Comeuppance

Comeuppance
From The Realm of Possibility by David Levithan

She broke my nose. The doctors said she didn’t, that the bruise would go away. But I could tell. It was different than it was before. If I held a photo next to the mirror I didn’t match. Not perfectly.

It hurt. The moment of impact, sure. That tray coming out of nowhere, smashing me in the fact. But that didn’t hurt as much as the moment after. Looking around and seeing how pleased everyone was. How much they enjoyed it, as I bled.

Nobody deserves that. Think I’m a total bitch, whatever. I don’t care. I tell it like it is, and some people can’t deal with that. That’s no reason to make me bleed, and enjoy it. I could see the satisfaction on her face, and on everyone else’s.

It hadn’t been like that before. When Jill stole Roger from right under my nose, at my birthday party—well, I had everybody’s sympathy then. Or when Mr. Cooper tried to attack me in front of the whole class for refusing to read out loud the note he’d caught me writing to Amber—I was cheered for finally putting him in his place.

So this came out of nowhere.

Of course, my friends offered their condolences. Worked themselves into a lather of retribution, then moved on to other things, like facials. (Ooh, sorry, Cara, we know you won’t be able to get one with us, not with that bandage and all.)

I believe in having a code of ethics, and mine was basically: If you jerk me around, the I will jerk you right back, harder. But I found that because that girl had attacked me so openly, my credibility was gone. Nobody would believe a word I said about her, not even an innuendo.

Every day, I called the doctor and begged for him to take the tape off my face. Do you want it misaligned? He asked, and I knew instantly that he’d been unpopular in high school, which was why he’d branded me with this scarlet Loser to walk the halls with. It wasn’t even the kind of bruise guys find brave.

I complained to Amber, told her I didn’t deserve this. After all, I’d only been trying to warn that boy Andy. I remember what her sister had done o his brother. I remember Mike being so sad that he couldn’t understand when I tried to comfort him. I wasn’t saying anything that wasn’t a fact. I had his best interest at heart.

Amber just nodded, told me I was right. I don’t even think she was listening. And while I know I should have been grateful for her unquestioning loyalty—she was simply assuming I was right, after all—it still got to me. I reminded her that I was the one who warned her about Jakob. Sure enough, he cheated on Brenda two weeks later. That would have been you, I reminded her. She sighed, said whatever.

I tried to be a vigilant person. Keeping watch, confronting people with the truth, even if it hurt them. In the long run, it was always better to know. That’s what I believed. The poison cure. Then one day, right after my bandage had come off, I got to English class and found something written on my desk. YOU ARE UNABLE TO COMMISERATE. Other words had been written there, too. But I hadn’t noticed them until this sentence appeared.

I looked around. Who had done this to me? Why would they say that? I wanted to stand up right there and say I am a very commiserating person, thank you very much. But luckily I stopped myself. I realized that the words weren’t meant for me. Just something written on a desk, some jerk venting.

That should have been that. But words stayed with me. When I sat down the next day there was something else: YOU ARE HAPPY EVEN IF YOU ARE AFRAID TO ADMIT IT. And the opposite happened. I realized the words weren’t meant for me, and that struck me just as hard. I took the bottled water out of my bad and tried to wipe the words away. It was no use. No matter how hard I tried, they wouldn’t leave me alone. I saw people looking, wondering why I was attacking my desk with a wet tissue. I stopped.

I knew Amber had English the period before me, so I asked her if she’d seen anything. She said yes, this obnoxious goth girl like to write things all over her desk. Does she know me? I asked, and Amber looked at me like I was out of my mind. I got to English early the next day, and saw who she means. This depressing girl, so far beyond a makeover. I stood there by the door as she left, waiting for some kind of recognition. When she passed by, I was relieved, and a little disappointed.

But there it was on the desk again—YOU ARE FOOLISH IN YOUR UNHAPPINESS. This time I just snapped. Why is she doing this? As I felt my unhappiness collecting in my throat. Why am I doing this? It still hurt to breath sometimes, with a broken nose an all Now it was a different kind of hurt. I felt foolish, yes. Foolish because I felt alone in this. How many times had I told something The truth hurts. Without ever really knowing what it felt like, until that stupid desk.

I switched seats. I tried to block it out. I looked at the boy who took my place, and he didn’t seem fazed. Then the words started to appear other places. Sitting in a stall, doing my business, when suddenly I look up and see YOU ARE NOT WHO YOU BELIEVE YOU ARE. The same handwriting. Waiting for me. I thought of that question—Who do you think you are?—and realized it’s not one you ever get a chance to answer. I tried to answer it, right there in the stall. I am a good friend. I am a truth seeker. I am a bitch. A gossip. Someone who gets hit with a tray in the middle of the cafeteria and gets no sympathy. And I thought If I’m not any of these things, what am I?

I tried to talk to Amber about it, but she said flat out that I shouldn’t let any loser’s graffiti get into my head. They’re all out to get us, she said. And when I asked why, she just sighed and said, Because we’re better, I guess. We have what they want. Two weeks ago, the same words would have come from my mouth. Now they seemed empty. I didn’t feel any better. YOU WEAR TOO MANY MASKS was written over my locker the following day. This time, I had an answer. I though, No, I only wear one. People were starting to talk about the writing. Everyone seemed to think it was about them. A personal attack. The old me had to admire the way this girl had managed to get under everyone’s skin all at once.

Some days it was just one word. PLEASE or ANYTHING. One day it was PROTECT ME FROM WHAT I WANT. What I wanted was everything to go back to when my nose was straight and my behavior unquestioned (at least by me). I saw Andy and that girl who hit me walking the halls together, happy. I saw her balance his books on her head while he looked for something in his locker. I could have knocked them off as I passed. One simple mean reach. But instead I stayed in the background, alone.

I went the long way through school, trying to collect all the phrases. I wondered if the goth girl kept a list. YOU SHOULD NOT WALK AWAY QUITE YET. When I found that one, in a corner outside the auditorium, I sat down and stared. Because what I wanted to walk away from was myself. In fact, I felt I’d already started. I took a bottle of nail polish out of my purse and traced the letters. This sophomore passed by and gave me a strange look. I told him to get lost. Then I dipped the brush again, turned a W red. The smell of the nail polish made me think of Amber and the rest of my friends. I missed them, but in theory. It wasn’t them I missed, but friendship. QUITE YET.

I learned the goth girl’s name when the principal called her down to the office. Charlotte Marshall. The words stopped coming. I didn’t know what to do. I sat at the same lunch table, I went to the same classes. I stopped talking and nobody noticed, not unless there was something spiteful to be said. Amber asked me if I had gone on medication. Liza offered me some of her own. My mother took me shopping. I didn’t know what to do with the four shirts I bough. Well, I knew to wear them. But it all seems park of the mask. Was there anything underneath?

A few days later, I saw Charlotte walking down the hallway. I saw writing on her arm, and before I knew what I was doing, I reached out for her wrist. YOU ARE IMPLICATED, it said. And suddenly I was asking her What do you mean? She looked at me, not knowing. Why are you doing this? She shrugged and I let go of her wrist. I was shocked: she didn’t have any more answers than I did. She just knew how to raise the questions.

That night, I locked myself in the bathroom. I let the water run, stood in front of the mirror. Then I took out the box of Crayola markers I’d had in my desk since I was a little kid. Most of them had dried out, but the green still wrote. I started on the inside of my arms. YOU ARE IMPLICATED. YOU ARE FOOLISH IN YOUR UNHAPPINESS. YOU ARE NOT WHO YOU BELIEVE YOU ARE. YOU WEAR TOO MANY MASKS. I tried her handwriting, but ended up with my own. PROTECT ME and I ran out of room. I turned over m arm FROM WHAT I WANT.

My legs were next. In big letters. YOU ARE UNABLE TO COMMISERATE. YOU ARE UNABLE TO WALK AWAY. YOU HAVE NO ONE. YOU ARE NO ONE. I had forgotten what else she’d written. I was on my own now. YOU ARE FULL OF SPITE. YOU FRIENDS ARE NOT REAL. YOU HAVE PUT YOURSELF IN A CORNER. THERE IS NO ESCAPE.

The steam rising now. I took off my shirt and skirt, stood there in my underwear. BITCH. LIAR. LOSER. UGLY. SAD. I wish I could say it felt good, but it felt horrible. STOP CRYING. STOP IT NOW. YOU WILL GO TO COLLEGE AND EVERYBODY WILL HATE YOU. THIS IS THE TRUTH. DEAL WITH IT.

All of these things had been inside me. Now they were spelled out, upside down so I could read them. Backwards in the mirror. I was ready to put down the pen, give up. But there was something else inside me, too. YOU ARE NOT BEING FAIR, it wrote. YOU CAN BE LOYAL. YOU CAN BE STRONG. YOU ARE SMARK. YOU KNOW HOW THINGS WORK. The words were beginning to overlap. The marker was fading with every new letter. YOU KNOW WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO on the bottom of my foot. Then I did something one of the metalheads at school always does. HATE on the knuckles of one hang. LOVE across the other.

I laughed when I saw myself in the mirror. I stared long and hard, so I would remember. Then I slipped into the tub. The water turned green instantly. I drained it out, let new water in. It was so hot I could barely tell the difference between my sweat and the steam. But I got used to it. I looked down at myself and most of the words were still there. I closed my eyes and I remembered what it was like when I was younger. The night before the first day of school, I would stand under the shower and make all kinds of resolutions. I will be more popular. I will get good grades. And I swear I can remember, I will be a better person. At some point I stopped doing this. Maybe I forgot. Or maybe I knew the resolutions never carried over when I got to school.

I WILL BE A BETTER PERSON. I know it’s hard to believe. From me. From the bitch who got pummeled with an orange tray. But I knew—I hadn’t become the worst kind of person yet. I had to believe that. I took down the washcloth and started scouring my skin. Floods of soap. My skin raw under the rub. The words vanishing, the letters erased. Only a green-tinted reminder. A ring around the tub once it emptied. A spot or two on my body that I’d missed. On purpose, for now.

I did not apologize to Elizabeth, but I stopped saying she owed me an apology. I did not ditch my friends. I simply tried to shift the tone a little. It was hard sometimes, not to attack. But I felt some strength in the holding back. YOU WILL BE A BETTER PERSON. I wrote it wherever I could. What’s gotten into you? Amber asked, looking at me seriously for the first time in ages. And I said, It’s actually something that’s gotten out of me. She didn’t understand, and I honestly didn’t expect her to. I have no more idea now of who I am than I did before. But at least I know that. And I’m starting to figure out who I want to be. Whether it was the tray, Charlotte’s words, or something else that caused it to happen, all I can say is this: Being a bitch is easy. It’s finding the alternative that’s hard.

Sinko, I love you.

Exert from Buying Lenin by Miroslav Penkov
The Best American Short Stories (2008)

The other day, I got a letter in the mail. I did not open it for a very long time. I had no strength. I cried for two days and then finally made myself take out the letter.

"Dear Grandson," it said. "I am dead now. I instructed Comrade Penkov to send this in the mail the day my heart would stop beating. He is a good man. He would pay for the shipping expenses.

"Grandson, we've had a hard life, you and I. We grew old, not with years, but with deaths. You are now one death older. Carry this baggage with dignity, and don't let it break your back. Always remember that you've suffered a lot more than many, but that others have suffered even greater pains. Be thankful for what you have. For what you've seen and for what you've been spared from seeing.

"They are easy prey, the crawfish," Grandpa went on. "You catch one, but the others don't run away. The other don't even know you are there until you pick them up, and even then they still have no idea. All this teaches us a lesson about human nature, Grandson, a lesson you should remember: Not every stick that falls in your pincers is worth pinching. Sometimes pinching the wrong stick may even take you to your end. So think carefull, my dear one, which stick to pinch and which to miss. Fight only the fights that are worthy; let all others pass you. And even when the stick hits hard, learn not to pinch it back.

"My dear one, forgive me."

And at the end Grandpa had written just four words.

"Sinko, I love you."

Searching for Happiness

Why does it make me so sad when I think back to that time? Is it yearning for past happiness-- for I was happy in the weeks that followed, in which I really did work like a lunatic and passed the class, and we made love as if nothing else in the world mattered. Is it the knowledge of what came later, and that what came out afterwards had been there all along?

Why? Why does what was beautiful suddenly shatter in hindsight because it concealed dark truths? Why does the memory of years of happy marriage turn to gall when our partner is revealed to have had a lover all those years? Because such a situation makes it impossible to be happy? But we were happy! Sometimes the memory of happiness cannot stay true because it ended unhappily. Because happiness is only real if it last forever? Because things always end painfully if they contain pain, conscious or unconscious, all along? But what is unconscious, unrecognized pain?

Exert from "The Reader" by Bernhard Schlink

45 Life Lessons

This is something we should all read at least once a week!

"To celebrate growing older, I once wrote the 45 lessons life taught me. It is the most-requested column I've ever written."

My odometer rolled over to 90 in August, so here is the column once more:

1. Life isn't fair, but it's still good.

2. When in doubt, just take the next small step.

3. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone.

4. Your job won't take care of you when you are sick. Your friends and parents will. Stay in touch.

5. Pay off your credit cards every month.

6. You don't have to win every argument. Agree to disagree.

7. Cry with someone. It's more healing than crying alone.

8. It's OK to get angry with God. He can take it.

9. Save for retirement starting with your first paycheck.

10. When it comes to chocolate, resistance is futile.

11. Make peace with your past so it won't screw up the present.

12 It's OK to let your children see you cry.

13. Don't compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about.

14. If a relationship has to be a secret, you shouldn't be in it.

15. Everything can change in the blink of an eye. But don't worry; God never blinks.

16. Take a deep breath. It calms the mind.

17. Get rid of anything that isn't useful, beautiful or joyful.

18. Whatever doesn't kill you really does make you stronger.

19. It's never too late to have a happy childhood. But the second one is up to you and no one else.

20. When it comes to going after what you love in life, don't take no for an answer.

21. Burn the candles, use the nice sheets, wear the fancy lingerie. Don't save it for a special occasion. Today is special.

22. Over prepare, then go with the flow.

23. Be eccentric now. Don't wait for old age to wear purple.

24. The most important sex organ is the brain.

25. No one is in charge of your happiness but you.

26. Frame every so-called disaster with these words 'In five years, will this matter?'

27. Always choose life.

28. Forgive everyone everything.

29. What other people think of you is none of your business.

30. Time heals almost everything. Give time time.

31. However good or bad a situation is, it will change.

32. Don't take yourself so seriously. No one else does.

33. Believe in miracles.

34. God loves you because of who God is, not because of anything you did or didn't do.

35. Don't audit life. Show up and make the most of it now.

36. Growing old beats the alternative -- dying young.

37. Your children get only one childhood.

38. All that truly matters in the end is that you loved.

39. Get outside every day. Miracles are waiting everywhere.

40 If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else's,we'd grab ours back.

41. Envy is a waste of time. You already have all you need.

42. The best is yet to come.

43. No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up.

44. Yield.

45. Life isn't tied with a bow, but it's still a gift."

The Fog

But then, as always, the mist starts to form as we stand close to one another. It is a distant fog that rises from the horizon, and I find that I grow fearful as it approaches. It slowly creeps in, enveloping the world around us, fencing us in as if to prevent escape. Like a rolling cloud, it blankets everything, closing, until there is nothing left but the the two of us.

I feel my throat being to close and my eyes well up with tears because I know it is time for you to go. The look you give me at that moment haunts me. I feel your sadness and my own loneliness, and the ache in my heart that had been silent for only a short time grows stronger as you release me. And then you spread your arms and step back into the fog because it is your place and not mine. I long to go with you, but your only response is to shake your head because we both know that is impossible.

And I watch with breaking heart as you slowly fade away. I find myself straining to remember everything about this moment, everything about you. But soon, always too soon, your image vanishes and the fog rolls back to its faraway place and I am alone on the pier and I do not care what others think as I bow my head and cry and cry and cry.

- Message in a Bottle by Nicholas Sparks

The Story of the Five Balls

It was while I was recuperating that a doctor friend told me the story of the five balls. You should never forget this one, Nicky. This is terribly important.

It goes like this.

Imagine life is a game in which you are juggling five balls. The balls are called work, family, health, friends, and integrity. And you're keeping all of them in the air. But one day you finally come to understand that work is a rubber ball. If you drop it, it will bounce back. The other four balls-- family, health, friends, integrity-- are made of glass. If you drop one of these, it will be irrevocably scuffed, nicked, perhaps even shattered. And once you truly understand the lesson of the five balls, you will have the beginnings of balance in your life.

Nicky, I finally understood.

Exert from "Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas"
By James Patterson

Five lessons to make you think about the way we treat people.

Five lessons to make you think about the way we treat people.

1 - First Important Lesson - Cleaning Lady.

During my second month of college, our professor
gave us a pop quiz. I was a conscientious student
and had breezed through the questions until I read
the last one:

'What is the first name of the woman who cleans the school?'

Surely this was some kind of joke. I had seen the
cleaning woman several times. She was tall,
dark-haired and in her 50's, but how would I know her name?

I handed in my paper, leaving the last question
blank. Just before class ended, one student asked if
The last question would count toward our quiz grade.

'Absolutely,' said the professor. 'In your careers,
you will meet many people. All are significant. They
deserve your attention and care, even if all you do
is smile and say 'hello.'

I've never forgotten that lesson. I also learned her
name was Dorothy.

2. - Second Important Lesson - Pickup in the Rain

One night, at 11:3 0 p.m., an older African American
woman was standing on the side of an Alabama highway
trying to endure a lashing rainstorm. Her car had
broken down and she desperately needed a ride.
Soaking wet, she decided to flag down the next car.
A young white man stopped to=2 0help her, generally
unheard of in those conflict-filled 60s'.. The man
took her to safety, helped her get assistance and
put her into a taxicab.

She seemed to be in a big hurry, but wrote down his
address and thanked him. Seven days went by and a
knock came on the man's door. To his surprise, a
giant console color TV was delivered to his home. A
special note was attached..

It read:
'Thank you so much for assisting me on the highway
the other night. The rain drenched not only my
clothes, but also my spirits. Then you came along.
Because of you, I was able to make it to my dying
husband's bedside just before he passed away.. God
bless you for helping me and unselfishly serving
others.'

Sincerely, Mrs. Nat King Cole.

3 - Third Important Lesson - Always remember those who serve.

In the days when an ice cream sundae cost much less,
a 10-year-old boy entered a hotel coffee shop and
sat at a table. A waitress put a glass of water in front of him.

'How much is an ice cream sundae?' he asked.

'Fifty cents,' replied the waitress.
The little boy pulled is hand out of his pocket and
studied the coins in it.
'Well, how much is a plain dish of ice cream?' he inquired.
By now more people were waiting for a table and the
waitress was growing impatient.
'Thirty-five cents,' she brusquely replied.
The little boy again counted his coins.
'I'll have the plain ice cream,' he said.
The waitress brought the ice cream, put the bill on
the table and walked away. The boy finished the ice
cream, paid the cashier and left. When the waitress
came back, she began to cry as she wiped down the
table. There, placed neatly beside the empty dish,
were two nickels and five pennies..

You see, he couldn't have the sundae, because he had
to have enough left to leave her a tip.


4 - Fourth Important Lesson. - The obstacle in Our Path.

In ancient times, a King had a boulder placed on a
roadway. Then he hid himself and watched to see if
anyone would remove the huge rock Some of the
king's wealthiest merchants and courtiers came by
and simply walked around it. Many loudly blamed the
King for not keeping the roads clear, but none did
anything about getting the stone out of the way.

Then a peasant came along carrying a load of
vegetables. Upon approaching the boulder, the
peasant lai d down his burden and tried to move the
stone to the side of the road. After much pushing
and straining, he finally succeeded. After the
peasant picked up his load of vegetables, he noticed
a purse lying in the road where the boulder had
been. The purse contained many gold coins and a note
from the King indicating that the gold was for the
person who removed the boulder from the roadway. The
peasant learned what many of us never understand!

Every obstacle presents an opportunity to improve our condition.

5 - Fifth Important Lesson - Giving When it Counts...

Many years ago, when I worked as a volunteer at a
hospital, I got to know a little girl named Liz who
was suffering from a rare & serious disease. Her only
chance of recovery appeared to be a blood
transfusion from her 5-year old brother, who had
miraculously survived the same disease and had
developed the antibodies needed to combat the
illness.. The doctor explained the situation to her
little brother, and asked the little boy if he would
be willing to give his blood to his sister.

I saw him hesitate for only a moment before taking a
deep breath and saying, 'Yes I'll do it if it will
save her.' As the transfusion progressed, he lay in
bed next to his sister and smiled, as we all di d,
seeing the color returning to her cheek. Then his
face grew pale and his smile faded.

He looked up at the doctor and asked with a
trembling voice, 'Will I start to die right away'.

Being young, the little boy had misunderstood the
doctor; he thought he was going to have to give his
sister all of his blood in order to save her but he had chosen to save her anyway.

Work like you don't need the money.
Love like you've never been hurt.
Dance like you do when nobody's watching.
And above all pray.