
Layla: A huge handful!
Mom:  We have to get you to the hospital, come on, baby, stand up (tries to help her up).
Layla:  (Suddenly screams in pain, grabs her side) Ow! Ow, ow, ow!
Mom: Come on, Layla, you have to stand up!
Layla: Mom, I can’t!
Mom:  (Yells upstairs) Tom! Tom! Come down here! Help!

(Enter Tom)

Tom:  (Rushes into room) What? What’s wrong?
Mom:  Layla, she took a bunch of pills, she’s in pain, Tom; we need to get her to the hospital! Now!
Tom: Ok, ok! (Picks up Layla, who is unconscious, takes her off stage).
Mom: (Follows them) Layla, baby, stay with us. We’re taking you to the hospital now.
(End scene)

Act 1, Scene 2
(Lights come up on Layla laying in a hospital bed, her mom and
Tom siting in chairs next to her bed on her right. They are all asleep)

(Enter ghost)

Ghost:  (Sits down in open chair next to the bed on Layla’s left) I can’t believe you actually did it. You tried to kill yourself. I thought I was going to be able to talk you out of it, that I’d be able to save you from yourself. I’m a pretty s----y protector, huh? (Smiles) Thank God your mom came down to check on you, or you might be here next to me. I wish I could make you understand how precious your life is even if she’s not in it anymore. I wish nothing more for you than for you to find a new best friend, someone who can make you forget about all of your worries, and the pain that you felt today. It’s really not going to last forever. It’s not. Eventually all she’ll be to you is a memory of the best friend you once had, and you’ll be able to follow the directions inked on your wrist instead of staring at them, full of remorse. And I wish the process was faster. I wish she would have died a week before she did so that you would be that much closer to getting better, to moving on. (Stands up and walks towards the audience) In life we don’t have to be bound by the things we think we do. You carry her around in a crystal case. You’re the only one allowed to touch it, because it’s too fragile. And you don’t want to trust anyone else with it. But the case is heavy, and it’s obvious, and it’s holding you back. You’ll try to just put it down, to leave it behind. But you’ll realize that that just makes things worse, because you can’t leave something that valuable behind, pretend like it doesn’t exist. Because pretending like it doesn’t exist doesn’t make the case disappear; it relieves no weight.  Eventually you’ll realize that you can trust other people with it. They’ll be reluctant at first, and then, once they’re sure you trust them, they will make the case start to shrink. It won’t be so heavy anymore, and it won’t seem as fragile as it once did. And it will shrink until it becomes so small that she bursts out of it—this thing that you kept hidden for so long, will be released into the world for everyone to see. But it won’t bother you. Instead it will be like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders and you can finally breathe. And the first breath will be the best inhalation of freedom you’ve ever had. And your skin will relax back to where it should be, your blood will stop boiling, your bones will have depth, and the knot in your stomach will unravel. And you’ll find new pains to spend your replenished tears on. Life is not measured by the amount of breaths we take, but the moments that take our breath away. George Carlin.

(Exit Ghost)
(End Scene)

Act 1, Scene 3
(Lights come up on Layla in the hospital bed, with only her mom at her side. Both are asleep)
Layla: (Wakes up) Mmmm. Where am I?
Mom: (Wakes up) Hey, baby (Smiles). You’re awake.
Layla: (Looking around room) I did something stupid, didn’t I?
Mom: You could say that.
Layla: (Remembers what happened) Oh my God. Oh, mom. (Crying) Oh, mom I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… (Cut off by her own crying).
Mom: (Strokes her hair) Hey, hey, it’s okay, sweetie. We’re gonna get through this. The important thing is that you’re still here.
Layla: (Stops crying) I’m really sorry, mom.
Mom: I know, sweetie, I know. Honey, why did you do that?
Layla: I just (Starts crying), I just miss her so much. And I don’t want to be here without her, you know?
Mom: Shh, I know, sweetie.
Layla: And it’s not fair, that I have to be here without her. And do all of this without her. How am I supposed to go back to school? We had classes together. We shared a locker. Am I just supposed to cry every time I walk into the building?
Mom: It’s ok to cry, you know. You’ve been through a lot in the past few weeks. People will understand. And the ones who judge don’t deserve to be your friend anyways.
Layla: No one is going to understand, mom. They didn’t lose their best friend.
Mom: That’s not what I meant. I mean they’ll understand why you’re crying.
Layla: Oh.
Mom: Honey, if you’re ever feeling like doing that again, please come talk to me. These past few hours have been a living hell for your father and I.
Layla: Dad’s here?
Mom: I called him on the way to the hospital.
Layla: Where is he?
Mom: He had to leave to go to work. But he’ll be back when he gets off at five. He came for a few hours on the first night to make sure you were okay.
Layla: Did he bring those? (Pointing to flowers by her bed)
Mom:  Yes. Your favorite. There are a lot of things wrong with your father, but you’ve gotta hand it to him—he’s always been thoughtful like that.
Layla: (Smiles) Yeah, I guess he has. (Pauses and admires the flowers. Places hand on stomach) I’m kind of hungry. Do you think I’ll be able to eat soon?
Mom: I’ll go get the nurse. Maybe we can get you some ice chips and jello or something (Stands up and goes to get nurse).
Layla: Mom?
Mom: (Turns around) Yeah, baby, what is it?
Layla: Thank you.
Mom: (Smiles)

(Exit mom)

Act 1, scene 4
(Lights come up as Layla’s mom walks back into the room with jello, and a card)

(Enter Mom)

Mom: (Hands her the jello) Here you go, sweetie.
Layla: (Takes the jello from her) Thanks. What’s that?
Mom: Do you know what the date is today?
Layla: (Eating jello) I haven’t the slightest clue.
Mom: It’s March 9.
Layla: (Pauses) It’s my birthday! The first one without Addison.
Mom: We got this card in the mail about two weeks ago. It was early, so I kept it to give to you until your actual birthday (Hands her the card).
Layla: (Takes the card) Who’s it from?
Mom: (Leaves the room without responding)

(Exit mom)

Layla: Mom? (Pauses, confused. Opens the card, reads the front, and starts to cry when she opens it).
Addison’s Voice: Hey, Layla! Happy eighteenth birthday, you old fart! I can’t believe you’re an adult already. Wanna buy us some cigarettes? No, just kidding, those things’ll kill you. I hope this card doesn’t end up being early, because that will ruin the plan. But I don’t really understand how the postal service works, so I’m sending it two weeks early, just in case. On a more serious note though, I want to tell you how much your friendship means to me. Going through high school there have been times that I could not have gotten through if it wasn’t for you. All of the break-ups, fights with my mom, bad hair days, all of it. You have always been here. And I know that no matter what, you will never give up on me. And I know that even if we do end up going to different colleges that we’ll still be best friends. Actually, I know for a fact that I’ll be calling you every morning and every night to explain my day to you, in full detail, sorry-not-sorry. Anyways, your birthday party is going to be amazing, if I do say so myself. But you know, I planned it, so of course I think that. There’ll be a huge party in your dad’s backyard, all of our friends from school, even that cute guy you like, a band that I hired that I found on YouTube (don’t worry, I’m sure they live up to your standards), way more food and cake than we’ll ever be able to eat—the whole enchilada. And of course the theme will be blue, your favorite color. And there will be dancing at the end under the stars, hopefully you-know-who will end up kissing you, and we can lay on the grass after everyone’s gone and stare at the moon and bask in the sheer awesomeness of the night. And I’m not even going to make you help clean up the backyard the next morning, no. Because I’m nice. Seriously though, this is going to be a party that people talk about for weeks Wow, my ADHD really kicked in once I mentioned the party. Ok. I also wanted to tell you that I’m really glad that you ended up getting that tattoo. And no, not just because the faces you made on camera were hilarious. You’ve had a lot of ups and downs. And I’ve noticed lately that you’re starting to pull out the good things about your day when we talk instead of the negative ones. And you know, to be honest, life is too short to dwell on bad things that happen. Because s*** happens. To everyone. Literally no one makes it out without a story to tell on the stairway to heaven. I know this sounds crazy and kind of mean, but I hope that you have to go through something worse than you already have. It builds character. And from what I’ve seen, that’s where your strength comes from. Layla, live your life so that the only way the battle is over is that you quit or you win. Don’t let yourself be overpowered by anything. Wow, I’m getting very philosophical. Ready for this? Also don’t let you take over you. What do I mean by this brilliant statement, you ask? You have a bad habit of getting a bad idea in your head and then running with it. Do not let yourself sit in your pj’s, facing the window, and throw a pity party. That’s pathetic. And kind of weird. Don’t admit that to anyone else, okay? You-know-who is never going to kiss you if he knows you throw pity parties in front of your basement window. What I’m really trying to say is don’t let the ink on your arm go to waste. Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.

(Enter mom)

Mom: (Walks to chair and sits) You ok?
Layla: (Crying) Yeah, actually, I am now. For the first time in a long time, I think I’m actually going to be alright.
Mom: Good! Did Addison have some friendly words of wisdom for you?
Layla: (Stops crying, smiles) You could say that.
Mom: What did she say?
Layla: To follow directions.
(End Play)

The Cry
The breath on her is fast. The pressure is building, building, building; a force to be reckoned with. She’s not sure what to do for a second, and then is reminded of where she is with a tight squeeze of her hand. She looks to his eyes, oh, his eyes. Beckoning pools of perfection that remind her what all of this is about. Soon it will be over. Soon the singular reason for her existence will be before her eyes in an instant. All of the time spent preparing; all of the advice she was given and books she read—none of it could prepare her for this moment. She tried to remember some of the things various people had said about this span of time. Things like “it goes by so fast,” or “it will be over in the blink of an eye.” But you cannot perceive the depth of a moment until you experience it for yourself. And if you asked her, she would say that moment was infinite. An infinite, singular motion followed by raw bliss. Her legs ached, her back ached, her everything ached. The opening of the door brought with it a flood of chilled air that sent goose bumps cascading down her body, freezing the sweet sweat that had shown up across her forehead. It felt so refreshing, that flood of air, but it was gone as soon as the door latched. Told to wait, again—that she wasn’t ready. And although this stabbing sentence was a statement of fact, she couldn’t help but take it personally, like there was something wrong with her. She squeezes the hand that has been attached to hers for hours and is overwhelmed with the recurring pain that has been claiming her for some time. How could she not be ready? She releases a scream so loud that it scares even her, and, somehow, cleanses her soul. She hasn’t screamed like that since she was a little girl. In her head she starts to pray that it will all be over soon, that the pressure and the pain and the waiting would be over and done with so that she could finally get what she came for. Maybe if she begged, she could at least try. Again the door opens and she knows her time for asking has passed her by before she even knew that it had existed. All of this thinking has left her with a terrible headache. And the chair rolling back and forth across the wooden floors isn’t helping much. And the beeping of the machines, and the door opening and closing, and the people talking in hurried tones, and the chair rolling across the floor, and  gloves snapping, and someone washing their hands, and the orders she’s being given, and the chair rolling across the floor, and the click of a pen, and his voice saying it will be over soon, and the birds chirping outside the window, and the chair rolling across the floor. And with the last roll it comes back to her. And then a pain so deep, so excruciating, takes over her body. She is a slave to this pain, it takes her hostage and contorts her in ways unexplainable. She is ready. And with the authoritative “ok” behind her, she pushes harder than she has ever pushed before. The room stops. Everything is in slow motion, and, in the back of her mind, she can hear a faint voice singing the song “head, shoulders, knees, and toes.” She focuses on the song. Sings it over and over again in her head until it has become louder than the room she is laying in. One last push is the only thing left she has to give. And then she hears it. A cry. The cry. The cry she had been waiting for for nine months—the cry that belonged to the tiny center of her universe. The voice attached to the hand that was no longer attached to her said “it’s a boy.” And suddenly, all of the little things didn’t matter anymore. And her infinite moment was over in the blink of an eye.
Venom
I rise out of a deep slumber
Only to discover that you are no longer next to me
But it’s been this way for some time

I yearn for you to hold me once again
To caress your sculpted muscles
To outline the lines on your hand with my fingertips—but they are abandoned

I desire your laugh above all else
The way your eyes light up when you speak with passion
And your hips sway with the movement of your story

The weeks that we have spent apart are jealous,
Envious of the souls you continue to entrust
While mine has been scratched off the list

Millions of pin pricks
Embrace my isolated fingers,
Estranged without yours to cling to

I realize but cannot comprehend
The excruciating desertion that has betrothed itself to me
I’m parched with the thought of you

My heart longs for my puzzle to be complete once again
Just as my fingers wish to be held captive
But neither demand will be met

For I am blessed that my fingers once knew the feeling of satisfaction
And pray they will only be forlorn temporarily

My puzzle is complex and wonderful
The pieces shift and change with time
And your piece no longer fits the slot

I once believed you were my oxygen
But now I can finally breathe
And the first painful gasp is the hardest to overcome

The first cut is the deepest
But sacrifices are required to remove you from my depths
Surgery is the only answer

Now all that remains is a scar where you once were
A daunting and everlasting reminder of the pain of your venom
And now the serpent is me