Hello Readers!

I apologize greatly for not posting to this blog in a while. I have been very busy with life and work, and now that a new semester has started, school too. Although it looks as though I will not be able to write creatively, until I find downtime somewhere, I have a bit of good news! I have another blog that I had to start recently for another class. This blog is not for creative writing, but for academic writing. I understand it is not the same, but I will be posting there much more often than here as the semester progresses!


Here is the link to my new blog =====> http://woodh2014.wordpress.com/ and I hope you check it out!


Another Sleepless Night

First day of my Spring Semester is tomorrow, but first I have work from 5am until 9 am. I should be asleep right now, but my anxiety is so great that I haven’t slept at night in a few days. All that does is bring me anxiety attacks that wake me up. I literally have to pass out from exhaustion to go to sleep, reluctant as I am with even that. I know what you’re thinking, what every sane human being is thinking, Holly, it’s your Junior Spring Semester, how can you possibly still be nervous about school? Let’s put it this way, I went through such a bad Fall Semester of my Sophomore year mentally that I had two options: 1.) Drop out to save myself 2.) Go from full-time to part-time and try and fight my mental demons. I suppose there was a 3rd option, I could have stayed full-time and lost my sanity completely. However, I tried to stick it out and push myself with part-time. The past two semesters part-time have gone well. However, my parents, who are currently funding what my student loans do not cover, are fed up and have made me go back on to full-time for this semester and all semesters after it until graduation. I understand that they don’t want me to stay in college forever and have pressure from my fellow aged relatives who have only stayed 5 years or more in college to get Master’s degrees. However, those things do not help my anxiety about falling into another pit of despair. It was very hard to get out of the last time and I am so worried it will happen again and I wouldn’t be able to get out this time around. You can say I’m overreacting, but with an anxiety disorder everything feels real. The same sense of danger that you get when walking on a dark street alone at night is the same feeling I get when walking into college, everyday. Things might not turn out as bad as they seem, but it still feels like it will. I wish someone could understand what I am going through. It is so frustrating to have people simply dismiss the intense feelings that I struggle everyday with. I don’t know where this post is even going. Maybe it was a useless rant or maybe someone out there will read this and learn to be more accepting, tolerant, and patient with someone with a mental illness. I understand that mental illness has a certain stigma attached and even having to classify myself in such a category is hard to do in such a public setting. However, to be honest, writing this out is helping me. I can’t guarantee I will sleep tonight, but I can feel some anxiety releasing as I type. I’m not sure anyone will get anything out of this, but I hope it helps someone. Thank you for reading.

Divergent Trilogy

I just finished reading the Divergent Trilogy. I’ve never had another series grab a hold of me and occupy every ounce of my being with such force, not even my beloved Hunger Games series. Right now, I am in a similar state as a student aboard who fell in love and now has to go back home and return to normal life as if nothing happened. I feel so empty. Yet again, I completely, absolutely, positively recommend this series! In addition, I find myself unable to write anything of true insight for a second time, I really have to learn to blog after the energy of a finished book has settled! However, I will leave you with a quote from the series!

“Life damages us, every one. We can’t escape that damage. But now, I am also learning this: We can be mended. We mend each other.”

Happy reading, dear followers! 

The marks humans leave are too often scars.

Hello Faithful Followers! I apologize for my lack of posting on my blog, but I’ve been going through a difficult time that has left me unmotivated to write. However! Last night to distract myself from things, I stayed up until 6 am reading The Fault in Our Stars by John Green for the first time and I was blown away. This was my first experience with John Green’s writing and although it took a little bit of warming up to get to used to his style, I ended up really enjoying it! The novel is so insightful and had me look at life in such a different way! I wish I could write something more profound about it, but it may have to sink in for a while before I can. All I’m saying is hey, if you have read it, please comment below because I would love to discuss it, and if you haven’t read it, I would strongly suggest giving it a read. Hopefully I will be up to writing soon, but in the meantime, I will be reading all I can for leisure before the strictures of academia overtake all my time.  

The Last Class

For those of you who didn’t make it to our last Creative Writing class, these are some examples of the shenanigans we got into! I’m sad we didn’t have an official last class, but I must say, I will truly miss you all! You are all great people and so talented! It was an honor to get to know you and your writing. I really hope I get the chance to be with any of you in future classes. I also hope to see you all published :). Keep up those blogs!

Reflective Introduction to my Final Portfolio

I can’t believe I am writing this essay already. It seems like only yesterday, I walked into a room full of strangers, and Ryan who I knew from the previous semester, and now it’s almost over. I have to admit, I’m having a difficult time accepting that our time as a class is ending, as this was my favorite class of the semester, not just because of the material, but because of the people and their stories and passions. I feel truly blessed that we had such a community in class and I will miss it greatly.
            This entire semester was a huge journey for me. It was my first semester as a Writing major, newly switched over from education, and Creative Writing was only my second official Writing class. I picked Creative Writing to start my actual journey into this major because I had written for fun in the past, yet it had been years since I had written anything that was not academic and I wanted to dust off the old tools. However, with the enthusiasm soon came anxiety. I was worried that I would not be good enough or that I would never be able to translate my ideas effectively to readers. All in all, my fears subsided once I entered Classroom 449 on that first class day.
            Professor Bhandari’s eagerness for creative writing was infectious and the class seemed to all be on board. Suddenly, I found myself excited to write with so many ideas in my head that I could barely contain them all! I believe this is best shown through my Topic Identification paper that I first wrote in the beginning of the semester. I had several ideas for themes and situations that I was going to write about, all while composing the novel that I have dreamed about writing for years. The only aspect I wasn’t particularly thrilled about was the poetry. Yet, even then, because I was at a point of such enthusiastic bliss, I thought I could conquer anything that was thrown at me! In the beginning, I was over ambitious and felt like anything was possible.
            To parallel, at the start of the semester, we also created blogs that we were expected to use as notebooks for submission of assignments, daily journaling, and whenever inspiration to write struck us. I wasn’t happy with the idea of a blog. First, I was always annoyed with bloggers and felt they felt they were too good to be published, so they “self-published” in online formats. Second, I believed my blog was going to be a page that was never visited and no one would care about, so it was going to be a waste of time and energy. Lastly, I didn’t like the idea of forcing myself to write and having to find the time for it. Regardless of my feelings, however, I did create a blog titled, “Not Like the Movies,” a personal stab at the superficial movie industry that I am begrudgingly named after. In the beginning of Creative Writing, I had a conflict of emotions: enthusiasm to write, yet distaste of a required blog. Fortunately, this was only the start of my journey and things did change.
            Throughout the first half of the semester we read works by accomplished authors, essays on important craft lessons, and were encouraged to think about creative writing logically, something I had never done. Next came the time to actually write by starting our short story or novel excerpt. Although I had previously been dead set on writing my “amazing” novel, since I had logically thought about my writing style and preferences, I knew short stories were more suited for me. This is when I wrote the first draft of what became, “The Other Half,” my story about Lily and Danny, a pair of soulmates who were dealing with Danny losing his fight with cancer. After I read the draft out loud to the class, both my classmates and professor made suggestions that gave me a reality check with my writing. I had good ideas, but I wasn’t developing them so well. I have to admit, that first critique did hurt my feelings; I think it was because I was too confident that to be told anything different was an insult to me. However, looking back, they were exactly the comments I needed to improve my writing. I was too stuck in my academic writing ways and needed to dive further into creative writing and its styles. Next, I was introduced to Creative Non-Fiction writing for the first time. I had never even heard of the term before, but I fell in love with it once I learned about what it was. I used the night my grandfather passed away on my sixteenth birthday as a topic for my first Creative Non-Fiction work and it was therapeutic to turn such a tragedy into a piece of writing. Finally, I was also introduced to villanelles. I had never been a fan of poetry because it never made sense to me. However, villanelles were a perfect way to ease me into the world of poems because they were structured in a way that I understood. I know my classmates groaned at the restrictive pattern, but I found it as a way to liberate me from my “No Poetry Allowed” prison. For the rest of that first half, I worked really hard to revise my writing and develop ideas and characters more clearly.  
            When it was time to hand in my Mid-Term Portfolio, I had a completely revamped work selection and I was proud of the progress I had made! I turned in my short story, “The Other Half,” my Creative Non-Fiction piece, “My Bittersweet Sixteen,” and my villanelle, “Life through a Photographer’s Eye.” The remainder of the semester, we watched TED talks in class by accomplished writers. Yet again, I was overcome by the speakers’ sheer passions for writing. It was just what I needed to start my second short story. This time around, I wanted to try something new. I wanted to keep my readers in the dark until the very end. This translated into a story about a young girl who comes home to find her parents have been murdered, yet by who is unknown. When I first posted my beginnings of the story on my blog, the comments from Professor Bhandari and my classmate Joran really urged me to keep going with the story. This was my first time writing such a style of story and I was nervous, but their encouragement and interest in my ideas really pushed me to power through my doubts. Though this half of the semester was shorter, I felt like a more experienced writer, so I thought about my writings in a whole new way. Instead of thinking about my writing logically after I wrote it, I thought about it logically as I wrote it, which made a world of difference in what I wrote. The last half of the semester also consisted of reworking our Mid-term Portfolio pieces and experimenting with different styles of writing, all meant to result in a Final Portfolio.
            Everything up to this point leads me to today, the submission of my Final Portfolio and the very last time that I will be a Creative Writing student in Professor Bhandari’s class. The ending of this class is bittersweet. That sea of twenty or so strangers that I walked into on the first day of class is now a group of faces that I know all of. I may not have talked to these people often, but I read their blogs and heard their work read aloud in class. I made a connection with people after only eighteen weeks and I was exposed to truly incredible writers of my time, and for both of these I will be forever grateful. In addition, I will have to lose the instruction of Professor Bhandari, who is now on my list of English teachers who have molded my writing into something better than what I came into the class with. In the future, I hope I can take a Creative Non-Fiction class with her, but for the time being, this is the end of our teacher and student roles with each other. On the brighter side, this class has affirmed my choice in wanting to be a Writing major. Writing is a way to express feelings and opinions through art. To be honest, I never understood the power of creative writing until I took this class. Before I looked at creative writing as a hobby that was done on a whim for fun, but now I see the true force it holds.
            Although this is the end of my time with Creative Writing 2010*03, this is not the end of my writing or creative writing. My first plan of action is to continue my blog and I hope to post on it every chance I get. Now that I have forty-one followers, I feel an even stronger force to continue it! I also want to read and write more Creative Non-Fiction, and I am even looking in to submitting work to Creative Non-Fiction magazine. Today the semester ends, but my writing journey does not; in fact, I believe it is only beginning.              

Final Portfolio Part 1 of 5 – Villanelle: Life through a Photographer’s Eye

The scenes I frame with my photographer’s eye
Are begging to be shot.
“They must belong to me,” I cry.

Colorful kites flying way up high
Red burning feet in sand that is hot
The scenes I frame with my photographer’s eye

Bright fireworks blowing up on the 4th of July
A worried mother as she chases her wandering tot 
“They must belong to me,” I cry.

A nervous prom date adjusting his tie
Incredible patterns that the painter’s colors blot
The scenes I frame with my photographer’s eye

Speedy joggers in track suits running by
A young boy scout as he practices his knot
“They must belong to me,” I cry.

Two young lovers at the airport saying good-bye
A forgotten, overflowing mail slot
The scenes I frame with my photographer’s eye
“They must belong to me,” I cry.

Final Portfolio Part 2 of 5 – Poem: T’was the Night of Halloween

T’was the night of Halloween
And all through the house,
Every creature was dressed up,
Even the mouse.

Pumpkins were carved in faces with care,
In hopes that trick-or-treaters would soon be there.
Spooky Halloween night,
Every child is affright.

Candy fills bags with cheers of glee.
“Full-size candy bars? YIPPY!”
“Trick-or-treat” rings through the streets,
As children are given free sugary treats.

Witches, vampires, and superheroes, all in a line,
As scary decorations send shivers down each spine.
At the end of the night, the children go home
And through their mountains of treasure, they roam.

The parents warn, “Don’t eat too much!”
But the children send them away with, “Oh, hush!”
As desserts shrink, children’s opinions soon revert.
T’was the night of Halloween, and beds are filled with bellies that hurt.

Final Portfolio Part 3 of 5 – Creative Non-Fiction: My Bittersweet Sixteen

The red and blue flashing lights, the will reading “do not resuscitate,” the sound of my brother’s cries. On January 15, 2009, my grandfather, who I called Opa, which means grandpa in Dutch, died while my entire family was at his house celebrating my sixteenth birthday. With the patriarch of our family missing, it has been very difficult to continue on with life as usual. He was quite a remarkable man and his position in our family will never be replaced.
            My birthday began as an enjoyable day. I walked into my high school that morning to find that my best friend Korie had decorated my locker door with a collage of pictures of all my favorite rock bands with room for people to stop by and write “Happy Birthday” messages to me. Then, my mom delivered a surprise cake to the school during my lunch period. Meanwhile, my mind was occupied all day with the thought of seeing my cousins later that night at my grandparent’s house to celebrate my special day. This year, we arrived at the house at five o’clock, which was earlier than usual because my grandfather hadn’t felt well and we didn’t want to keep him up late. “Happy birthday Miss Sixteen Year Old!” my cousin greeted me when I walked through the door. “Oh, no! Holly’s street legal? Better tell everyone to keep off the sidewalks,” my uncle teased. Soon the conversation, laughs, and general loudness of my large Italian family quickly filled the house. Then, an hour into the party, Opa cleared his throat and mentioned that he had to leave the room. After a while, we realized something was amiss.
            “Can the boys check on Daddy?” my grandmother asked. All nodding in agreement, my uncles and father went into the other room to see what was wrong. In the meantime, my grandma handed me a black velvet box and whispered in my ear, “This is a special gift that Opa picked out especially for you.” I opened it and saw two glistening diamond earrings. I had never had real diamond jewelry before and I was memorized. With astonishment, I looked up at my grandmother and said, “Oh, Oma, thank you! They’re—.” I was suddenly cut off by a loud moaning that came from the other room. Immediately, my dad rushed in. “All the kids go into our minivan,” he ordered as he tossed the keys to me. The questions and comments from my younger cousins and siblings seemed endless as we all sat in the car. “Why did we have to leave the house?” “Is Opa okay?” “It’s cold out here!” “Can we please go back inside?” “Why did Opa make that funny noise?” Unfortunately, my older cousin and I had no answers as we tried to comfort them through our own confusion.
            Soon, a police car pulled up and my brother started to cry loudly. “Why is he here? Is Opa dead?” he pleaded for an answer. “No, no. He’s just here to make sure everything is okay. Don’t worry,” I attempted to soothe. Despite my good intentions, I was wrong. A few minutes later my aunt opened the driver’s side door to quietly talk to my older cousin and me, trying not to alarm the already upset children that were in the backseats. “We don’t know for sure, but we think Opa had a heart attack,” she explained. Before we could even react, an ambulance pulled up and my aunt ran up to it to guide the EMTs exactly to where my grandfather was. As I found out that night, Opa had a living will that read “DO NOT RESUSCITATE,” which kept the paramedics from doing much.
            Some time later, the grim news came in. “Opa has passed away. Come in the house and say goodbye. He’s in the hallway covered by a sheet from the chest down,” my dad announced to us all. As everyone filed out of the van, I didn’t move. “Come on, I know it’s hard, but we have to do it,” my cousin told me with tears welling in her eyes. “I can’t. I don’t want to remember him this way! I don’t want that image to haunt me,” I protested. After several attempts from my dad, aunts, and uncles, my decision was accepted, and I was finally left alone. I remember how hard I closed my eyes as the undertakers came to take care of the body. Thankfully, my efforts were fruitful and I didn’t get a glimpse of the body bag. It wasn’t until I opened my eyes and the undertaker’s van was a safe distance away that I made my way back into the house to join my family. Guests who had arrived late were in tears from the news. They greeted me with a brutal mix of “happy birthday” and “I’m sorry for your loss” sentiments. It was a horrible combination of emotions. That night, my family went home and we all slept in my parent’s room, trying to comfort my mourning mother.
            Later that week, we had a three day wake for my grandfather. This amount was longer than most wakes I had been to. However, it was helpful because every day new people showed up to give support and help us smile during such a trying time. What I remember the most is all the different things I learned about my grandfather through the many people that I talked to at the funeral home. After the last hour of the final viewing, my Opa’s life all came together like a large puzzle, which I managed to form in my mind later that night.
            On May 24, 1927, Johannes Jacobus Rustemeyer was born in the Netherlands. He had a harsh childhood, filled with extraordinary experiences. His mother died when he was four years old, leaving him with an abusive father to raise him. Being the brave spirit he always was, he often took the blame and beatings for his six other siblings. After four years of single parenting, my great grandfather had enough and put all his children in an orphanage. He ended up returning a year later to retrieve only his daughters, leaving his sons behind. The following year, Adolf Hitler needed young men to work. At the tender age of ten, my grandfather was forced into a labor camp in Poland. When he was finally liberated, he returned to a war-torn Holland and joined the Merchant Marines at fourteen by forging his father’s signature. During his service, he travelled to every continent, except Australia. At age twenty-four, he journeyed to America and immediately enlisted in the armed forces when promised a speedy citizenship in return. My family often reminisces about the first thing my grandfather did fresh off the boat. He walked around, found the nearest bakery, and went in pointing at a strawberry shortcake. Paying for it with the little money he brought with him, he proudly sat on the corner outside the shop and ate it, truly feeling free for the first time. A few years after that moment, one day, while on leave from the Korean War, my grandfather met Rachel Pietropaolo. After months of being pen pals, that same woman became my future grandmother. The two had six kids, eventually six grandchildren, and built a wonderful life together during their fifty-two year marriage.
            Though the nostalgic piecing together of my grandfather’s life was therapeutic, it didn’t take the pain away from the next day—the funeral, which occurred on a solemn, cold day. I never shook the eerie feeling I had while saying the final goodbye to my grandfather in the funeral home, knowing that in the next few hours his body would be cremated. Surprisingly, I didn’t cry the night of his death or even at the funeral service. In fact, it took until the month anniversary of his passing for me to finally let out all my emotions. On February 15, 2009, it was my cousin’s twenty first family birthday party and although he was from my dad’s side of the family, this was the first time we were seeing these relatives since my Opa’s passing. As a result, when we arrived, the first questions were about how we were feeling or how my Oma was coping. In retrospect, I appreciate the family support, but at the time, it upset me to think of such a tragic time during a celebratory event. The moment it really all hit me was once everyone was sitting around my aunt’s kitchen table, after “Happy Birthday” was sung, picking at cake and coffee. This is when the conversation dulled and I was left with my own thoughts. Suddenly, images of my grandfather’s body being engulfed in flames flashed in my mind and a lump formed in my throat. I knew I couldn’t stay there any longer. Fortunately, my aunt’s house was right next door to mine, so I was able to make a quick escape to my house, after I excused myself by pretending my cellphone had died and I needed the charger.
            Once in my bedroom, I fell onto my bed and gripped a pillow tightly to my face. The tears came first, and then a sobbing soon after. All the pain that I experienced that January night came back in what seemed like tenfold.  It didn’t hit me until then that day I would never see Opa again in my mortal life. Before then, it felt as though he was on vacation, but soon he would be at the next holiday gathering. It was difficult to deal with after that sobering revelation, but eventually I got through it. I never stopped missing him nor was able to think about the day he died without having sad memories flood back, but I was capable of accepting reality. Not having Opa around while the family was all together or when we visited my grandmother was a strange, empty feeling, but, as unwanted as it was, we ultimately all got used to it.
            Despite the shock of its timing, Opa’s death was not an unforeseen possibility. In the years leading up to it, his health had declined. After the birth of the sixth grandchild, my little brother, Opa began to show signs of Dementia, a deteriorating brain disease. Having little family history to warn us, the diagnosis was a surprise. In the beginning, it was a small annoyance. Opa would forget to turn off a light when he went to bed or leave the water running after he left the sink. However, his condition progressively worsened and eventually developed into full-blown Alzheimer’s disease. There was no brushing off the symptoms anymore. In fact, my grandmother had to quit her job as a paraprofessional at the local elementary school because my grandfather could no longer be left alone. Alzheimer’s is a frightening sickness that causes delusions as well as memory loss and we witnessed both through Opa’s suffering. The incidents were many, but three stick out in my mind more than the rest. First, he started to forget who the grandchildren were. He called my brother “the boy,” my sister “the girl,” and me “Ann Marie,” which is my mother’s name. Although he didn’t remember any of us, I was called by a name because I look very similar to my mother in her younger years. Next, when he was in the hospital for a congestive heart failure scare, Opa woke up extremely disoriented and wanted to know why strange people were in his kitchen. This made him very anxious, and he ended up running out of the room with a catheter bag trailing behind him down the halls. Lastly, he was once in his house and started to believe that the police had bugged it and were spying on his actions. When my uncle, who works for a patrol board, attempted to calm him down, Opa became very violent and took a swing at his own son. Those times were so emotionally draining for us all. I don’t know how my grandmother did it day after day. It was difficult enough seeing him every weekend as we did. The man who we had loved and cherished for years no longer was himself, trapped in a mind that was holding him prisoner. After a long, eight year battle, the heart that endured parental abandonment, the body that survived the starvation of a work camp in the Holocaust, and the mind that could navigate the roughest seas, succumbed to an incurable illness. It will be five years this January since his passing, and I still vividly remember the day he left us.
            I love my Opa and would give up all my possessions to spend one healthy day with him again. He babysat me for the first four years of my life, taught me how to count, and even used to put me in a wagon and bring me to the local park in his town. I will never forget those memories. I’ve learned several things from him and the life he led. To this day, he teaches me lessons as I reflect back on the experiences he went through while examining my own life. I try not to take people for granted, especially my family. I know they are not going to be here forever, so I tell them I love them every chance I can. I also try to live each day to the fullest like my Opa did. He knew how precious life was and how to savor it. Almost five years later and even writing this piece is difficult as I think about my grandfather and the tragic end to his life. However, I now think optimistically and how he was very sick and did not deserve to live that way. There are even times when I can feel his presence around me, like when I sit in his chair at his house or when I find a dime, a sign that my family has deemed as a gift from Opa, letting us know he is with us during tough times. My birthday will never feel the same and I may miss my grandfather every day; but I stay positive hoping that I will meet him again in Heaven someday.

. http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/20/daily-prompt-sixteen/

Final Portfolio Part 4 of 5 – Short Story: The Other Half

The day someone enters the world, he or she is not complete. In fact, people wander around the Earth for years, doing their daily activities, such as going to school, washing the dishes, clocking-in to work etc., as only half-beings. A person’s true potential as a whole cannot be earned until one finds his or her other half—another half-being that is predestined to connect perfectly with the first. For some people, it may take years to occur; for others, it may never happen. However, the biggest tragedy of all is finding one’s other half and losing him or her to an inescapable twist of cruel fate. 
            In his sophomore year of college, Danny Conklin started working for the school’s admissions office. The department he was placed in was titled, “Campus Tours.” Being a shy person, he had never been one to be particularly comfortable with talking in front of groups of people. Throughout his school years, he was always overshadowed by his older brother, Tommy, who was captain of the baseball team, student representative of the board of education, and eventually earned the title of valedictorian of his class. Contrastingly, Danny was an average student who was into music and didn’t care much for the spectacles that surrounded Tommy. In fact, when he graduated high school, he was happy that he was not called up for an award because he hated being the center of attention. However, he needed the money, so he tried to not let his fear get the best of him. The following week he was paired with an experienced tour guide to shadow, so he could learn the effective way to give a campus tour. Although he knew the campus very well and there was a script to follow for certain points, the university would do this to give the new guides first hand observation. The girl he was matched with was named Lily. She stood at five foot four, had long wavy brunette hair, and deep brown eyes. A bubbly personality and a warm, genuine smile added to her physical beauty, and all of which made Danny and his heart was hooked.

            During the tours, Danny watched as Lily told the group little tidbits about the campus that he didn’t even know. For example, she informed them that there was a small bakery a few blocks down the road named Edgar Allan Pastries that had an amazing “Tell-Tale Apple Turnover.” She even had a way of engaging the crowd with jokes and activities. For instance, there was one time their tour group was approaching another, so Lily told the group to wave at them. The prospective students were reluctant, but once she did it with such eagerness, the whole group joined in. “This may seem awkward, but you have to understand that you have to step out of your comfort zone to meet new people in college,” she explained. “Those people in that other group could possibly be your future classmates. That girl in the red dress could be in your math class begging you to let her copy your homework. You now have an excuse to say no because she was rude and didn’t wave to you during this tour. She won’t remember, but you will! And that guy in the back with a bright orange shirt, he could be a great writer that can help you with your papers. You never know someone until you start the conversation. It may seem silly or weird, but if you want to make friends, you have to take risks.” Danny admired her philosophy and was eager to incorporate his own into the tours he would man in the future.

            After the pair completed a total of four tours and the day was done, Lily stopped Danny as they were walking back to the admissions office. “So what did you think of the tours? You think you have what it takes?” she asked. “I think I have what it takes to guide a tour, but I’m not sure I’ll be as good as you. You really know how to command a crowd,” Danny complimented. “You really think so? I was so nervous! I was afraid it would show! I have been doing these tours for about a year now and I still get anxious every time. I hate talking in front of people,” she admitted. Her openness led them deeper into conversation, and Danny was enjoying every minute.

            “What’s your major?” he asked. “Psychology,” Lily revealed, “I want to help kids, maybe through social work or counseling, but I’m not sure where I want to take it. How about you?” “I’m studying music. I really want to open my own recording studio one day,” Danny began. “My parents aren’t too happy with that though because my older brother is currently in law school and is probably gonna be extremely successful. Meanwhile, they aren’t as confident in my future as I am.” “I think it’s great that you have a dream and are going for it! So many people are too scared to risk it all for a dream, but you aren’t, despite your family’s opinions. That’s inspiring,” Lily commended. “Yeah, that’s easy for you to say, I bet your parents are ecstatic with your major,” Danny protested. Lily looked away from him and tried to act as if there was something more interesting happening in the distance. Do I really want to get into this with him? She thought. No, I can’t stand the look of pity that people give me, like my roommate from freshman year. I’ll just keep it short and casual. Her eyes darted back to Danny’s and she saw a confused look on his face. “I’m sorry; there was a bird behind you. Yeah, about my parents. . . I don’t really have any. It’s just me and I’m happy with my choice of major and that’s all I’m worried about!” Lily declared with as much confidence as she could. Before he could ask any questions, she switched the topic swiftly, “Anyway, do you dorm or commute?” Danny hesitated, but welcomed the change as his cheeks reddened a bit.  

            The two ended up talking for over an hour when Lily looked at her cellphone and gasped. “I have class across campus in five minutes! I have to go,” she confessed. “But hey could we trade numbers in case you need any help with work?” Danny couldn’t help but smile and agree. Those days seemed so innocent and given the choice, the two would go back to that time in a heartbeat if they could, for the present was too disheartening to bear.
                        The strong smell of antiseptic grazed Lily’s nose as she walked through the bare, white hospital hallways. The odor used to burn, but she had been there so many times since the first frightening visit that it was a surprise that she even smelled it at all anymore. After a long walk through the winding corridors, she cautiously approached an all-too-familiar hospital room, labeled 306. Although the number changed with each visit, the rooms all started to seem the same as the amount of Danny’s stays in the hospital increased. A chill ran up her spine as Lily touched the cold, metal doorknob, and she froze. Even though she knew her time to do so was dwindling with each day, she didn’t want to enter the room that held the love of her life, for it would make every image and thought she’d been avoiding a reality. Danny had always been a fighter, battling every obstacle that had come his way ever since he was first diagnosed with cancer. However, the doctors said that he didn’t have much time left, so Lily has spent every possible moment that she could by his side. She’s endured more than her share of struggles in life and she was not going to let Danny be defeated if she had anything to do with it.
             Roughly twenty years ago, a nameless baby girl was born on a freezing January night. Snow had not fallen since the beginning of December, so the streets were bare. However, there was an unavoidable cold that caused the breath of all those who went outside to produce puffy white clouds as they spoke in the nippy air. The cold that chilled the infant’s bones on that very first evening of life was just the start of a series of harsh blows that rocked her to her core. The baby came into this world unwanted, for she was found in a dark alleyway by a fireman with nothing more than a tattered, blue flannel shirt wrapped around her as a makeshift blanket. The man just happened to hear her wailing cries while walking to get a cup of coffee during a rough night of being on-call. Once he found the source of the noise, he couldn’t believe a mother would leave a newborn out in such harsh conditions. With no trace of identification or knowledge of how the child got there, he wrapped the helpless baby in his coat and brought her back to the station. After that, she was rushed to the hospital and ordered an overnight stay to make sure she was stable and okay. Fortunately, it was deemed that the newborn had not been exposed to the freezing weather long enough to be affected. At eight o’clock the next morning, the state arrived, took her away, and placed her into the foster care system.

            One would think that being rescued from the streets and having a chance at life would have meant great things for the baby; however, through the years, the girl’s childhood evolved into what could never be classified as “great.” Although her first foster home was a child’s dream: brothers and sisters, a playroom, and even a dog, the year she was four years old, her foster father suffered from a debilitating car accident. As a result, even though they were heartbroken to do it, the only family she ever knew put her back into the foster care system with nothing more than abandonment issues and the name they had given her, Lily Warner. For the next few years, Lily was switched to and from three foster homes. In the first placement, she was deemed “too rambunctious” after starting a Bible fight amongst the other children in her pew at a quiet church service. The second family called her “a bad influence on others” when she was involved in physical fights at school that spilled back into the home with her foster siblings. Both of these traits seemingly resulted from the emotional scars of never having a true place to call home. When she was ten, she was finally placed into a third house that ended up being her final stop in the system.

            Despite staying at one residence, Lily’s house was not a home. While her foster mother favored her biological children, she was extremely verbally abusive to Lily. Many of her upbringing years were tainted with constant insults from the mouth of her guardian. “You’re worthless.” “You’re going nowhere in life.” “You are a useless loser.” “I can’t stand you.” “Just having you here disgusts me.” “You’re nothing more than a check to me.” Though each attack damaged her self-esteem more and more, the one insult Lily hated more than all the rest was when her foster mother would taunt, “Your own mother didn’t want you, that’s why she left you out to die with the trash.”

            With no physical evidence of her mother’s awful words, Lily always thought that nothing could be done about her situation. This led to years of suffering in silence. The other children in the house tried to defend their foster sister a few times, but were punished severely for their disobedient actions which quickly stopped any further acts of retaliation.

            Fortunately, school was Lily’s comfort zone, because she realized that the longer she stayed there, the longer she could avoid the torment at her house. In high school, she joined the tennis team, chorus, prom committee, and a peer leadership group. Lily went even further by earning high grades after she found another place of evasion—the library. All the time spent at school and studying forged a path to college, a permanent escape to finally get loose from the tight grip of her abusive keeper. Once she turned eighteen, Lily aged out of the foster care system. Since there were no more federal checks coming to the house every month, Lily’s exit was not protested because she was used for all she was worth.

            An ache sprang to Lily’s chest on “Move-In Day,” as she watched as all the parents help their children to their dorms. Yet as she sat on her small twin bed, Lily smiled as it first sank in that she was finally free from her years of suffering. The smiles continued when a financial aid advisor informed Lily that because she was an independent and had such high grades, the school worked out all her tuition payment concerns with scholarships, grants, and a work study program that brought her into giving campus tours. This is where she really thrived. By being so grateful to be at the school, she channeled all her enthusiasm into her tours. Soon, she became a mentor for the new guides that were hired every semester. This is how she met Danny, who grew up in a blue two-story Colonial home, complete with a white picket fence, two devoted parents, and an older brother,—all in all,a stark contrast to her own upbringing. However, despite coming from two different worlds, the two eventually evolved into a romantic pair, seemingly destined to be side by side forever, that is until the grim side of fate stepped in.
            Taking a deep breath, Lily pushed down on the handle, and the door slowly opened with a loud creak. She tried to quiet the squeal, but it was too late. Danny’s eyelids weakly separated. Such a simple task seemed to take away most of his energy. As their eyes locked, a memory flashed into Lily’s mind. It was of him and her in the past, before the deadly disease, on their first date.
            Suddenly, she and Danny were at the top of a Ferris wheel, at a local town’s annual fair. The sun was just setting past the silhouettes of distant trees and the autumn wind cooled the air. Lily watched as the breeze blew Danny’s shoulder length, black hair in all different directions. She smiled at the sight; soon after, they kissed.
            A groan escaped into the silence of the moment and broke Lily out of her blissful flashback to see Danny for what he was now. His once tan skin was now a pale grey. His once full head was bare; and worst of all, his once optimistic attitude was now a distant memory.
            “You didn’t tell me you were coming today,” Danny complained as he turned his head away from the door. He knew what he looked like and didn’t want her to see him in this condition because he knew it would upset her. Lily smiled lightly, “You know I come here as often I can.” She turned his face to her and kissed his forehead. “Can you get me some water? My mouth is so dry, and the nurse hasn’t been in to check on me in a while.” He feebly pointed to the pitcher on a small wooden table by foot of his bed. Immediately, Lily had the container in her hand and was pouring water into a small cup. She then handed it to him. It happened so fast that one would think that Danny had had the glass in his hand the whole time.    
            “I didn’t want to talk about this, but it has to be dealt with.” He took in a long, deep breath. “Call Tommy; I want him to help you gather all my things once I’m. . .I can’t,” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. He had accepted his grim fate, but he knew Lily hadn’t. She settled in the chair next to his bedside and shook her head. “Don’t talk that way, honey. You’re going to be fine. It’s hard now and things look bad, but they will turn around. I don’t care what the doctors say.” Lily tried her best to hold back the tears.
            In an attempt to distract herself from the dismal reality, Lily found herself yet again daydreaming of a memory from the past. This time, she thought of the first time the pair exchanged “I love you’s.” It had been six months since Danny and Lily had officially become a couple, and they were spending the day at Danny’s brother’s wedding. It had been a beautiful, outdoor ceremony, and now everyone was celebrating the momentous event at the reception. They both didn’t like to dance, as they were self-conscious of their lack of technique, but the DJ pulled everyone to the dance floor with a casual hit that told the guests the moves to make as the song went on. Therefore, the couple knew they couldn’t mess it up too much and decided to give it a try.
            After a while, the song was over and although it was fun, Danny and Lily were eager to retreat back to their seats, but then something happened that made them both pause. As he asked for the couples to remain on the floor, the DJ played a slow song that just happened to be their song—“Iris” by the Goo Goo Dolls. A few months later Tommy had revealed that he requested the song, “to help his little brother get some game,” but for the moment, the pair was surprised. Despite being thrown off guard, the two soon joined together. In the beginning, Lily clumsily stepped on Danny’s toes and Danny was moving a bit too fast. However, as the notes played on, their moves became more in sync. With Danny’s hands on her hips and her arms around him, Lily felt so at peace in this pose as they swayed back and forth. Then, she felt his grip tighten and his hands move as he repositioned to dip her. Though surprised, she smiled as she was impressed at his skill. “I’ve been practicing that with my mom for weeks, you know, in case something like this came up,” he confessed with a small blush on his face. “Dancing at a wedding? Oh, how taboo!” Lily teased. “Practice makes perfect I see,” she added with a grin. He drew her in closer and put his mouth to her ear. “I love you,” Danny whispered. She hesitated and bit her lip. A guy had never said those three words to her first and the last guy she said them to, back in high school, had broken her heart. Was she really ready to let someone in like that again?
            Just then, the song stopped and transitioned to another. Despite the alteration of movement from the other couples, Lily and Danny stayed where they were. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say it back; I get it,” he said disappointed as he began to pull away. No, he’s not like the others, she thought, I can’t let bad experiences from the past stop me from this moment. “Danny, I love you too,” she blurted out. “You know how I am; I always have to think before I do something. I’m sorry it took so long.” He looked at her with doubt and she knew she had to fix the situation before she lost him irrevocably. Lily then grabbed hold of the lapels of Danny’s suit and pulled him in for a passionate kiss. Merely thinking of that memory made Lily smile in the present day which brought her back to the hospital room. She suddenly wanted to kiss him again.       
            She bent forward and just as her lips were about to make contact with his, Danny protested, “No, stop. You know I don’t like kissing.” When he had first started chemotherapy, Danny was instructed not to kiss anyone because he had to be very cautious of infection. However, after the doctors warned that he was approaching the end, they said there was nothing a kiss could do to make it any worse and that it might even help his morale. It was the worst conflict of emotions within them both. They longed to be able to kiss again, but the desire for affection could never outweigh the price of it—Danny’s life. Their first kiss since they were given the okay was only a month ago; however, for a week now Danny hadn’t let Lily go near him in that respect. She let out a frustrated sigh and sat back down. “You have to get used to it, you know, not kissing me. I’m actually helping you. It’s tough for me too; because where I’m going, I won’t have you either,” Danny said faintly, yet was adamant. “No, it’s not tough because you aren’t going anywhere. You’ll always be here, right by my side.” She always lied to him and even herself. She couldn’t bear the thought of him losing forever, no matter how inevitable that possibility was.
            “I don’t even know why you’re here with me now,” Danny admitted depressingly. “Have you looked at me? I look like some kind of experiment gone wrong with a bald head and such pale skin. If I were you, I wouldn’t stay with Sci-Fi me.” He often had these moments of insecurity, anxious that his mere appearance would make Lily leave him. “No, you don’t. If you did, would I have stayed with you this long?” she asked to try and lighten the mood, but it was hopeless. “You know what really gets me though?” Danny inquired while switching topics, “how I will never get to marry you.”
            Lily had considered about that very notion so many times. As a matter of fact, the thought would keep her up in the middle of the night in tears. It was such a stark contrast from the first few years they dated, when she would often have dreams about her and Danny standing in front of an alter as a priest pronounced them man and wife. She imagined Danny in a classic black tuxedo and herself in a long, white, sleeveless dress, all surrounded by their family and friends in an elaborately decorated church. Now that those plans would never be and with Danny being so casual in assuring that, she couldn’t help herself or hide her emotions any longer. “I said don’t talk that way!” Lily shouted as she jumped up from her chair. “You think I like thinking about the thought of not having you in my life? Do you think it’s easy to know that one day, much earlier than I would have ever imagined, I won’t be able to hear your voice or hold your hand or even just tell you that I love you?” She bowed her head and breathed heavily as a rebellious tear fell down her cheek.
            Danny sighed and motioned for her to come over to him. This time, she sat on his bed, just as he wanted—she always knew the best thing to do—and he softly grabbed her hand. “Baby, I’m just exhausted and my mind’s all messed up from the chemo.” He tried to apologize for his behavior, looking her in the eye. “I know it’s hard for you and you have been the best girlfriend anyone could ever ask for. I am so lucky to have you in my life and by my side throughout this whole thing.” He gripped her hand tighter. “But Lily, it’s even harder for me to deal with if you don’t let me talk about what’s going to happen. If you keep pretending I’ll get better and it will all go back to what it used to be, once I’m gone you’re going to be destroyed. And I can’t stand the idea of that happening. I love you more than anything in this world and I hate that this disease is taking me from you…but it is.” “I know Danny, but you have to get in a better mood…even if it’s your last.” That was it, she couldn’t handle it anymore. Lily fell apart right in front of Danny, something she swore she never would. She had to be his rock, but then, in that moment, she crumbled. Her body slumped over and shook violently as she sobbed heavily. Danny, although lacking an appropriate amount of energy, wrapped his arms around her and held her.
            It’d been a long time since he’d done this very action. In the past, Lily had been the one holding him, like the day he got diagnosed with Stage III Glioblastoma—brain cancer. The month before then, he had a conversation with Lily after dinner as they sat in the studio apartment that they shared. “I had a horrible headache today,” he announced. “Again? Maybe you should go to the doctor,” Lily suggested. “No, it’s probably just from stress. I can’t believe I graduated eight months ago and I’m still working part-time at a dollar store. Maybe my parents were right, I should have been lawyer,” Danny said. “Stop it. You know you would have been miserable being in court day after day. You aren’t Tommy. Jobs are slow now, but you’ll get there!” Lily encouraged. She got up, went into the other room, and came back with a bottle of aspirin. “Take this and relax,” she said, handing two pills to Danny, “Let’s watch a movie to get your mind off of everything.”
            However, one day when he was driving, his sight became very blurry. Just as he was able to pull over, his field of vision went black. Although it was only out for a few minutes and he was able to drive home without another issue after that. He knew he couldn’t ignore the symptoms anymore and immediately scheduled an appointment with the doctor. After a few visits to different physicians and an MRI later, Danny sat in front of his doctor when he was told the awful prognosis. Previously, he purposely wanted to go alone so he wouldn’t worry his parents, Tommy, or Lily. However, as he tightly gripped the arms of the chair he was in, he wished there was a hand he could hold. Danny’s mind was spinning so fast with thoughts that he could barely hear the doctor as he used the words “oncology,” “chemotherapy,” and “radiation.” All he could think about was how worried he was that he would die. I’m only twenty-three years old. I have so many plans: my record studio, traveling, and growing old with Lily, he thought. Could it really all be gone in one visit to the doctor?
            While he was waiting at the bus stop for the next bus home, as he was unable to drive for fear that he would go blind again, all he could think of was how he wanted to see Lily. She always made him smile on his worst days, and he knew he needed her now more than ever. As if she had a sixth sense, Danny’s phone rang and the screen flashed with the name, “Lily.” He looked at the phone and put it back in his pocket, unanswered. He was too afraid that he wouldn’t be able to hold in his emotions once she spoke to him, and he didn’t want to have a breakdown on the bus.
            Each of his steps grew heavier as Danny made his way to the apartment building from the bus stop. Telling Lily the news might be as hard of hearing it myself, he worried to himself. Soon, Danny walked into their apartment where he saw Lily sitting on the couch. She stood up and asked, “Are you okay? Why didn’t you answer my calls?” “It’s cancer, Stage III brain cancer. The doctor told me a lot of things, but I could barely understand him. I was too busy worried about dying.” Danny hadn’t admitted that thought out loud until that point and once he had, it felt too real. He started to cry and Lily put her arm around him and walked him over to the couch she had just been seated in. She let him reveal all his fears and soothed his cries. Once he calmed down, she kneeled in front of him and looked him in the eye. “Danny, you are going to get through this. You are going to fight. You are so strong and you can beat this. You won’t be alone, your parents, Tommy, and I will be there for you every step of the way. No matter how hard it gets, you can never give up. I won’t let you.” For the past three years, she had kept that promise and had always been there for Danny no matter what: holding his hair as he got sick from his first round of chemo, shaving her own head when his hair fell out, and even now, during his darkest hour yet. Although he was so weak, he knew he had to be there for her too.            
            “Never give up, right Lily Pad?” Danny asked, using a nickname he’d given her years ago. She looked at him and smiled. “I love you,” she said as she snuggled next to him. “I love you too,” he replied and kissed her lips. Then it was apparent that the entire event used up all his energy and just as they got settled, Danny fell into a slumber. Lily laid there for a while, in his arms, listening to his gentle breathing in and out, and feeling his heart beat. A few years earlier, she would have taken these little things for granted, but now every second she experienced them, she felt as if she had won the lottery. Because in her opinion, every extra moment she had with him was better than any cash prize in the world could have ever been. 
            Eventually, Lily delicately moved from the bed to her chair, taking the greatest care not to stir him. She treasured his sleep since it seemed to be the only time he wasn’t in pain. From the moment she met Danny, she knew their journey would be one she would never forget. However, Lily would have never thought it would have been cut so short. The future was bleak, but whatever it would bring, Lily promised to stay by Danny’s side—even if that meant kneeling by a tombstone. Cancer may take her other half from her world, but it would never take him from her heart.