OnYourMark
オンヨマク いつも
The bell rang, and we sluggishly got into our seats.
“Rose…, Chris…, Jason…, Park… Park?”
“Absent,” Jason said.
“She’s not here again? Okay,” our teacher said, and she continued.
“Where’s Park?” I asked Rose.
“I dunno. I think she’s sick. Yeah, ‘cause when I talked to her last night, she said she wasn’t feeling well.”
After homeroom, we were dismissed to go to French class. Whoopdeedoo… French.
“Parlez-vous Français?” Jason said. “Damn! I hate French.”
“Awww… too bad,” I said.
“Hey, Rose,” Chris said, “are you sure Park is sick?”
“Well, she said ‘I’m not feeling well.’ So, yeah, whatever that means,” she said.
Chris laughed, “Because I heard that she was all sick in the head and stuff.”
I had to find out what was really going on with Park. After school, I asked my friend, John, to come to my house. Oh, and my name is also John.
“Why are you so nosy about Park? Stalker…” he said.
“I’m not a stalker!” I defended myself. Actually, I had been known to stalk a person before, but you don’t need to know any more about that. “I just want to get all the facts straight. You know, so I’m not relying on gossip.”
He glared and me and said, “Okay, just hurry up so I can finish my English paper.”
I turned on my computer and told John to pull up a chair. I knew where to start: her MySpace page. What better place to find out about her than at the place where she pours out her heart in writing? John sneaked his hands to the keyboard and asked me for my password. I typed it in myself. The page loaded.
“…You’re Ann Coulter’s friend?” he asked me. “Isn’t that your Republican buddy?”
“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s the real Ann Coulter. She sent me a message saying that me and my grain-of-sand-sized testicles were ********.”
“Oh…”
I navigated to Park’s page. “Yes!” I said. “There’s a blog.”
I haven’t written a personal statement before, so don’t kill me if it sucks (especially you literature nuts!) xP I wrote this for my English tutor. It’s not finished yet… k…
My Personal Statement:
My name is Park Kwon, and I was born on September 22, 1991. I am currently a high school freshman at George MacDonald Academy. Those who don’t know me think of me as a loud and sociable person with a lot of friends. Those who think they know me think of me as the girl who never stops giving. Those who really know me know that I am a mentally unstable, depressed, or perhaps a distraught psychasthenic. The last one’s a bit of a stretch.
When I was a child, I lived a life of luxury. The entire world was mine for the taking. My dad was the owner of a successful business, my mom worked at a large retail store, and I had an older brother who played with me. Those were the days that I can honestly look back on and say that I was genuinely happy. I had a real smile on my face, not just a mask I put on to hide myself from others’ questions and pities (or “well-wishes,” as some would tell me).
Everything changed when I sold my soul to the devil.
“What does that mean?” John interrupted with the facial expression of one who took in a sudden and unexpected whiff of a bad stench.
“Maybe we should read on…”
When I did that, I promised myself that it was for my family’s sake. It was for my mother and brother. Maybe I wasn’t ready to face the real world yet. Maybe it was a bad choice. Everything changed from that time. It was a nightmare.
I didn’t know that a human being could be so evil. He wasn’t human. He was Satan incarnate. It was so much suffering. None of us could handle his abuse, his sarcasm, his torture. I gave up a childhood of enjoyment and carefree fun for a life of just learning how to survive and make it through every day on my own, by myself. It will be impossible to repair myself to the state I once knew, before he entered my life.
That’s all I wrote so far.
“She didn’t even thank us for reading,” John complained. “Yes! I know… It’s not like you ever say ‘thank you.’ Blah, blah.”
“Okay…” I said. “What can we learn from this blog?”
“Who’s the devil?”
“We know it’s a person. A person who ruined her life. Could it be her dad? She doesn’t mention him in that paragraph when she says ‘for my family’s sake.’”
“Well, I guess that would make sense. You said she lives with her dad now, right?”
“Yeah,” I acknowledged. “But who is ‘us’ who couldn’t handle the devil’s abuse?”
“Oh, yeah, that doesn’t really make sense. It can’t be her mother and brother, then it would be that all three sold their souls to the devil, which would have been the case from her birth.”
“Okay, so it’s not her dad? Or it’s not her mother and brother.”
“Wait…” John said. “Look at the last phrase, ‘before he entered my life.’ It can’t be her dad.”
“How could we have skipped that?” I sighed. “Okay, the devil is some person and she is with some other people?”
“That’s how it would seem!”
The school day started how it usually did. Our teacher took role, and as usual, when Park’s name was called, another student had to answer for her.
At 8:45, fifty minutes into French class, an unexpected face appeared in the tiny window at the center of the classroom door. It was Park. She entered the room, and the entire class roared in approval. Our French teacher asked her for a tardy pass.
“Hmm… let’s see,” the teacher said. “Reason: Woke up late. Very original, Park. Next time you come into class late, you had better have a better excuse than this. Go, allez, sit down next to Ryan.
Park muttered under her breath. I couldn’t make out all that she said, but I heard distinctly, “Can’t take this shit.”
That day, during break, I overheard a conversation between Park and Rose.
“Yeah, I really can’t take this crap anymore,” Park said. “I go home, and all I get is shit and crap and lectures all the time. And you know, I come to school, and I get the same thing. I’m supposed to be able to be safe here. Dammit. This sucks. Stupid Français class.”
“Well, Park, I’m just happy that you’re here,” Rose said.
“You know, a couple weeks ago, my mom sent me to a therapist or psychologist or whatever they’re called. And that lady gave me anti-depressants.”
“You’re on meds now?”
“Yeah, it’s so depressing. Ugh, this sucks. And my ‘guardian’ is being such a bastard. Even more than usual. He doesn’t even let me see my mom, and when he does, it’s to cure me of this fricken mental disease I have.”
The bell rang, and we sluggishly trudged toward our next class, which I believe was history.
John couldn’t come over that day because of his piano lessons, so I had to investigate by myself. When I logged on to MySpace, I had some comments, mostly about my display name, which I had recently changed to “I hope you got the rose I sent”, you know, to impress the ladies. I checked Park’s page, but there was nothing new. I posted a comment on her personal statement blog, saying, “Park! You’ve written a work of art. The Art of Life. haha that’s an X-Japan song... hey, let me know when you’re finished, k?” Then I subscribed to her blog.
After a few hours of working on my homework, I returned to MySpace and checked for more updates. I found out that Park removed me from her subscriber’s list. Why did she do that? I had no idea. A few minutes before I had logged on, she posted a bulletin.
After using a few colorful words, Park explained how her doctor had raised her anti-depressant medication to the highest possible dosage. “The side-effects were already crazy enough, and now it’s worse! This means I have more headaches, nausea, fatigue, and a boat-load of other crap. But at least it’s helping a bit so I can function partially sane without depression weighing on me.”
I copy-and-pasted the bulletin into my word processor so I could easily refer to it later If I had the need.
The next day at school, yep, as usual, Park was missing again.
“Oh my gosh,” Jason said, “how is Park even passing? She’s never even here.”
Rose responded, “I think she arranged something with Mrs. Carlotta [our principle], but I dunno. That’s what Park said.”
During break, I asked Rose what arrangement Park had made with our principle.
“She’s getting her homework and tests sent home I think,” Rose said.
“But—” I said, and just then, the bell rang.
“I gotta go,” Rose said, and she rushed off toward her Algebra class.
I furiously shouted, “Damn bell!” and I went to my Geometry class.
John came over to my house after school that day. I shared with him what I found the day before, and he responded with his usual, sarcastic congratulations. He became rather interested in the new blog she posted, titled “Enough is Enough.”
“You say you have no family? That’s such a lie Park! Granny has always been there to take care of you. She’s always been so committed to you. Since you were born! And Tay has always played with you, and Brandy has always looked up to you.
I’ve always been there for you. Since the moment you were born! I know your mom and dad are insane idiots, but I’ve always been there. I loved being with you, I loved going to the fair, or playing on Gaia. We’re older now, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still have fun! But you’re always isolating yourself, and it hurts me. And it hurts you too, you know! Have you ever tried just getting better? Curing yourself and not relying on some meds?
I don’t know Park… you’re like my best friend. I really miss you. I’ve been thinking (HAHA I’m so old) and you know, all I really have is you and Granny. Granny’s gonna die soon, but I can still be with you.
I love you Park Quon and I miss you.
Nick.”
Don’t you just love getting letters like this from family members? Okay, I think I’m going to frame this letter and hang it up on my wall. But it really reminds me of all of the shit I have to deal with every day.
Yesterday evening, I was woken up by my mother when she stormed into my house. She was all worried because I wasn’t answering my cell phone. I guess she was relieved when she saw that I didn’t do anything stupid, if you know what I mean. Then we started talking about my medications and the side effects and everything. Suddenly, I got a call from an unknown number. I usually don’t pick up calls from unknowns, but I was still kinda sleepy. It was Nick.
N: What the hell, Park, you haven’t been answering your phone.
P: Yeah, I just got up… hi?
N: Yeah, hi. You just got up? Wow. No wonder you never go to school.
P: I fell asleep after I got home from school today.
N: You mean you actually went to school today?
P: Look, I don’t want to take this crap, okay?
N: Why, am I pushing your freaking buttons? Huh?
P: Hey, back off man, you don’t know what the hell of anything that’s going on right now.
N: Please. It’s your own fault. Can you just read my message on Gaia.
P: I don’t go on that site anymore.
N: Just go on. It’s about you and it’s important.
P: Uh I’d rather not.
N: Just read it!
I hung up on him, and when my mom left, I went online to read it. I really shouldn’t have. And that’s why I’m writing this blog, ‘cause I don’t have anyone to talk to, and the person I want to talk to isn’t in reach. I feel like a self-centered brat right now. But I’m tired of being quiet about this.
Granny has always been there for me and always took care of me? That’s news. She only cares for Tay and Brandy. She gives them baths and makes their luches even though they can do it themselves. Tay is 15 and Brandy is 10! Tay has never “played with me”, he doesn’t even accept that he’s my brother. Brandy doesn’t look up to me because Granny said I was a bad influence. And now she never wants to be around me. And Granny waits on Nick hand and foot. It’s sick. Granny never wanted me as her granddaughter. She thinks I’m illegitimate. And she’s so ashamed of my depression that it almost makes me smile.
My dad and mom are insane idiots? What gave him the right to say that? Bastard. They may not be the greatest, and I may say things about them, but they’re still my parents. People like Nick make me bitter, but he’s right that I do hurt myself. That’s because I have to, not because I want to.
I can’t take this. I need to move away from this hell hole. And FUCK! He can’t even spell my fucking name correctly. Was he even writing to me?
I give up trying to wear my I'm-okay and everything's-perfectly-fine mask. It’s not even worth it anymore.
“Wow,” John said, “look at those cuss words.”
“Uh, okay,” I said. “But this isn’t making sense. Where is she living, and where is she moving to, and… ugh.”
“Nick is her brother?” John asked.
“No… her brother’s name is Kevin. Unless that’s her stepbrother or half brother. Looks like Tay and Brandy are her cousins.”
“Yeah, probably.”
“It looks like Park’s mom thinks she’s going to commit suicide. Oh, John, I have to save that blog onto the word processor.”
It was a good thing that I saved it. Park removed that blog a few minutes later.
A few days afterward, Park invited me to go to the mall with her and some of our classmates. Most of the people who were invited, including John, were busy or had to work and didn’t show up at the mall. It was just Park, Rose, Jason, and me that day.
We watched “I Am Legend,” and all of us, except Jason, agreed that it was a waste of money. We later went to Borders. We were talking, and I don’t know how the subject came up, but we began to talk about Park and her medications and condition.
“Yeah, I don’t let people treat me like that anymore,” Park said. “I don’t take that kind of crap from anyone, and neither should you, Rose.”
“Whoah, Park,” I laughed.
“Hey,” Jason said, “what’s you medicine like?”
Park smiled and said, “You guys haven’t been with me without my meds yet, at my worst.”
“It’s pretty freaky, yeah Park?”
“Yep.”
Just then, a bell rang. It was the fire alarm, and we ran to the exit. Jason’s Dibs fell on the ground, and I squashed them. The store employees were trying to keep everyone calm. The whole thing was quite the scene. It was hectic as the Christmas shoppers trampled each other to get out of the store.
After everything calmed down, the four of us went home. That day was the last time I saw Park.
When I was at home, I checked her MySpace page again. She let everyone know that she was going to transfer schools from George MacDonald Academy to the public school near her house. She also finished her Personal Statement. There were some minor edits, and the part that was added read as follows:
Despite everything that has happened, I still stand before you right now, alive and well. I am now going to a new school and have been given a fresh sheet of paper on which I can write anything that I want. It is a new slate for me, a new chance to start right.
I realize that if I don’t start over and help myself, no one else will do that for me. I will continue to walk on, even when battered and bruised. We live on hopes and dreams. All of us do: a poor person who wishes to be successful, a mother who wants to give her children a better life than her own, and a child who wants to change the world.
Our lives are beautiful and delicate. Life is a gift, and we haven’t the right to take it away or to forge a false self. We each have a purpose, and I’ll continue to search for mine.
I will push through. I will break all expectations and molds set by others. I’ll make those who believed in me, though they may be few, proud, and I will repay them the hope which they had given me.
“Rose…, Chris…, Jason…, Park… Park?”
“Absent,” Jason said.
“She’s not here again? Okay,” our teacher said, and she continued.
“Where’s Park?” I asked Rose.
“I dunno. I think she’s sick. Yeah, ‘cause when I talked to her last night, she said she wasn’t feeling well.”
After homeroom, we were dismissed to go to French class. Whoopdeedoo… French.
“Parlez-vous Français?” Jason said. “Damn! I hate French.”
“Awww… too bad,” I said.
“Hey, Rose,” Chris said, “are you sure Park is sick?”
“Well, she said ‘I’m not feeling well.’ So, yeah, whatever that means,” she said.
Chris laughed, “Because I heard that she was all sick in the head and stuff.”
* * *
I had to find out what was really going on with Park. After school, I asked my friend, John, to come to my house. Oh, and my name is also John.
“Why are you so nosy about Park? Stalker…” he said.
“I’m not a stalker!” I defended myself. Actually, I had been known to stalk a person before, but you don’t need to know any more about that. “I just want to get all the facts straight. You know, so I’m not relying on gossip.”
He glared and me and said, “Okay, just hurry up so I can finish my English paper.”
I turned on my computer and told John to pull up a chair. I knew where to start: her MySpace page. What better place to find out about her than at the place where she pours out her heart in writing? John sneaked his hands to the keyboard and asked me for my password. I typed it in myself. The page loaded.
“…You’re Ann Coulter’s friend?” he asked me. “Isn’t that your Republican buddy?”
“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s the real Ann Coulter. She sent me a message saying that me and my grain-of-sand-sized testicles were ********.”
“Oh…”
I navigated to Park’s page. “Yes!” I said. “There’s a blog.”
I haven’t written a personal statement before, so don’t kill me if it sucks (especially you literature nuts!) xP I wrote this for my English tutor. It’s not finished yet… k…
My Personal Statement:
My name is Park Kwon, and I was born on September 22, 1991. I am currently a high school freshman at George MacDonald Academy. Those who don’t know me think of me as a loud and sociable person with a lot of friends. Those who think they know me think of me as the girl who never stops giving. Those who really know me know that I am a mentally unstable, depressed, or perhaps a distraught psychasthenic. The last one’s a bit of a stretch.
When I was a child, I lived a life of luxury. The entire world was mine for the taking. My dad was the owner of a successful business, my mom worked at a large retail store, and I had an older brother who played with me. Those were the days that I can honestly look back on and say that I was genuinely happy. I had a real smile on my face, not just a mask I put on to hide myself from others’ questions and pities (or “well-wishes,” as some would tell me).
Everything changed when I sold my soul to the devil.
“What does that mean?” John interrupted with the facial expression of one who took in a sudden and unexpected whiff of a bad stench.
“Maybe we should read on…”
When I did that, I promised myself that it was for my family’s sake. It was for my mother and brother. Maybe I wasn’t ready to face the real world yet. Maybe it was a bad choice. Everything changed from that time. It was a nightmare.
I didn’t know that a human being could be so evil. He wasn’t human. He was Satan incarnate. It was so much suffering. None of us could handle his abuse, his sarcasm, his torture. I gave up a childhood of enjoyment and carefree fun for a life of just learning how to survive and make it through every day on my own, by myself. It will be impossible to repair myself to the state I once knew, before he entered my life.
That’s all I wrote so far.
“She didn’t even thank us for reading,” John complained. “Yes! I know… It’s not like you ever say ‘thank you.’ Blah, blah.”
“Okay…” I said. “What can we learn from this blog?”
“Who’s the devil?”
“We know it’s a person. A person who ruined her life. Could it be her dad? She doesn’t mention him in that paragraph when she says ‘for my family’s sake.’”
“Well, I guess that would make sense. You said she lives with her dad now, right?”
“Yeah,” I acknowledged. “But who is ‘us’ who couldn’t handle the devil’s abuse?”
“Oh, yeah, that doesn’t really make sense. It can’t be her mother and brother, then it would be that all three sold their souls to the devil, which would have been the case from her birth.”
“Okay, so it’s not her dad? Or it’s not her mother and brother.”
“Wait…” John said. “Look at the last phrase, ‘before he entered my life.’ It can’t be her dad.”
“How could we have skipped that?” I sighed. “Okay, the devil is some person and she is with some other people?”
“That’s how it would seem!”
* * *
The school day started how it usually did. Our teacher took role, and as usual, when Park’s name was called, another student had to answer for her.
At 8:45, fifty minutes into French class, an unexpected face appeared in the tiny window at the center of the classroom door. It was Park. She entered the room, and the entire class roared in approval. Our French teacher asked her for a tardy pass.
“Hmm… let’s see,” the teacher said. “Reason: Woke up late. Very original, Park. Next time you come into class late, you had better have a better excuse than this. Go, allez, sit down next to Ryan.
Park muttered under her breath. I couldn’t make out all that she said, but I heard distinctly, “Can’t take this shit.”
That day, during break, I overheard a conversation between Park and Rose.
“Yeah, I really can’t take this crap anymore,” Park said. “I go home, and all I get is shit and crap and lectures all the time. And you know, I come to school, and I get the same thing. I’m supposed to be able to be safe here. Dammit. This sucks. Stupid Français class.”
“Well, Park, I’m just happy that you’re here,” Rose said.
“You know, a couple weeks ago, my mom sent me to a therapist or psychologist or whatever they’re called. And that lady gave me anti-depressants.”
“You’re on meds now?”
“Yeah, it’s so depressing. Ugh, this sucks. And my ‘guardian’ is being such a bastard. Even more than usual. He doesn’t even let me see my mom, and when he does, it’s to cure me of this fricken mental disease I have.”
The bell rang, and we sluggishly trudged toward our next class, which I believe was history.
* * *
John couldn’t come over that day because of his piano lessons, so I had to investigate by myself. When I logged on to MySpace, I had some comments, mostly about my display name, which I had recently changed to “I hope you got the rose I sent”, you know, to impress the ladies. I checked Park’s page, but there was nothing new. I posted a comment on her personal statement blog, saying, “Park! You’ve written a work of art. The Art of Life. haha that’s an X-Japan song... hey, let me know when you’re finished, k?” Then I subscribed to her blog.
After a few hours of working on my homework, I returned to MySpace and checked for more updates. I found out that Park removed me from her subscriber’s list. Why did she do that? I had no idea. A few minutes before I had logged on, she posted a bulletin.
After using a few colorful words, Park explained how her doctor had raised her anti-depressant medication to the highest possible dosage. “The side-effects were already crazy enough, and now it’s worse! This means I have more headaches, nausea, fatigue, and a boat-load of other crap. But at least it’s helping a bit so I can function partially sane without depression weighing on me.”
I copy-and-pasted the bulletin into my word processor so I could easily refer to it later If I had the need.
* * *
The next day at school, yep, as usual, Park was missing again.
“Oh my gosh,” Jason said, “how is Park even passing? She’s never even here.”
Rose responded, “I think she arranged something with Mrs. Carlotta [our principle], but I dunno. That’s what Park said.”
During break, I asked Rose what arrangement Park had made with our principle.
“She’s getting her homework and tests sent home I think,” Rose said.
“But—” I said, and just then, the bell rang.
“I gotta go,” Rose said, and she rushed off toward her Algebra class.
I furiously shouted, “Damn bell!” and I went to my Geometry class.
* * *
John came over to my house after school that day. I shared with him what I found the day before, and he responded with his usual, sarcastic congratulations. He became rather interested in the new blog she posted, titled “Enough is Enough.”
“You say you have no family? That’s such a lie Park! Granny has always been there to take care of you. She’s always been so committed to you. Since you were born! And Tay has always played with you, and Brandy has always looked up to you.
I’ve always been there for you. Since the moment you were born! I know your mom and dad are insane idiots, but I’ve always been there. I loved being with you, I loved going to the fair, or playing on Gaia. We’re older now, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still have fun! But you’re always isolating yourself, and it hurts me. And it hurts you too, you know! Have you ever tried just getting better? Curing yourself and not relying on some meds?
I don’t know Park… you’re like my best friend. I really miss you. I’ve been thinking (HAHA I’m so old) and you know, all I really have is you and Granny. Granny’s gonna die soon, but I can still be with you.
I love you Park Quon and I miss you.
Nick.”
Don’t you just love getting letters like this from family members? Okay, I think I’m going to frame this letter and hang it up on my wall. But it really reminds me of all of the shit I have to deal with every day.
Yesterday evening, I was woken up by my mother when she stormed into my house. She was all worried because I wasn’t answering my cell phone. I guess she was relieved when she saw that I didn’t do anything stupid, if you know what I mean. Then we started talking about my medications and the side effects and everything. Suddenly, I got a call from an unknown number. I usually don’t pick up calls from unknowns, but I was still kinda sleepy. It was Nick.
N: What the hell, Park, you haven’t been answering your phone.
P: Yeah, I just got up… hi?
N: Yeah, hi. You just got up? Wow. No wonder you never go to school.
P: I fell asleep after I got home from school today.
N: You mean you actually went to school today?
P: Look, I don’t want to take this crap, okay?
N: Why, am I pushing your freaking buttons? Huh?
P: Hey, back off man, you don’t know what the hell of anything that’s going on right now.
N: Please. It’s your own fault. Can you just read my message on Gaia.
P: I don’t go on that site anymore.
N: Just go on. It’s about you and it’s important.
P: Uh I’d rather not.
N: Just read it!
I hung up on him, and when my mom left, I went online to read it. I really shouldn’t have. And that’s why I’m writing this blog, ‘cause I don’t have anyone to talk to, and the person I want to talk to isn’t in reach. I feel like a self-centered brat right now. But I’m tired of being quiet about this.
Granny has always been there for me and always took care of me? That’s news. She only cares for Tay and Brandy. She gives them baths and makes their luches even though they can do it themselves. Tay is 15 and Brandy is 10! Tay has never “played with me”, he doesn’t even accept that he’s my brother. Brandy doesn’t look up to me because Granny said I was a bad influence. And now she never wants to be around me. And Granny waits on Nick hand and foot. It’s sick. Granny never wanted me as her granddaughter. She thinks I’m illegitimate. And she’s so ashamed of my depression that it almost makes me smile.
My dad and mom are insane idiots? What gave him the right to say that? Bastard. They may not be the greatest, and I may say things about them, but they’re still my parents. People like Nick make me bitter, but he’s right that I do hurt myself. That’s because I have to, not because I want to.
I can’t take this. I need to move away from this hell hole. And FUCK! He can’t even spell my fucking name correctly. Was he even writing to me?
I give up trying to wear my I'm-okay and everything's-perfectly-fine mask. It’s not even worth it anymore.
“Wow,” John said, “look at those cuss words.”
“Uh, okay,” I said. “But this isn’t making sense. Where is she living, and where is she moving to, and… ugh.”
“Nick is her brother?” John asked.
“No… her brother’s name is Kevin. Unless that’s her stepbrother or half brother. Looks like Tay and Brandy are her cousins.”
“Yeah, probably.”
“It looks like Park’s mom thinks she’s going to commit suicide. Oh, John, I have to save that blog onto the word processor.”
It was a good thing that I saved it. Park removed that blog a few minutes later.
* * *
A few days afterward, Park invited me to go to the mall with her and some of our classmates. Most of the people who were invited, including John, were busy or had to work and didn’t show up at the mall. It was just Park, Rose, Jason, and me that day.
We watched “I Am Legend,” and all of us, except Jason, agreed that it was a waste of money. We later went to Borders. We were talking, and I don’t know how the subject came up, but we began to talk about Park and her medications and condition.
“Yeah, I don’t let people treat me like that anymore,” Park said. “I don’t take that kind of crap from anyone, and neither should you, Rose.”
“Whoah, Park,” I laughed.
“Hey,” Jason said, “what’s you medicine like?”
Park smiled and said, “You guys haven’t been with me without my meds yet, at my worst.”
“It’s pretty freaky, yeah Park?”
“Yep.”
Just then, a bell rang. It was the fire alarm, and we ran to the exit. Jason’s Dibs fell on the ground, and I squashed them. The store employees were trying to keep everyone calm. The whole thing was quite the scene. It was hectic as the Christmas shoppers trampled each other to get out of the store.
After everything calmed down, the four of us went home. That day was the last time I saw Park.
* * *
When I was at home, I checked her MySpace page again. She let everyone know that she was going to transfer schools from George MacDonald Academy to the public school near her house. She also finished her Personal Statement. There were some minor edits, and the part that was added read as follows:
Despite everything that has happened, I still stand before you right now, alive and well. I am now going to a new school and have been given a fresh sheet of paper on which I can write anything that I want. It is a new slate for me, a new chance to start right.
I realize that if I don’t start over and help myself, no one else will do that for me. I will continue to walk on, even when battered and bruised. We live on hopes and dreams. All of us do: a poor person who wishes to be successful, a mother who wants to give her children a better life than her own, and a child who wants to change the world.
Our lives are beautiful and delicate. Life is a gift, and we haven’t the right to take it away or to forge a false self. We each have a purpose, and I’ll continue to search for mine.
I will push through. I will break all expectations and molds set by others. I’ll make those who believed in me, though they may be few, proud, and I will repay them the hope which they had given me.
* * * End * * *