I read my first word at the age of about 3. You see, my momma started reading to me the moment she found out she was pregnant. She read everything she could get her hands on! Cereal boxes, magazines, novels, you name, it, she read it. I come from two very talented parents and gene pools. Daddy was a science and music man. He played guitar beautifully and could be found in our back yard with a pair of binoculars, bird watching. I always thought people were going to think my dad was some kind of pervert, but he was really just watching the bird fly by and looking up their names in a book. He liked to read mostly history stuff, and read mostly before bed or while he was, erm, indisposed. When I was younger, I honestly thought I would do something in the science field, as I showed talent in earth and animal science. But, Momma's genes eventually dominated. See, she was a Literature lover and a writer in her younger years. I have a nice little Literary legacy.
One of my favorite stories that Daddy would tell (and Momma will still tell me if I want to hear it. Again.) has to do with my love for reading. I made my parents read to me every day, often several times a day. My favorite was Rainbow Bright. Daddy said that he would often try to skip pages because he was so tired of that stupid Rainbow Bright, but that I would call him on it. "No Daddy, you missed a spot." He couldn't believe it, I'd memorized the entire book. I could recite it to him from memory. After a while, I memorized most of my books. If either of my parents tried to skip pages, I would just give them a look like "Yeah, right, nice try," and they'd have to back track. My kids will likely do the same thing to me and Zach someday. Dad will point and laugh at me from Heaven.
One of my Daddy's older sisters, my Aunt Rhonda, was a third grade teacher most of my childhood, and so she played a huge roll in my love for reading as well. She would send me home with book and worksheets she used with her kids when I was very young. To this day she supports my love for reading.
I remember vividly the day I read my first word all by myself. I was in the car with my Aunt Paula (one of my moms older sisters) and her three sons driving back to Italy. I noticed on the drive that a hotel on the side of the highway had changed their sign. I used all the tricks of sounding the words out in my head just like my Aunt Rhonda taught me and eventually sputtered out the word "Ramada Inn". My Aunt and cousins whirled their heads around, their mouths hanging open. When we arrived at my house, Aunt Paula was just beaming at the fact that she heard me read my first word!
After that, there was no stopping me. I devoured everything I could get my hands on. When I was 5 I gave my first novel a try, attempting Treasure Island for the first time. I didn't understand anything, but I felt awesome because I could read every single word. When I was in the third grade, my teachers made me stop reading things like the Bernstein Bears, saying it was under my reading level. That was when I discovered the Box Car Children and The Hardy Boys.
I wish I had kept a log of all the books I've read over my lifetime. I'm sure the number is up in the 1000's. And I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that being a writer is my greatest dream. I want to touch someones life the way my favorite authors have touched mine. I want to impact a young girl or boy with something I write. And more than that, I feel like I have something to say and can offer the world my experiences. I could have been a biologist, geologist, historian, detective, explorer, actress, singer, painter, archeologist, or absolutely nothing at all. But then I realized that I can be all of those things because, in the realm of my imagination, anything is possible! :)
So, as I was sitting here contemplating what to write, I had a bit of a fright involving the kids that I babysit. Dr. M, forgive me, for this post will surely come after midnight, but I think the post itself will make up for its lateness. It is 11:45 as I'm writing this, and even though this is somewhat of an embarrassing moment for me, I simply have to share.
Sometimes I babysit my friend Alicia’s two children. The oldest is a boy and he’s ten, and his little sister is 7. They are two of my favorite kids in the world! I’ve known them since they were about 2 and 5, and they are the most precious kids. Granted, they can drive me crazy and be a handful, but I would still go to the mats for them. Well, I babysit them at their house, which is a loft on top of a barn out in the sticks. Ever heard of the movie Deliverance? It is not SAGU appropriate and I’ve only seen parts of it years ago, but her property sometimes gives me the feeling like I’ve just entered this movie. She lives next door to her parents, who have a house just to the side of the barn.
So, this being said, one would understand why I, at 11:30 p.m, would get a little jumpy when I hear someone in the barn below the loft. I heard the door slam shut, and I thought that maybe Alicia was home early. I waited and waited for her to come upstairs, but I never heard a sound. I rose from the couch and looked out the window and, to my horror, Alicia’s car was not in the drive way.
The first thing I think to do is to call my fiancé. He’s my protector and one of the only people who make me feel safe. He answers the phone on the first ring and as soon as I tell him what I heard, he rushes over. I texted Alicia and tell her what I heard, and she told me she would text her dad to check if he was awake, and gave me the address to the house in case I had to call 911. Zach was on his way and she lives so far out in the country that it usually takes the police 30 minutes to even make it out to her house. My best bet was to sit tight and wait for my knight in shining armor to come and rescue me.
I don’t need to tell you, dear reader, that I was nearly scared out of my pants. But I’ve been in pretty hairy situations before and I can usually stay pretty calm if I feel like I am in danger. My first thought wasn’t for myself, however. It was for those two angels asleep in the other room. I walked to the kitchen and pulled out the longest, sharpest cutting knife I could find, and I stood by the door, watching and waiting for Zach to arrive. I just kept thinking about what I would do if some stranger with a chainsaw (because, of course, he would have a chainsaw) came sauntering up the stairs. How would I protect these kids? I’m 5 foot 4 and not very strong, but I’m mean as all get out when I’m scared or angry, so I guess I had that going for me. It was also a pretty sharp knife. I could keep the kids in their room and make them lock the door. I could distract the person and they could sneak out of their room onto the stairs and out of the house to their grandparents. Sure, I’d probably be chopped to pieces by then, but that wasn’t my main concern.
Well, Zach arrived with our friend Brandon and a tennis racket just in time for Alicia to text me and tell me that it had been her dad downstairs in the barn. I just threw my hands up and thanked Jesus because I really didn’t want to be chopped into little pieces, or have to shank anyone! Zach left, giving me a kiss and telling me to put the knife away before I hurt myself. Alicia laughed at me, but I think she appreciates the fact that I would have faced off with a serial killer to protect her children.
When did I become that kind of person? I always thought my parents were brave. I’ve heard stories and seen my parents do crazy things in order to protect themselves, each other, and me, but I didn’t really know I had it in me. I have had prowlers in my backyard as of late (probably why I’m so jumpy) and I feel a fierce urge to protect my mother now that my daddy’s gone. I have no problem going outside with a baseball bat. Next time that happens, I’ll quote one of the speakers from chapel. “I’ll wear you out in the name of Jesus and speak in tongues the whole time!”
I’ve never thought of myself as brave. I’ve always wanted to be brave and courageous. That’s probably why my childhood & adult heroes have always been Robin Hood, Severus Snape, and Daddy. It’s not easy to stay calm in a scary situation, but I did it. I just kept thinking of the kids, and that their safety mattered more than mine. That’s why I went outside as soon as I saw Zach step out of his car. His safety meant more to me than mine, too. I’ve always said that I would hope that I would be able to put someone else before myself if the situation ever arose. Have I finally reached the point where I can say with certainty that I would? Am I brave now?
It’d be easier if I had a bow and some arrows, a magic wand, or was six feet tall and knew how to shoot a gun with extreme accuracy. But hey, we work with what we’ve got!
I have been doing a lot of thinking about self-identity lately. I'm reading the non-fiction story called Eat. Pray. Love, by Elizabeth Gilbert. It is her account of her life after going through a terrible divorce and the mental and spiritual crisis she went through during this time. She realizes that she's always found her self identity wrapped up in other people, never wondering who Liz actually is. It has been helpful for me to read because I've realized over a period of time that I have done the same exact same thing. The memoir is divided into three different parts. First, we go through her time in Italy where she is seeking happiness and pleasure and escape from her depression. Second, we find ourselves in India in the Ashram of her Guru, exploring her journey to God. And lastly, we travel with her to Indonesia where she finds love.
Anyone that knows anything about my story knows about Taylor. He was such a huge part of my life for two years, it'd be difficult to have missed hearing about him. But some of you have simply heard of him as "my ex-boyfriend", not in the other ways that I saw him for those two years of my life. Taylor was my best friend. In many ways, he was the bright spot in a world full of gray. When we first met, both of us were in serious relationships. Well, he was in a serious relationship, I was in the middle of making a huge mistake (but that's another story). We became instant friends, taking refuge in one another and in the fact that we were practically the same person living in two different bodies. The first week that we met, we finished each others sentences, had every interest (aside from computers) in common, and felt like we practically lived inside each others heads. Well, eventually our relationships imploded in on themselves, and we clung to each other like two refugees just expelled from our countries due to a horrible war. That was our first of many mistake,s and though it would take two years, that is what inevitably tore us apart.
I want to be clear about one thing: I do not hate Taylor, nor does he hate me. We don't speak, it's better that way. I am engaged to be married to a wonderful man and it is largely out of our shared respect for my beloved that we have decided we cannot have a friendship. We cared very much for one another, but we both made mistakes and said things in the end that we can't take back and can't forget. We hurt each other. Neither of us is going to lay the blame 100% at the others feet. That isn't fair, isn't right, and would demean everything that he and I shared. Yes, there are times that anger still rises up in me and I say things about him that I shouldn't, and I'm sure he does the same. It's easy to look back and remember all the horrible that someone has done to you, conveniently forgetting all the horrible that you participated in.
Two years doesn't really sound very long when you put it on paper. I know couples that have been together way longer than that. To them, two years sounds superficial. But when you think about all the life that you live in two years, it's a long time. Taylor and I went through hell and back together. We broke up, got back together, fought, made up. We dealt with his Mom having strokes, my Daddy becoming ill with cancer, and one of my best friends dying. We held on and pushed each other and hated each other and loved each other all at the same time. We needed each other. We needed away from each other. We became family.
Somewhere in those two years, I lost who Alison was. I noticed that if Taylor was in a bad mood, it ruined my whole day. Taylor tended to take his bad moods out on me, so if there was even a hint of struggle in his voice or irritation in his text messages, I would completely fall apart because I knew what was coming next. Every day I would check my facebook apprehensively because something on his page would almost always make me cry. Something he would say to another girl, mostly, but sometimes it was what he wouldn't say: I have a girlfriend. He would hardly ever tell people that he had a girlfriend. I know it sounds extremely superficial, but one thing I wanted more than anything was for him to put "in a relationship" on his facebook. I wanted to be claimed. I wanted him to be proud to be with me. But he never did, and it broke my heart a little more every day.
Another thing Taylor never did in two years is tell me that he loved me. Two years is a very long time to go fighting and fighting and hoping and hoping, only to be disappointed every time. Every day I prayed and hoped and waited, and every day I was let down. You see, Taylor was in love with someone else. Shortly before he started dating me, his girlfriend of five years left him heart broken and alone. Shortly before that, his mother had a major stroke that left her without speech and use of her left side. Taylor was in such a deep, dark hole that he just couldn't pull himself out of. I tried so hard to reach inside that darkness, to provide a little light for him, and I did. I believe that I did, but it wasn't enough. I couldn't go where he was, and he couldn't seem to catch his breath long enough. To me, being heart broken is a choice. At some point in the grief and pain, you have to decide to get up and smile. You have to say "Today, just for today, I am going to go on with life like I was never hurt," and eventually, it will become reality. Taylor could never make that choice, and I couldn't make that choice for him.
I think our relationship truly ended March of 2009. We broke up (he dumped me for the 2nd time) and two weeks later my family and I were faced with the horrible reality that my father had cancer and it was bad. Taylor came to the hospital when Daddy had surgery. But after that, Taylor retreated completely from me. He still talked to me when he was lonely, but for the most part I didn't hear from him. One week in May my Daddy was so incredibly sick from chemo, we didn't know if he would make it. I tried calling and calling and calling Taylor but he wouldn't pick up. I found out the next week that he'd gone on a little mini vacation with his ex girlfriend. The girl that constantly stood in my way when it came to him. The girl who I didn't think deserved to breathe the same air as Taylor, as badly as she'd hurt him. It was then I realized the ugly truth that he was trying to get back together with her, and had abandoned me when I truly needed him the most. At the end of the summer, his ex ended up with a brand new boyfriend, dumped him on his butt again, and he came crawling back. We got back together, but I'd checked out emotionally. Then September happened. Shelley was murdered and Taylor was there more than he ever had been. I thought maybe it was a new start. I was wrong.
Don't get me wrong, I will be eternally grateful for the way Taylor helped me hold together during those first few weeks after Shelley's death. Without him, I honestly don't know what I would have done. I had never experienced such a horrible loss and it left me breathless. Dependent. But Taylor and I broke up again in December (his third time for breaking up with me) and though he's never admitted it, I'm fairly sure he started dating a girl I'd noticed he'd started hanging out with more. That didn't work I'm guessing because 11 days later, on Christmas day, we were back together. But something changed. We both felt it, standing there on our road. We held each other and we knew that the magical bond that had held us together all that time was gone. Nothing was ever the same. That was when I started praying.
Now I don't mean that I didn't pray UNTIL that moment. Of course I'd prayed before, but I started praying differently. I started praying for myself to find a back bone. I started praying for strength for me to survive, not for our relationship to survive. At that point, that wasn't my concern. Daddy got better, but then he got worse. He was dying. My best friend went to the Army and I cried and cried. Taylor yelled at me and told me to shut up, stop making a big deal about it, and that him playing video games was more important than me hurting over my friend. Suddenly, a dam broke and everything I'd felt over the past few years just poured out. For the first time, I stood up for myself. It shocked him. He didn't apologize, but he did say that he deserved it. I would love to tell you all that he never spoke to me that way again, but that wouldn't be telling the truth.
Our two year anniversary rolled around and I was disappointed to not even receive a phone call. I called him that night and told him how hurt I was. He informed me then that he didn't love me, didn't know if he ever would, and that I cared too much about him. I was too selfless. I was too needy. He found other girls "interesting". At first I cried and promised to change and we hung up and everything seemed fine. Till I looked myself in the mirror. I was red faced, puffy eyed, and sad. And that wasn't me. I did need to change, but not for Taylor. Not to make him happy. Not to conform to be the kind of girl that he could love. He should have already loved me. I went above and beyond the call of duty for him. I rearranged my life countless times to meet his needs, took him back when he didn't deserve it, and this is how he treats me? And I apologize? How is this love?
We didn't see each other for three days. We didn't see each other till the 6th of June. And the 5th, everything changed. I was working in the library and I was just down. Daddy was getting worse by the day and the doctors told us to make him comfortable. I was losing my Daddy. The only man in my life that had never let me down, who had loved me completely and unconditionally, was going to die. It was a horrible reality to face, but face it head on I did. I didn't have much of a choice. Daddy would want me to "take it like a man" if you know what I mean. In that library, I sat reading my Bible, and I was reading Acts. A few words in a passage jumped out at me. Peter said, "Who am I to oppose God?" Now I'd asked God many times for a sign on whether I should leave Taylor or not, and I never got one. But I realized that perhaps I wasn't asking for the right reasons, nor with the right heart. I was asking Him what He wanted me to do, instead of just letting Him do it. So then and there I shut my Bible, put my head in my hands, and I gave up. I literally just sighed and said, "Okay, fine, I quit. It's yours. It was always yours. You deal with it. I'm done. What do you want to do?" As soon as I said, "amen" the door to the library opened. A tall boy with a pony tail walked in and smiled at me. That was all it took. I'd known this boy going on 8 years, but in that moment, I was seeing him for the first time and he was seeing me. I haven't ever really heard God talk to me, but I felt Him say something very significant to me in that moment. He said, "You've finally asked the right question. You've finally lost enough to appreciate what I'm about to give you. You're going to keep losing, I can't make people live forever, but you're done fighting. You asked for it, so here's your answer."
I had no idea that Zach was my future husband at the time. All I knew in that moment was I had gone all fuzzy and couldn't really stop grinning like an idiot. I was suddenly a sixteen year old girl. When Zach left, he gave me his phone number, saying he wasn't sure why we'd never exchanged numbers before then. I took it and text him about two hours later, saying that I was glad we got to hang out even briefly. The next day I went to the park to hang out with him while he let his little brother Jon play. And it all came spilling out. Everything about Taylor, the things he'd done, and Zach listened, playing guitar and telling me I deserved better. I already knew that, but it was nice hearing him say that. I left the park and went to hang out with Taylor for a little while, and on the way Zach texted me. He told me that he knew it was random, he knew I had a boyfriend, but that if he had a girl as beautiful, funny, and special as me, he'd never let her go. He said, "I'd be a fool to let you go. I wish I could be the guy to make you happy." After that, it was all he wrote.
Taylor and I broke up on the 12th of June. I had becoming distant over the week and Taylor knew something was coming. He was never the jealous type. He didn't give a crap who I hung out with and hung out alone with other girls all the time, whether I had a problem with it or not. But he told me I couldn't talk to Zach anymore. Apparently I talked about him a little too fondly. I was texting him a little too much. I looked Taylor square in the eye and said "I find him interesting." Taylor was losing me, and he didn't count on me letting myself be lost. He got angry with me one night and told me, "He can have you!" and instead of crying and begging, I sighed and said, "Okay." He was flabbergasted. "What? Okay? What do you mean." I remember telling him that I couldn't make him love me, that I didn't want to try anymore. I was tired, and I deserved to be happy. He said, "Why do you sound like you already have your mind made up?" Because I did. I had since the 5th of June.
On the 12th, I drove to his house with a box of things I'd collected over two years and I told him it was over. He cried as I drove away, and found tooth and nail over the next few months to try to win me back. But it was too late. Taylor always told me that once I had my mind made up, I held on to my decisions with a vise grip and didn't waver. He knew this would be no different, but he had to try. I was the one. I was the girl he was supposed to marry. He did love me after all. I wondered if maybe he could change, teeter-tottered between Zach and Taylor and I hurt them both. I was horribly confused and watching my Daddy float away from me as every day went by. As the light faded in my Daddy's eyes, so did the light in mine. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to let him go and Taylor go at the same time.
I was in the room when my Daddy died. I remember running from the room and ending up on the front lawn, on my knees, screaming my heart out into one of my best friends laps. Then Taylor showed up and pulled me into him. He nor Zach had left me in days. They tolerated each others presence, even though their dislike for one another was fully established, because they needed to be there. Taylor was in pain as well. Taylor was apart of my family. He was grieving my Daddy's loss as well. As he cradled me in the front yard, though, I had only two thoughts: my Daddy is dead, and I want Zach. And that was when I made my choice. I looked up into Taylor's eyes and I think we both knew that it was over in that moment. I think we knew it wasn't him I wanted anymore. I didn't need him anymore.
Truth is, I didn't need Zach either. I wanted him. For the first time, I was very aware of the difference between those two things. I knew in that moment that life would never be the same, but life never really stays the same. Life goes on and on until suddenly, it doesn't. I needed to get far enough away from Taylor that I could decide for myself who I wanted to be. I didn't need him deciding for me. I deserved to be treated with respect. I deserved to matter. I am important. I felt so unloved for so long that I'd forgotten that I was always loved. I am loved by God, my family, myself, and now by my future husband, Zach. I am loved. I am strong. No one gets to dictate how I feel on a daily basis. No one tells me that video games are more important than me. No one breaks plans with me to go hang out with another female alone. No one leaves me with a sick father and goes to the beach with their ex girlfriend. No one puts baby in the corner!
Now to the two million dollar question, or two one million dollar questions: Do I still love Taylor, and why did I write this ridiculously long blog that no one but me will ever read?
When I think about Taylor, sometimes I get angry at him, but sometimes I'm thankful to him. Because of him, I learned so much about myself and my life. I wont lie to you, reader, and say that our relationship was rainbows and butterflies, but I wont say that it was all bad. We had some wonderfully hilarious moments and share some of the most amazing memories. I am happy when I think about those times. But what Taylor and I had was never love, not in the way that I wanted it to be. We were best friends who tried to be something more, and we failed. The harder I clung to Taylor, the further he pulled himself away from me. He needed space and I needed less space. He told me after we broke up that he'd only needed a chance to miss me. It's a sad reality, but now he gets to miss me...forever. Taylor has made it clear that he hasn't moved on quite yet, at least in the past. He's compared our story to The Notebook. I will never be the person to say "this will never happen" because I have said this too many times in my life only to be proven wrong. The only thing that I know for sure is that I am totally and completely in love with the man I feel like God put into my life. I am going to marry this man in a years time and we are going to have a wonderful, adventurous, and beautiful life together. He means more to me than I could ever describe and I find myself in awe at the amount of love I see in his eyes when he looks at me. This is what I know.
Why did I write this? That's simple. I wanted to tell every girl out there one simple thing: Find out who you are, and never let anyone else tell you different. Do NOT let anyone, male of female, make you less than what you are. You are a creation of the Divine. You are GODS child. You are beautiful because God made you. You are important because God made you important. He dwells inside you, and if you let someone use you and treat you like second best, you are letting them treat God that way. Ask God the right questions. I was so wrapped up in someone else, I stopped taking care of myself. I stopped seeing the Alison that God created. I will never do that again, for anyone.
When Eat. Pray. Love. first started playing in movie theaters and the book became popular, I went to a book store with Taylor with the intent of buying this book. This was the 6th of June. He took it out of my hand and told me there was no way he was going to let me buy this book. When I asked him why, he told me that with the way I was acting, I'd read this book and suddenly feel the need to go on some spiritual journey and I'd just end up dumping him. So I didn't buy the book. In August, Zach came home one weekend from college and handed me that book. He told me that he didn't care if I needed to go on some journey after I read it. He would go with me. I am just now reading it, a year later, and I feel like I'm going on this journey with Liz. But I also realize that it is a journey Zach and I will go on, and that I will go on and have gone on many times in my life. Life is this journey. Liz needed a year in three different countries to get her act together. I needed to lose people.
Love God and love yourself. Everything else in life is just a roadside attraction on a journey that will take you your entire existence on this earth to complete. Travel this road with grace, kindness, understanding, and perseverance. Do not waver from what you believe. Do not back down. Take the road less traveled by. And smile every day :)
"I Wish The Best For You"-Emerson Hart
How long can we wait here
To say goodbye?
The words once they're spoken
Are words that we can't take
Back to where we were, before
Things got in the way
Life gets so confusing
When you know what you're loosing
You
Me
Why can't we see that there's
More to love than we'll ever know
Sometimes you're closer when you're
Letting go
I wish the best for you
I wish the best for you
We'll both regret the hurting
That we will do
You'll learn to forget me
And I'll try
I'll try to forget...
You
Me
Why can't we see that there's
More to love than we'll ever know
Sometimes you're closer when you're
Letting go
I wish the best for you
I wish the best
If you ever need a place that you can run to
I'll be here, I'll be here
You
Me
Why can't we see that there's
More to love than we'll ever know
Sometimes you're closer when you're
Letting go
I wish the best for you
I wish the best for you
When most people think about the date September 11th, the attack on our country is usually the first thing that comes to mind, and rightly so. I was only thirteen, but I remember the events of that day quite well. I remember being scared and wondering why people would do such a horrid thing. My parents were sad because they had wanted their daughter to grow up without needing to know what real war is. I remember feeling proud to be an American because, for the first time in my life, that had become a very important thing. But when I think about September 11th, those planes sliding like butter into those buildings are not the first image that comes to my mind.
I think of a girl with a beautiful smile. I think of the feeling of shock and horror. I think about the void that was left when the sun went down on that day. I remember knowing that nothing would ever be the same. I think about a bracelet.
I was in my Creative Writing class September 11th, 2009, talking about poetry. I was trying to read one of my poems to the class when my phone started vibrating. I ignored the first few phone calls, all from a guy named Colin who I hadn't spoken to in two years. He and I used to be great friends and ran around with the same group of people, but we'd had a falling out. Colin, Dillon, Shelley, Grady and myself used to be together all the time, but time goes on and people move away, or just change, and so our group of friends went by the way side. Colin called three times in a row, and I couldn't for the life of me understand why he was trying to contact me after two solid years. Whatever it was, it'd have to wait till after class.
Then my best friend texted me. She told me she was coming to my school and for me to meet her in the hallway. She said it was important. She told me not to answer the phone if anyone called, just wait for her. This terrified me. My best friend Emily is also my cousin, and so I immediately thought the worst. I waited in class until she got to the school and then went outside into the hallway to meet her. Then Emily told me something that changed life as I knew it.
I think I knew something was wrong before Emily's texts, or even Colin's phone call. All that morning I'd had a feeling of dread. Not the usual sadness I felt on 9/11. No, this was different. I felt like I was just waiting for a metaphorical bomb to drop right on top of me. And drop it did.
"I don't know if it's true, so don't freak out yet, but it's all over facebook..." Emily paused. She looked like she was trying to figure out a way to soften the blow. Finally she drew in a long, shaky breath, figuring that she'd just give it to me straight. "People are saying Shelley Nance was murdered."
At first I just shook my head. "That's ridiculous. Who would kill Shelley?" I didn'ts tart to panic. I didn't even blink. I thought it was a stupid rumor. I knew how our small town worked, people misconstruing information all the time. Shelley was the most mild mannered person in the world. No one who knew her for longer than five seconds would harm a hair on her head. But then I felt a real fear creeping up my spine.
"Em, are you sure they aren't saying Shauna?!" I half shrieked. Shauna is Shelley's older sister. I knew she lived in Arlington and thought maybe she was mugged or something on the way home from work. This is a crazy world we live in, after all. But Emily just shook her head.
"Then what the heck are people talking about...." and then it hit me. Colin had called me. Several times. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and called him back. He answered the phone, his voice raspy as if he'd been crying. I didn't even say hello. "Just tell me it's a rumor," I said, my voice flat, emotionless. "Tell me you called me to tell me not to panic, it was a false alarm. She's okay. Tell me she's okay."
There was a heavy silence. So heavy you could cut it with a knife. "I'm so sorry Ali...I'm so sorry."
Later, I was told that I screamed right before I hit the floor. I don't remember my friends Bobby and Sydnie running out of classroom and enveloping me. I just remember them being there, asking what happened. I just remember Emily telling them that a friend I was once very close to had been murdered. Bobby pulled me into his lap and stroked my hair.
I calmed down long enough to call my mother. I scared her half to death, crying big heavy sobs into phone, hardly able to speak. She yelled at me, told me I had to calm down long enough to tell her what happened. "Shelley's dead, Mom! Shelley's GONE!"
"What?! Shelley! No! What happened?" she asked me through tears.
"Someone murdered her, Momma!"
Momma told me how sorry she was. She told me to calm down before I drove home. She would be home as soon as Daddy was done with his chemo treatment. I still had my Dad in those days. Mom told me later when we they got home that Daddy had just shaken his head, said "Not my little Shelley," and cried. My Daddy had been a talker, a lover of laughter, yet he didn't say another word till they got home.
The phone calls started not long after that, people asking me what had happened. Shelley had been one of my best friends since the 3rd grade, so everyone assumed I knew details. I didn't. I called Grady and we cried. She was driving to Italy. We wanted to be together. Caitlin called me. She was beyond stricken. My boyfriend Taylor got into his car as soon as he read the text message that said, "My friend Shelley was killed. Please, come."
A lot of it is a blur now, those days leading up to her funeral. I remember my Daddy holding me while I cried a lot. Facts unfolded, as did rumors, but no one really knew what exactly had happened .I woke up from nightmares after finding out how she had been murdered. Stabbed to death. I later found out she was possibly asleep. I don't think I'll ever know if she woke up and fought, or if she stayed asleep through the entire thing and felt nothing. I hope she never felt any of the 42 stab wounds she was inflicted with. I hope she was dreaming the whole time. The funeral was brutal, to say the least. Grady and I found out courage and spoke about our friend. When we sat back down, I collapsed into tears and Taylor held me and told me he was proud of me. I still don't know why he said this. And then it was over. Life was supposed to go on as normal. But it didn't.
A few months later Grady and I went to visit Shelley's parents. We looked at old photographs and laughed and cried with her mother, who was like my other mother growing up. There had been an arrest, her boyfriends roommate, and her mom told us things we probably didn't want to know, but needed to. Before she left, she gave each of us something that was Shelley's. I got that bracelet. Shelley had worn it nearly every day. I remembered it.
I don't wear the bracelet. I'm too afraid of losing it. I get it out of its place in my jewelry box from time to time and smile at the colorful beads and yin-yang sign. Blue and purple smiley faces next to gray and red beads with strange designs on them. A mix up that had no reason or rhyme. It was all jumbled up, but seemed to work. It was just so Shelley.
Shelley Nance died on September 10th, 2011, and was found in her bed on September 11th, which is the date on her headstone. The trial starts soon, finally, and I pray for justice. I know it's not Christian, but I want that man to die for what he did. The rage I feel for him hasn't decreased any. Someday maybe I'll be able to pray for him, for his soul, but I haven't yet. I haven't risen to that level yet.
On Sunday it'll be two years since she's been gone. It doesn't feel like two years have already passed us by. I remember it like it was yesterday. I still feel like I've been punched in the stomach when I think about it. But then I look at this bracelet and I cant help but smile a little. It helps remind me that Shelley's gone, but I cant let the grief take me over so completely that I forget that she was ever here.
The bracelet speaks volumes about the type of person Shelley was, flaws and all. The smiley face beads remind me of her smile, straight and white without the aid of braces. They remind me of her laughter, so contagious and feminine. The gray and red beads with the smoke like designs remind me of her art. She was a brilliant artist, attending The Art Institute, her dream school. The yin-yang symbol reminds me of her quest for balance. Balance between art and other school work. Between certain friends. Between dreams and reality. She was such a unique person, a fearless person. She moved to a big city after living in a country town her whole life to follow her dream of becoming a great artist someday. I wish she'd have known then that she was already a great artist.
I miss Shelley more and more as every day passes by. If I miss her this much after two years, how much will I miss her in ten? Some days I run the risk of being consumed by the void that so much death has left in my life. I struggle, remembering the broken look on her mothers face as she dropped the bracelet into my hand. I want to honor Shelley's memory by doing something great and extraordinary with my life. I want to make sure that no one ever forgets her. I guess this is a start.
"If I Die Young"- The Band Perry
If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a, bed of roses
Sink me in the river, at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song
Uh oh, uh oh
Lord make me a rainbow, I'll shine down on my mother
She'll know I'm safe with you when she stands under my colors, oh and
Life ain't always what you think it ought to be, no
Ain't even grey, but she buries her baby
The sharp knife of a short life, well
I've had just enough time
If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a bed of roses
Sink me in the river at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song
The sharp knife of a short life, well
I've had just enough time
And I'll be wearing white, when I come into your kingdom
I'm as green as the ring on my little cold finger,
I've never known the lovin' of a man
But it sure felt nice when he was holding my hand,
There's a boy here in town who says he'll love me forever,
Who would have thought forever could be severed by
The sharp knife of a short life, well,
I've had just enough time
So put on your best boys and I'll wear my pearls
What I never did is done
A penny for my thoughts, oh no, I'll sell them for a dollar
They're worth so much more after I'm a goner
And maybe then you'll hear the words I been singin'
Funny when you're dead how people start listenin'
If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a bed of roses
Sink me in the river at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song
Uh oh (uh, oh)
The ballad of a dove (uh, oh)
Go with peace and love
Gather up your tears, keep 'em in your pocket
Save them for a time when you're really gonna need them, oh
The sharp knife of a short life, well
I've had just enough time
