* * *
James William Widmark
"Good morning, grandpa," was my usual greeting to him every morning, as he sat on the couch. "Eric, you have a tiredness sleep cant cure," my grandpa would always respond, for I always had a dazed expression on my face. Those were the first words we exchanged every school day. In fact, we did it so often it felt weird to omit it from our schedule. Somehow, it shaped the rest of the day, it started the day right. The relationship I had with my grandpa revolved around repetition; I think he even structured it that way for me. Even on the ride to school, he drove the exact same way everyday. He had clock-like precession with all his other tasks too. I used to spend countless hours watching him make things with wood or metal. One time he had to make shelves to store a bunch of stuff for my grandma, which he called, "pure and utter junk." He checked and double-checked every measurement for the shelves. When I asked him why he measured so often, he taught me how to spell assume, "Always remember, when you assume the measurement is right, you'll make an ass out of u and me when it wont fit." I took that as the basis for how he operated; never assume and always be sure. At my young age I also figured that if I should be like anybody when I grew up, I should be like him. I still want to have the same qualities as my grandfather.
Over the countless hours my grandpa mentored me, I never saw him at the disadvantage, ever. Even while he was living his last moments in the hospital, with everyone around him, he still looked in charge. When he spoke his last words to my grandmother, what they were, I do not know, but a few moments later, his heart stopped beating. Even in his position, he knew when he would pass away. His mindset was always sure, in life or death.

* * *
Brisk
The touch of her hand to mine made me want to hug her. I gently grabbed her and just held her. It was a nice brisk winter afternoon when I saw her. We were outside, just walking. As we walked down the bike trail, I realized my life was in shambles. Since the previous spring, when my life changed, I had become a lost boy. I wondered my own mind trying to find a solution for my many problems, but I never found any. She was my only salvation; she was my savior.
She was the solution to my problems, so I thought. As we walked on that brisk winter day, down that narrow bike path while feeding the lonely ducks, I slowly got closer and closer to her, slowly we held hands, slowly we hugged, slowly we embraced, slowly life ended. We didn't part for the rest of the day, always touching each. She was keeping me afloat in the chaos of my personal storm. The bliss of that day lived on, for we were always exploring something new about each other.
Time shifts, time moves, time is liquid, time is solid, time is not absolute. Just as time changes, life does too. Soon after our close embrace, life changed for the worse. My savior abandoned me to the wolves, and they engulfed me. They ate every last morsel of my soul until there was nothing left, not even scavengers could be fed. The coldness of my life awakened me. The past, present, and future all seamed to move as one, predestining me to an awful fate. My soul was gone, but my mind was not. Things started to get better. There is hope for everyone.
On a brisk winter day everything I knew changed...

* * *
Thank You World
I was jumping higher and higher trying to reach up and touch the bright white ceiling. As I stretched and strained to grow taller, my grandpa walked into the room. He must have heard the bed cracking under the extreme load. However, he didn't shout at me, he just calmly told me, "Eric, stop jumping on the bed, you might hurt yourself." "No I won..ahh!" I fell off the bed and my smashed my fragile skull in a heavy dresser, engraving a gigantic gash that swelled with a river of oozing blood. My head made a sharp and sudden crack when it made abrasive contact with the dresser, a sound not unlike a bat making contact with a ball.
I was sprawled out on the floor, adding a nice "red wine" color to it. My grandpa chuckled slightly as he made sure my cranium was still intact. He used a nice clean towel to wrap around my head so the blood wouldn't flow so readily; the clean towel was soon dirty. My grandma took me to the hospital where I impatiently waited. My impatience made my headache considerably worse, causing more and more intense pain. I could feel the rush of pain throughout my entire body, which made my muscles spasm and threw my body into a state of shock.
Everything black.
When I awoke, I began to laugh. I could not feel my body at all; I was as light as a bird and flying over the valley below. The worthless cities below were busy with mindless ignorant people, only concerned about their pitiful lives. Several nurses held me down while one of them stitched my wonderfully bashed head. Another nurse administered some drug, another pain medicine no doubt. The birds fly high. Birds always fly high.

The memory of hitting the dresser always comes back whenever I realize I'm about to hurt myself. I hear my grandfathers voice going, "Eric...don't do that." I always hear the voice, and sometimes I ignore it. I get a sudden flashback of me, right before I hit the dresser, as my face is only a few inches away. Then the image turns into a video that fast forwards, amplifying the sound and the pain of the contact. If only I'd pay attention to my premonitions more often. Thank you world.

* * *
The Most Wonderful Thing in Life
Why does my heart feel so bad? Why do I feel so much pain? Why?
"Where were you when I was lonesome?" I asked the empty space above me as I laid in bed. It didn't answer. I had been left alone a lot as a young child, fending for myself when I could. Adults commented on my actions as, "growing up fast" or "being responsible." I called my tasks frivolous, pointless, meaningless, empty, hollow, blank, and worthless. I did not like being alone and hated being responsible. I wanted to join my fellow children in their joyful frolics throughout the wonderful world of childhood, but no, I could not. I was forced to stay at home, puttering around my dull life, wasting away my precious time. "I don't want to swim in the ocean, I don't want to fight the tide, I don't want to swim forever," I gently and quietly whispered to the ceiling, hoping it would respond with some cheerful comment. It didn't respond. The current pulled me out. The ocean was now my keeper, my faith, and it had my trust.
The one thing in life I longed for most was love. Just to be loved, and to love in return. To see a brilliant smile on someone's face as they greet me, to see someone happy because of me. More than anything else I wanted to feel appreciated, and to be held, and to be comforted, and to be a child. I would stare at some children as their parents greeted them after school. They would sweep them into their arms and hold them so tightly, it appeared as if they would become one. Oh, how jealous I was. Those lucky children, all I got was a signature as someone checked me out of childcare. Signatures always remind me of a sweeping motion, much like the ripples of the ocean.
As time ticks by, as the tide grows high, the imploding voice grows near. In my body, I do not feel anticipation, I do not feel fear; I prepare for the quarrel. The door rhythmically squeaks open to reveal the hidden culprit. The light shines from behind them, creating an imposing outline of a woman. She walks into the room and closes the door behind her, she is hidden, the room is dark. I watch from a distance as she quietly ventures to the kitchen to get a class of water. She drinks a glass of water from an old Garfield mug. She turns around and notices me, "Well hello there." Her words sound so kind, so tempting. I hide.
I know the truth that flows so near, so close, so deadly, so swift.
"Calm down, Eric," I hear distant whispers. "Everything is ok, everything is ok."
I wake up, my mother is holding me. With out a doubt, the best thing in life is to be loved, and love in return.

* * *
Whispering Wind
The day was right, the time was right, the wind was right. The autumn air is about, floating around, swirling the leaves off the ground, and majestically twirling them about. The soft air brushes against my face, turning me a slight tint of red. I notice her face also turned red, she looks so cute bundled up. I lightly bring my hand to hers, my fingertips gently caress her hand, she clasps my hand. We look each other in the eyes and continue outside into the whispering wind.
We run around the large yard, throwing leaves at each other and gently tackling each other, showing each other affection every possible moment. As we laid on top of the leaves, we held each other close. Our hands gently, and subtlety, touched each other. We both took advantage of the other's vulnerability and explored each other. All the while, the ever seeing wind surrounded us and threw leaves at us, as if it was trying to cover us. We did not care, we did not mind.
Her eyes were a slight hazel color, very pretty. Her light brown hair was shoulder length, very cute. She wore very relaxed clothing, very attractive. When she was happy, she was radiant with a strangle glow. When she smiled, she had a dimple on her cheek. When she was angry, the dimple looked even cuter.
Like the whispering wind in the top of the trees, I see you sway as you come for me. So subtle, so slight, so delicate, so fragile. I want to hold you close. Let me come to you. I see our dreams slip away, like the whispering wind.

* * *
Feeling So Real
I can feel my life in my hands, I can feel my soul in my spirit, I can sense the life within. "I'm feeling so real." Life is continuing down its path, there is no chance to turn back or alter the course. Accepting life as it comes is the only solution to any problem, life simply "is." The constant motion of life does not slow down for anyone, and worrying about such things as wasted time or a lost chance will only shorten life.
I was debating what to do, move out of LA and comeback to Sacramento, or stay? There were so many options, but which was I to choose? I had family in LA, but I didn't particularly get along with them. I enjoyed my family in Sacramento. LA was more comfortable. Sacramento was more work. LA made me sad. Sacramento made me happy.
"My mind was saying, 'Go! Go! Go!' so I went."