Eighth

When I was fourteen I ran away from home,

because my mom and I had an argument in the living room,

in front of the rest of my family.

When I ran out the front door and slammed it behind me,

Hurrying from the porch I used to sweep in first grade,

Running down the driveway where I learned to ride a bike,

Traipsing on the street I wandered day and night,

Taking distorted pictures of street lamps on school nights,

I turned the corners I sometimes rode my bike around on the way to the library,

Stopping to stand in the grass on the corner, next to the stop sign,

Crying, shouting, barefoot and mad,

Dragging my heels through the leaves and grass,

My fingers grazing the ivy of the wall.

I turned the corner again onto the highway,

and coming down the road on the sidewalk,

a police car pulled over, red lights blaring,

and I pretended not to notice,

but the policeman talked to me,

asked me where I was going and where I lived,

and I answered, terrified, until he stopped.

I continued on the sidewalk, cut grass, deciduous trees, 

bougainvillea running along the high wall

of the oldest country club in the Coachella Valley.

When it happens I am surrounded by trees, and the ground is dark.

I see the sidewalk in my memory, pockmarked and pale,

and lying there is the four of diamonds,

one scale from some lost deck of cards.

I look down at the card,

its sharp parallelograms and mirrored 4s dark in the night,

and having recently come home from China,

remember that the number means death there.

It's silly, but at fourteen, that was why I turned around.

At home, Dad had said, "Should we go after her?"

And my only little brother, a lump in his throat, wailed,

"Well, do you want her?"

By the time I turned around,

they were cruising slowly through our neighborhood,

our huge white Suburban moving like a mythical whale in the dark.

After some college boys harassed me about the police harassing me,

After I was walking back, playing card in hand,

My dad rolled the window down and said something funny,

something about coming home.

Six years later, I went for a walk here in London,

maybe just to feel the comfort of being warm when it's cold,

of wearing a coat and breathing out clouds.

I intended to walk down just one street, and at the end of it, to turn around.

I intended to stop when the line of trees stopped, and then to follow them home again.

But I continued into Kensington, and past Hyde Park, and through Hyde Park, and on,

And you're not going to believe me,

But after I passed a bus stop I looked down at the pavement,

Lit by yellow street lamps and crowded by trees and high buildings,

and I saw one card, an eight of clubs, lying alone on the sidewalk,

and again, I don't care what that card means to technical numerology or to the occult, 

but eight is my favorite number, 

and 8 is an infinity symbol turned on its side,

and eight is the number of steps to Nirvana,

and eight is a perfect cube,

and eight is a perfect octave.

I didn't stop and gape at the card on the ground; I picked it up and kept walking,

Carrying the omen with me,

Realizing that my life was, and had been, metaphors and foreshadowing,

building off of each other,

And that I need to start believing the whispers I hear in my mind,

things like "This will be finite, so end it,"

and "you'll be friends with this person,"

and the worst, after days of a strange fever:

"if you get close to him,

he has the power to remove you from what you love."

And because this needs a denouement, my dad is coming to England,

to carry me home, on a silver plane, like a bright fish in the sky,

And home isn't an escape, but a destination.

Home is a refuge and a celebration,

home is a place to hug three sisters and two brothers,

parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins.

Home is a place to make fresh orange juice on Christmas,

a place to play ping-pong with my sister

in the backyard in rolled jeans and sunglasses.

Home isn't a living room or a dark street.

Home isn't someone's sternum and clavicle,

or the touch of his hair on my forehead.

Home is my mom trying to say "I love you," more,

Home is my dad driving me back from the airport in our white suburban,

through the thousand windmills at the base of the San Jacinto mountains.

Home is arriving to the fourteen arms

of the seven people who love me most,

and it is knowing that my brother will always want me back

to be the fifteenth and the sixteenth, 

and the eighth.

Flights

The last time was about a year ago,
Watching the tiny lights of my newest hometown
Blinking closer as we landed,
Six months previous I was hunched over writing a poem
While the plane turned out over the sea and then in again at LAX.
And year before that on the Fourth of July
I was walking through Heathrow
Listening to the drawling accents of the women behind me
And I wondered aloud why we were going back to America.

Sometimes it was late
And I was walking outside still seventeen
Into the backyard of the house I grew up in
I would lie in the hammock, looking up
Finding the only constellations I knew
Sometimes humming to myself
Sometimes talking at the sky
Sometimes it was late and I slipped out the back door
And then through the fence and onto the stretch of grass between our houses
And if the sprinklers were on, I was there anyway
Lying in the middle of the belt of green
And waiting for a star to fall
Tracing the paths of planes flying in
And watching satellites drip carefully across the sky

Paper Folding

I had a dream the other day

That you and I climbed the stairs to the top of the tallest building we know

And looking out, we folded a thousand paper airplanes

And sent them, gliding, white and crisp

Fluttering, careening

Down the cool breeze

To the four corners of this town

That being said-

Or that being done-

You turned to me

And with a false embrace

And with a kiss on the forehead

Knifed my chest with half a scissor

Pulled out my still-beating heart (so careful, so sincere)

And said

You can live without this, right?

And Newton-like you dropped my heart with precision from the top floor

Watching it fall (resolutely) and saying you were sorry

And then kneeling by me as I lay dumbstruck in a growing puddle of blood

(Blooming around me like the border of an empire, conquering strongholds and villages and little homes)

Saying you were sorry

Saying you were sorry and hoping we could still be friends

When you had gone to sleep, a dead woman arose from the redness around her

And staggering down the stairs, sang you a lullaby you never heard

Outside she found her gray heart on the cement

A circle of blood around it

A circle of truth inside it

In vain she tried to put it back inside her chest

And thinking better of it, she took her heart and all its inside countries

And rolled them out on the ground

Spread it crisp and bright and smooth

Ironing the chambers and cleaning out the arteries

When it was flat and dry she folded it into a bird

She folded it into a bird

And she sent it flying up to meet you

And to say good night

And then goodbye

And then on

(Photo: Reefbuilders)

"Also today I experienced something which I hope to understand in a few days."
-Jørgen Leth's The Perfect Human

The other day I walked down to the dock near my grandparents' beach house and noticed some small, blue, glowing things in the water. They were about the size of a staple and moved in small circles, leaving bright blue trails and then disappearing. I had no idea what they were until I got home and discovered that they are phytoplankton, and more specifically "bioluminescent dinoflagellates."

Aren't they amazing? I just love the fact that these things exist and live right here on the same planet, and not only that, but they were here first. And thousands, or more likely, millions of years later, I get to be amazed by them as if they were brand new. It's like the world just told me a secret.

I love that nearly all the practice rooms are empty during Spring. At any time of day, you can walk down those stairs in the HFAC and find a Steinway grand waiting to be played.

(photo credit: The Piano, directed by Jane Campion)

Here I am.

(picture: nowpublishers.com)
I'm in my dorm right now, reveling in the wonder of finally having my own room. When I was younger, I used to play with architectural and interior design programs, designing what I imagined the perfect room/house/building. I would put art on the walls, an aquarium, way too much furniture, etc.

The one thing I never left out? A piano, sitting like a conspicuous giant in the corner of my bedroom.

Here in my dorm at Wyview, I've got some interesting things around: reams of books on the shelf above my desk, a tiny boat in a glass bottle, a map of Gotland (which I've gradually memorized this year) a painting my great friend gave me, post-its on the wall, a box I decorated with a quote by Einstein on it.

Then there's my piano.

I walk in, and I'm in love. I can't ignore it. I walk in, and I have to play it; already this week, composition is going very, very well. I've said this before (here), but wherever I am, piano is so familiar that I feel at home. Maybe that's why the transition has been so easy.

It could also be because my family keeps calling me. :)

A Piano.

Piano

Perfect! I just had to do this the other day... :)
When I need to relax (i.e., because of Prom nerves, college freak-outs, etc.) I ride my bike somewhere, which lets me think more clearly. Sometimes I go to the library and I read or look for books of music or art to take home.
Primarily, I guess (I probably should have put this first), I play the piano and compose music. The wonderful thing about playing the piano is that pianos turn up all the time whenever you go somewhere. You sit down on the bench and see the keys, and whether you're in Shanghai or Visby, you're at home. Playing the piano gives me a sense of gravity when I feel like I'm not anchored to anything.

Sorry about that post last night; I didn't have the time or energy to write coherently, so that's just what happened. I guess I could edit it later and write something interesting about yesterday.

Today I took the AP Microeconomics Exam, which is not as bad as I thought it was. I felt all right about the multiple choice, and I know I did really well on the last question of the free response bit of the test. True, I am not positive I aced the thing, but I have a feeling I passed. I hope.

Anyway, I have been composing a very lovely piece that I am obsessed with playing very fast, and very often. In fact, all the time. It's not actually finished yet, but hopefully I will find some more inspiration and get it done. (Hmmm, Leslie; guess what it's about. :) Yay!)

(Augh. It's weird to do a smiley within parentheses.)

That's all for tonight, then!

My Audition

I know the suspense has been killing you, reader, so here is what transpired at my Open Call audition last night.

Mom drove me to the McCallum around 8:30, since the email I got from them said to be there fifteen minutes early. My audition was at nine. I was wearing a white scoopneck blouse, a navy pencil skirt, and these new heels I got a few weeks ago. (I'm just saying... I put thought into this. I had to look like a gorgeous prodigy composer, whether I really am or not.)

When we arrived, I went in the back door of the theatre, signed in, and went to the green room. (Luckily, I had a performance there in December with my choir, so I was already familiar) The Varsity Dance Team from my high school was there, and had just tried out, and so I said hi to the girls I knew. Also, the kid who won last year (who's about a year younger than me, I think) and his two sisters were all there. 

I felt kind of embarrassed that I didn' t know anyone really well. Plus, all these people had at least some experience with Open Call, so I was a bit inept in comparison. The audition before mine was the guy and his sisters; they played a very cool trio all together on the piano, even though I only heard a little of it when someone opened the door. I stayed in the green room and talked to one of the girls from the dance team and pretty soon, I was alone in the Green Room. I was the last one to audition.

When a lady came in and told me I was next, I walked through the stage door and out to center stage, trying to keep good posture and look confident, and said,

"Good evening; my name is Emily Brown. I am seventeen years old; I'm from Rancho Mirage, and I will be performing a piece I composed called, 'June Impression.'"

Then I walked over to the piano, sat down and took a deep breath, placing my fingers on the keys.

Then I took another breath, and began to play.

The first thought I had was how beautiful the tone of the piano was. It was a Steinway, and while the keys appeared somewhat worn, the piano was spectacularly in tune, with a clear, smooth tone unlike any piano I have ever played before. I kept my shoulders back and concentrated on dynamics, remembering to keep certain bits stacatto.

Somewhere near the middle, and slowest part of the piece I felt somewhat nervous and started shaking a little. The muscles of my calf were spastically quivering while I held down the sustain pedal. I plunged myself in the music, and finished the piece with some small mistakes.

When I was done, I lifted my fingers from the keys gently, (which my piano teachers have been trying to teach me to do as long as I can remember) and stood up. The judges applauded politely. I said, "Thank you," though maybe not audibly enough, bowed, and began to walk off stage.

"Emily," said one of twenty or thirty judges. This one was a guy, about fifty, to my right.

I stopped.

"Are you classically trained?"

"Yes, I am," I replied.

"Who are some of your favorite composers?"

"Mmm...Chopin, Debussy...I have a favorite piece by Grieg," I trailed.

"Yes," he said. "That piece reminded me so much of Debussy."

I smiled again, said "Thank you," bowed, while they applauded again, and walked off stage.

On the way out, the guy in charge of sound said goodbye to me; so did some other people. I went back to the Green Room and got my bag. Another guy said goodbye and asked if I got my tape and then laughed when he realized I obviously didn't have a tape. Coming to the back door, I said goodbye to the guy at the front desk, and then pushed my way into the cold air outside.

And then- it was as if there was not enough air in the world. I literally started gasping for breath, shaking all over and crying. All I could think about was how much I wanted this, to get in to the show and perform my piece for everyone who would listen. I kept this up, until I got to the car. Then I took another breath, smiled, and got in to tell Mom how it went.

Hopefully I made it, guys. Everyone cross your fingers!!!!!!! PLEASE!!!!!!!!

By the way, I want a piano just like this one:

It's got an interesting story behind it, too. Click on the picture for a link! :)

Friday- leaving on a jet plane... (and briefly Saturday and Sunday)

On Friday we woke up freakishly early, got everything together and in the car, and hauled ourselves to the airport(we'd said goodbye the night before). We dropped off the car in the designated parking lot and its keys at the kiosk thingy of the rental company. Then we took a plane from Finland to Heathrow Airport in London. I had a window seat for the first time on this trip. It was cool to see the landmarks we'd already visited from the plane. It seemed kind of surreal, knowing that we'd been there. I wanted to go back (But, then I always do.). :)
We waited at Heathrow for an hour or two, and later we boarded the plane home. On the plane, my movie screen broke, so we used the headphone splitter and I shared screens with Mom and watched The Other Boleyn Girl, which was kind of cool. Later I watched Doctor Who with Dad and then we watched Be Kind, Rewind, which was funny, but kind of lame. They fed us a few times on the plane; the food was better than normal. After ten long hours, we got to LAX, and got off the plane. I called Leslie for about five seconds, but then Mom wanted me to get off the phone. We went through customs, picked up our luggage, got the car, and drove home, with everyone falling asleep in the car.
When we got home, I got my bag out of the car, and promptly went to bed. It was five o'clock.
The next morning, I woke up at two in the morning, suffering from jet lag. A little later, Spencer came in, then Melissa, and hardly later, we were playing Spencer's new board game, Dread Pirate. Mom woke up next, and came in, then Madelyn, Dad, and finally Collin. By five thirty in the morning, Madelyn, Spencer, Melissa and I were all swimming and splashing in the pool. I got out and put my pajamas on and went back to sleep for about two more hours. When I got up, it was only ten and I felt like it was twelve.
Later that day, around five, we saw Wall-E, which was really cute. I worked on this online Math class I'm doing for a while at eightish, when Leslie called and we talked until Mom wanted me to get off and do my work. I went to bed at about nine PM.
Today I woke up at two again, so I stubbornly told my internal clock to shut up and laid in my bed until fourish, when Melissa woke up and asked me to go the the bathroom with her. So I did. We were talking by five thirty.
These are the dangerous effects of jet lag.

Now it's 8:37 and I'm all ready for church! It's good to be home.

I just hope I don't fall asleep during the meeting.

S, A, T-U-R, D-A-Y (beat) Post!

Okay, Saturday, I think, is fairly easily summed up.
On Saturday morning, for the first, and very unfortunate, instance, I woke at around three in the morning and could not fall back asleep. I laid in my bed, in the dark, and thought about leaving Gotland.
I really wish that I had written this in the moment; I could remember the feeling better then, but all I could think of was that I didn't want to leave. It made me sick, anxious, apprehensive, even to think about going away from Gotland. I thought about me, on a map, situated safely here on this tiny island off of mainland Sweden; how I'd planned to be here since we'd bought our plane tickets at the beginning of the year, and how, now, it was over. I was still there, on the island, and already, I wanted to turn my future self around and stay on the island for ever.
The next morning, after a minimal amount of sleep, I woke up. The feeling wasn't as bad anymore; it had turned tepid and I could forget it whilst I was occupied with packing my bags, shaking rugs, sweeping, and cleaning up the house we had for the week. The Hummer we had borrowed from Alec couldn't hold us and our bags all in one trip, so Dad made two trips to Visby and back. The boys went first, while the girls stayed at home and finished everything off. When the house was essentially done, Mom sent Melissa and I off to look for wildflowers for a little vase in the house, so we walked down this road and picked some along the walk. When everything was finished with, we sat down, turned the T.V. on, and waited.
When Dad arrived to ferry us over to Visby, we got all the other bags and backpacks still at the house and piled them into the car. Mom and Dad said goodbye to the family that rented us the house, and we drove away. I waved at the lady, who was waving at us, and laughed at her dog, who was barking us off.
We went to the hotel and sometime we met Alec and we decided that, as a last hurrah, we would go see a few more things a little ways away. Alec took us to these hight cliffs where we could look out and see Visby, and if we looked over, on our knees, we could peek over the edge of the cliff to the ocean and rocks below. After that, we drove to this place called Sommarland, where Pippi Longstocking's house is, and we saw her house through this window; not very well, of course, but it was better than having to go through all that commercialized park stuff.
We wanted to get ice cream after that, so Alec and Dad went to get the bags from the Gotlan d Ring office, where we'd dropped them off, and they left us at this ice cream place. We wanted to get something, but the line was really long and our other option was soft serve, which kind of took the fun out of it. We decided to bag the ice cream idea and just meet them at the front of the boat terminal which would take us away.
The feeling came back as we were walking along the harbor. I got this idea that I wanted, needed, to stop, to hold still and stand on the ground, and, literally, grow roots into the ground. It was depressing to leave. So I plan on being back.
We got on the boat, found our seats, and sat around for a while. Some of them went up to the upper level to watch us moving away, and I went up after a while with Melissa when I realized where they had gone. I stayed up there by myself for a while after everyone was gone, which was nice, to see Visby getting smaller; like a goodbye.
The boat ride was long; they showed a movie, which was okay, and eventually (I keep using that word) we were there. We took a bus to Stockholm after getting our luggage, and there, after some confusion, we took the subway to a station near our hotel. After we got of the station, we got lost for a while until we found a sort of bridge across the railroad and towards our hotel. When we got there, Mom and Dad checked in, we settled into our rooms (one of which is this awesome big suite with big windows (you can see the bay from all the windows on our side of the hotel), and then we went down to the hotel restaurant and ate ridiculously expensive meals because we couldn't think of what else to do for dinner. Later we went up to our rooms, read scriptures, had family prayer, and eventually split off to separate rooms, watched T.V. for a while, and went to bed.

The Great Exodus (Wednesday)

Okay. Then on Wednesday we had a big travel fest where we took, I think, seven modes of transportation in one day. Let's count and see:
-walking
-subway
-airplane
-bus
-boat
-car
Oh, whoops. Six. We got up really early, walked to the subway and took that to Heathrow Airport, where we flew to Sweden; I slept most of the flight. Then, when we had arrived, we went through customs and took a bus to Stockholm, where we waited for another bus at this train and bus station forever. It was really boring, so I decided to look for hot guys. Then I decided to count the hot guys; there were about 37 in two hours, if I remember right. But I was lenient. Ha ha ha! Just kidding; there were some pretty cute ones.
When we had all eaten burgers from McDonalds, switched our money, gotten information, and had some Swedish ice cream and popsicles, we got in this big long line of people who were taking a bus to Nynashamn, where our boat was to leave from. On our way to the line, I saw this really really really hot guy who was buying tickets and then he came and got in line for the bus. I was asking Dad a whole bunch of questions because I had no idea what was going on and then he said something about how everyone who was in line was waiting for the boat to Gotland. This made be very happy. :)
We rode a bus for about an hour or two (after we got stuck between some automatic doors for a while) and then we boarded the boat after some struggle with our tickets, which were supposed to be waiting for us there. Madelyn and I saw the hot guy and Madelyn named him Edward after our nation's favorite literary vampire (from the very corny, cheesy Twilight series by Stephenie Meyer)
The ride was about three hours, during which I slept, played UNO with Madelyn, and read my book. We got to Gotland, and Dad's friend Alec picked us up in a Gotland Ring car and took us to a hotel, where we took our bags up to three rooms. It was really quaint and cute and reminded us of Grandma Nora's beach house. I got my own room, amazingly, so I changed, read my book, ate some cheesy crackers and looked around, and eventually fell asleep.

I just realized that a bunch of people are going to be reading this and seeing all my goofy comments about boys. Sorry about my hormonal interests... ah, well; you're probably cracking up anyway. I just feel sort of superficial and silly. :) Whatever.

London... at last!

I know I haven't said anything about this on my blog... but if you read this, you probably know I'm vacationing in London now and Sweden and Finland later. So here's what I have to say about it...
Yesterday I left school after 3rd period, went home, packed around fifty pounds' worth of stuff into my bag, and then the family drove to LAX. We checked our bags, went through security, walked to the terminal... and it was six o'clock. Guess when our plane was supposed to leave?
NINE.
So... it was time to wait. I sat around in my chair and watched planes and people for a while. Then I laid on the ground and tried to fall asleep (since it was late in England). Then I gave up and sat in a chair. Then I played Madelyn's DS for a while (the sheer excitement of Nintendogs!) Then it was about eight and Dad bought the Wall Street and some peanuts. Then it was about eight fifteen and there were a lot of people showing up. Then it was about eight thirty and I was reading Jane Eyre for school. Then it was eight forty five. Then it was eight fifty. Then time was moving about as fast as a snail. Then it was eight fifty one. Then it was eight fifty two. Then people were lining up for no reason. Then it was nine. Then it was a little past nine. Then our plane was late.
And then- THEN- we boarded.
On the plane, we were on the very first row in our compartment, which was nice, because we had the most leg room of anyone. There were these screens that came up from under our seats which had unlimited movies, so that kept us occupied. Plus we were outrageously tired, so we tried to sleep once in a while. They served dinner sometime, and breakfast, which nobody could eat except some of the yogurt and orange juice. Eventually- and I can now fully understand the gravity of eventually- the plane began to descend.
The scenery looked kind of like Ohio, or the unpopulated regions of New York. It was gorgeously green. There were no mountains. There were also a lot of clouds in the way of our view. I told Dad about how when I was younger I used to think that the plane dipped from side to side so that the passengers on either side of the plane could get a good look at the ground. He thought that was pretty funny.
After we landed, we went through customs, where everyone looked at our huge family oddly, and then we took the subway, where I was embarrassed by my frumpiness after the flight, and by my gigantic rolling suitcase, which was a hassel to get off with. Once we were off the subway, a woman directed us to our hotel, where I was for the rest of the time. Dad went and got cookies and some food, and then he went on a real hunting and gathering excursion and brought us KFC and some other stuff. We ate that, and then we watched T.V. and did some other stuff for a while, struggling to stay awake. At about ten (British time) we fell asleep.

Today, I woke up at around 3 in the morning, and Madelyn woke up a while later, so by five, we were chatting like mad and driving our older brother crazy. Then we fell asleep again. Dad came in at nine and asked if anyone wanted to go to McDonalds with him (for wi-fi), so I went. We found out there that church began in an hour, so we rushed home, told everyone to get ready, and took a taxi to church, at 133 Coppetts Road, which, at first, none of the taxi drivers seemed to recognize. They have something in England called a Post Code, which they can't really get along without. It helps them figure out where things are or something. Like a zipcode but more important somehow.
It's about ten here, even though it's still light outside, like dusk, because this is so Northward on the globe. It'll be worse in Sweden...
Anyway, Mom wants me to go to sleep so we can stay on schedule and go ride the Eye (that one ferris wheel) tomorrow. I guess I'll talk about everything else then.
That's all, then! More soon...