Of Essays, Wild Animals, and Country Girls

"I don't know who said, 'An artist paints on canvas, but a musician paints on silence,' but they're a genius. However, I'm not only a musician, but a writer too. So some might say I'm a doubly sensitive artist, and that may have been true at one point in my life. Middle school and my nutty family cured that.

There are so many different types of relationships you can have with family: distant, loving, warm, crazy, free, embarrassing,unhealthy, the list goes on. It all depends on who you are, and who they are. Take me for example, my family is slightly crazy. Okay, they are a lot crazy. (My mom was standing over my shoulder...what would you do?) If you put two and two together, it only makes sense that I'm slightly crazy too. They molded me into who I am. I was taught that a person is made into who they are by their family, their friends, and their spiritual (or lack of as the case may be) beliefs.

I would do anything for them, a few of those anythings include going to jail, sending someone to the emergency room, or dying. Normally, I would never do any of these things(except dying, it seems I don't have much choice on that matter). This however, does not mean that I don't argue constantly with my brother. My dad likes to tell us that we started arguing as soon as we could talk. That's a long time to drive my parents crazy. Now, our mom just ignores us when we argue.

My mom's family is huge, and so is my dad's. Both sides are crazy, but I haven't seen half as many of my dad's side as I have my mom's. I grew up as the oldest grandchild and nearly the oldest great-grandchild. I guess you could say I know how to take care of kids, seeing as there is a new one every Thanksgiving. My big family also means I have a lot of uncles. Don't let anyone tell you that uncles aren't the worst part of a family...for teasing anyway. Not only do I have uncles, but great uncles, and second cousins and the sort that take the role of an uncle. Needless to say, I get picked on, all day on Thanksgiving, because thats when all of my mom's family get together.

It's funny, someone once told my mom that she was related to half of the people in her hometown, and she knew the other half. Guess that's what you get when you become a nurse..."

I stared at my computer screen, willing more words to come to mind. (Note:Those things I added in parenthesis was for your benefit.) (Note: I will kill any one who does not have my permission and is reading this. So if you are my brother, cousin, or a stalker, this means you.) However, my mind was blank, when it came to words. However, my mind was conjuring up the sight of the rest of the yummy chocolate cake my mom had just made. I groaned aloud, and got up. There was no way I could concentrate any more.

I was working on a project for my College Writing class. My teacher had told us to write a paper on our family. It was supposed to tell how our family shaped who we are, who they are, and the inner workings of our family. I didn't really see why she gave us this, most kids at my school either hated their family, didn't have one, or theirs was so messed up that there was no way they'd tell the truth, it might land them and their family members in jail. Luckily, my family didn't qualify for any of those three.

I fixed myself a plate of the yummy cake and leaned against our counter, looking out the window. I smiled. I couldn't help it, I was eating cake, and looking at one of the most beautiful sights in the world, Lake Michigan. I unconsciously knocked myself out of this reverie by stabbing my self in the cheek with the empty fork. I suppose I should explain this a bit to you. We do not live right on the lake. Near it, yes, on it, no. what I saw right now was the sight of two dogs digging in our yard, again. And yes, I was one of those people who managed to hurt themselves by doing some of the simplest things in life. Like eating with anything besides a spoon apparently.

I've told my parents time and time again that I can be trusted with knives and forks, I'm not the one who stabbed himself in the leg unintentionally with a steak knife. (Don't ever ask my brother about this, not only will he get upset and then deny it, he will come hunt me down with the ruthlessness of Lord Voldemort. As no one wants to be rid of such a bright shiny spot in their life [me, in case you didn't get the reference] so you will never do that.) Sure I've cut and stabbed myself a few fifty times, but who hasn't? I've only drawn blood a couple thirty times. I also haven't been to the ER since I was less than eight years old. Knock on wood.

I nearly jump out of my skin when a loud buzzing erupts into the silent room. I look around for the source of the sound, just after it disappears.(It was my la-la land buzzer) I squint, wondering why everything was so fuzzy, then laugh. I slip my glasses on and look at the clock. I then calmly take them back off and clean them throughly. I then seem to rewind time as I put my glasses on again and look at the clock. Thats when I gasp with shock. I had been in la-la land for nearly thirty minutes.

The next sound I heard made my blood freeze. (Not really, but its called poetic license for a reason). The sound was of a car door slamming and, "Race ya idiot!" I grimaced and thought that the male specimen had turned into such that they had no idea what poetic license was, clearly proven by the articulate and original sentence I had just heard. I mean, forget Shakespeare and Edgar Allen Poe, men were clearly going back to the caveman era. Maybe later I would repeal my harsh thoughts, but at the moment, everything I saw of the aforementioned male species just confirmed my theory.

Finally, after standing there like an idiot (clearly, the disease was catching, even from this distance, or maybe it was the close contact I'd had with them in my life...) I heard several loud obnoxious animals who had a capacity for mass amount of noise burst into the house. A stampede rushed into the kitchen, catching me in the cross hairs. My brother and cousin raced each other to the fridge. While they were foraging for food, I grabbed the cake and ran. They barely noticed, focused on racing, but to the pantry this time. As I ran up the stairs I heard a chip bag being ripped open and, "Hey, thats mine!" "Get your own!" "Mine!" "Leave off!" The sounds were fading as I got farther away and then, "I SAID MINE!" and CRASH. I winced and left them to their fight.

It was no use to try and calm them down, they would just turn on me. I looked at the cake in my hands and winced again. I had just wanted to keep it away from the teenage boys' stomachs, but now what was I supposed to do with it? I sighed and went downstairs. I had had my piece, they could have the rest. I almost laughed at the sight that presented itself before me. It never ceased to amuse me when I saw my brother as the weaker one in fight, after so many years of being the weaker one in our struggles.

His face was turning purple, however, and Andrew couldn't see that. I will admit though, to being more worried about the flailing limbs that had already knocked down some of my mom's kitchenware. She would undoubtedly find a way to include me in her merciless anger. I agilely (HAH!) jumped onto a chair and waited for the odd wobbling to end before I held up my prize.

"OY! I have cake you lugs!" That got their attention. My triumphant grin faded when I realized that they both had a look in their eyes that I knew very well. It was a very simple equation when I thought about it. Teenage boys + either food, fighting and/or girls = unstoppable chaos. This involved all three. Except the girl(me) had very little to do with the oncoming chaos except I was the one who held the food.

They struggled to get out of their wrestling positions and I struggled with putting down the cake and hightailing it out of there. Sounds easy on paper, but I assure you, it wasn't really. See, you had to factor in that their maniacally glazed over eyes were pumping adrenaline all throughout my veins. If you have ever had to do something fast and functional while this sometimes useful thing was hampering your ability to do anything fast. You counted yourself lucky if you could do it functionally.

I finally managed to shakily set down the cake plate down on the table and run. I turned right before jumping onto the first stair a glanced instinctually to see if they had followed. What I saw almost made me double over with laughter. In my haste, I had not set the cake down. I had thrown it. Both boys were staring forlornly at the smashed up cake on the floor. My brother hesitantly squatted and grabbed a piece of the once yummy goodness. With a look that made any one else that was grieving in the world pale in comparison, he placed the spoiled piece in his mouth.

Andrew soon followed suit, not to be left out. It was that sight of them hunkered down to the floor, eating off of it, that made me break. I collapsed onto the floor, rolling with laughter. Tears squeezed out of my eyes, blinding me to the danger that was slowly making its way toward me. I was literally rolling all over our floor, trying to breathe through the all consuming hysteria that plagued me once in a while.

I was trying to concentrate on breathing when I realized that my position was hardly the best for defending myself against the wild animals that lived with me. I realized this too late. They pounced, picking me up like I weighed more than the two of them together, moaning and groaning pretending to strain their muscles. I rolled my eyes and said, "If you don't want to break your backs, feel free to put me down."

They just grunted and continued on with the hauling of me out of our back door. I figured this out long ago, but girls (or guys) if two people are holding your hands and feet and dragging you off to say, oh a pond, then there is an easy way to get out of it. All you have to do is flip over. Not only can they not hold you and therefore drop you, but its really fun too.

Both our neighbors have ponds, it was just a matter of figuring out which one they were going for. If they went to the neighbors to our left, it would hurt more when they dropped me, because we had to go through the woods. However, if they went to the right, there was plenty of brush to catch and soften my fall, plus, if I didn't get away, the pond was less nasty.

I held my breath, mentally telling them which way to go. I didn't really have to, because they are boys, and saw the one pond and therefore carried me to the one they could see. Never mind that it was farther away, they saw it and started walking. Now you may ask why I didn't try to get away at first, but if you wait a moment, you will see.

I glared up at my captives, waiting for them to just give up, like normal people. I have already established though that the blood that runs through my and my family's veins is everything but normal. You could also pretty much determine who we got everything from too. In this case, stubbornness came from my Great-Grandpa Brown. I am very sure you will hear more about this particular grandfather as you get to know me better, mainly because my brother is practically his reincarnation, well, if he were dead that is.

I watched with amusement as sweat poured down their faces. Me, I was a little hot, my wrists and ankles hurt, but other than that, I was good, thanks for asking. Funny how it also never occurred to them to put me down. I waited until they were good and hot, breathing something they actually had to think about before I performed my magic trick.

Wal-la! It worked like a charm. As soon as I hit the ground, I rolled, tried to get up, tripped, and still managed to get back up and away from them. I ran to the tree line and started to climb. I loved climbing trees. Granted, I didn't do it that often, but I still loved it. Like a treed raccoon (ooh, bad analogy, those things are rank) I waited them out. They finally got bored and I climbed down. I winced as a twig was jammed into my bare foot (yeah, they took off without giving me shoes). I plopped down and held up my foot for inspection. No blood, we're good! I got back off and started walking back to the house.

I grabbed a piece of the waist high grass and started chewing on the end. I grinned, I felt like a real country girl now.