My Struggled Path

During my senior year of high school I had to write a fictional story, and I ended up really getting into it.. I love the way I took it, but review it as you wish.

“Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will.” -Mahatma Gandhi

I begin my story with this quote, for it was truly my inner strength which defeated the oppressive force that hindered my life all those years. Honestly, had I not discovered that inner voice, I may still be back there, lying in a pool of defeat. My name is Damien Hart, and this is my struggled path.

To give an idea of who you’ll be reading about, I am 5’ 11’’ with short, wavy black hair and soft blue-grey eyes. In actuality, I’m pretty lanky and skinny, and though I consider myself to be fit, when I tell people I weigh-in at a mild 155lbs. I’m not surprised to hear a few gasps among them. But, I’m happy with it, and that’s what counts. I’ve always considered myself an artistic person, whether it be painting, writing, or music, I love it all. The latter is the one I’ve stuck with throughout the years of my high school life. Our school had an orchestra, which is where I discovered my love and passion for music. I took up cello my Freshman year and never put it down, taking every chance I could find to play it. As crazy as it seems I found one, cheap enough for my wallet, but still a quality instrument. I came across a garage sale during the summer of my sophomore year. Having nothing better to do I went in and took a look around. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a big black case hidden behind a clothing rack. Faded and dusty, it seemed to have been sitting there for quite some time. I asked for the price, but the woman told me in a doubtful voice, “That piece of junk? I’ll give it to you for $100.” It was a done deal, and I had scored myself a cello.

Luckily enough, I’ve also found the girl of my dreams, Skylar. We’ve been dating now since Sophomore year, and are still very much in love. I’ll never forget the first time we met, she had just moved here from Manhattan, due to her father’s work as a chef. I was practicing my cello in the park for a gig I was playing that night at a local restaurant, Charlie’s Café. Just as I was halfway through my piece, a girl who seemed about my age and her father walked by, smiling as if to say they liked it. As I looked back at them, I saw the girl, our eyes met, and I immediately fell head over heels. I’d say she was of a medium frame around 5’ 5’’ with dark brown hair that had an almost reddish tint to it, which seemed as fine as the silk bow holding the hair out of her face. Her skin was fair, a few freckles here and there; just enough to pique my interest. Her eyes are what truly captivated me, though; green like pools of emerald, but delicate as the gem itself. I was entranced to say the least. That night as I prepared for the gig I couldn’t get her image out of my mind. As I polished my cello, and loaded it into my powder blue 1964 Volkswagen bus, I prayed with all my strength that I’d get to see her again. As fate answered my call, I walked into the Café to see her taking someone’s order. Without her notice, I found the manager who led me into the back. Walking through the kitchen to get to the stage area, I met the girl’s father who was working that night, as well. We shook hands and he introduced himself as Allen Page. He told the manager, who had been standing there patiently, “If this is our entertainment, we’re in for a real treat!” Assuming that we had met somewhere before, the manager flashed me a friendly smile and guided me into a back room, where I prepared myself until I heard my name called. “Now introducing your entertainment for the night, local cellist Damien Hart”, the manager announced. I walked out, took a bow, and sat down. I looked out amongst the crowd, searching for the girl who had stolen my heart. At long last our eyes met once again, and I began to play as though I had been holding my ability on reserve just for this moment. I closed my eyes and let my memory guide me. The music seemed to flow out in everlasting waves of deepening emotion which I had never experienced before. It was as if my soul was beckoning out to her, putting forth everything it had to offer. Before I knew it, my hands had ceased all movement and my bow lowered to my side. The song was over and reality was settling back in. Having focused all my attention on the piece, I lifted my head to see everyone silent, and looking at me with such wonder. I rose from my seat only to receive a standing ovation from the entire restaurant. I took a brief second to search for my muse, the reason behind my expressive performance. I could see her out there standing silently, one amongst the crowd of cheers. A sharp glance only long enough to see each other smile. That evening, after the crowd died down and closing time was near, my payment was $40 and a free meal. Seizing this opportunity, I approached the girl who had been haunting my thoughts all day and introduced myself, “Good evening, my name is Damien Hart.” She replied with a soft voice that was ever-so soothing to my ears, “Nice to meet you, I’m Skylar, me and my father just moved here from Manhattan.” Seeing as I had just scored a free meal and $40, I invited her to have dinner with me. From there I’ll let you guess what happened, as our story is for another time.

My story begins in the fall of 1993, a dreary time of the year. As these days pass by and mash together from weeks into months, I realize how much more I could be doing with my life. A recent graduate of the class of 92, I am 18 going on 19, years of age and live alone with my divorced mother in Brooklyn, NY. My father was in the military, a man of character, who decidedly left the family when he could no longer stand my mother’s alcohol abuse. He loved me dearly, but felt that it may not be best for a military man to raise an infant alone. I don’t blame him, I couldn’t see myself as the “military” son I’m sure he would have wanted. From what I’ve heard, he remarried and is living happily in Georgia. Wish I could say the same for myself.

Growing up with a troubled mother is no easy task. I’m surprised to see that I’ve stayed out of trouble, despite the fact that it seems to run in the family. My mother, Amy, is a middle-aged woman of 42. She holds a medium frame, 5’4’’ with dirty blonde hair and pained brown eyes. Her skin is worn and wrinkled, like a tree scorched by the wicked rays of the sun. Sure, she’s been a little reckless over the years, but I still love her. I mean, I owe it to her, don’t I?

As soon as I was old enough to work, she had me get a job. Sadly enough, my paychecks were split 60/40, with her on the upper side. She’d say things like, “I raised you from birth, put clothes on your back, and food in your stomach. You owe me.” I never went against her word and simply accepted it for what it was. It wasn’t until now that I started to question her demands. I had been working at least four years now, on and off at various jobs, always manual labor which required heavy lifting or running around. It was my hard work, my sweat, blood, and tears that earned that money. You know what she did? She worked at a gas station, and spent most of her paychecks on alcohol and lottery tickets, so you can obviously guess what she did with her portion of my money. As soon as I entered high school, it was my job to start paying for my own needs. Four years in the making, I finally realized that I needed to get out of there before I got sucked in forever.

I’ve always been so thankful to have Skylar in my life. She was my escape from the violence and abuse, though I’ll never tell her about it simply because I don’t want her to worry. She has met my mother once, but thankfully she was sober enough to seem normal. Skylar is the reason why I’m still alive and kicking. As soon as senior year finished out, we had planned to buy an apartment together. Between my years of continuos labor�"though my paychecks were raided, I was still making steady amounts, saving up to now�"and Skylar’s waitressing at the local restaurant, we were well on our way. I was excited to move out, but I could feel ties to my mother holding me back. I was afraid of what might happen if I left her alone.   

After a few days of worrying, I did my best to suppress my fears and focus on myself. I performed at the Café once again, a season-themed Christmas show of sorts.  A man in the audience caught my attention, standing out from the rest. He was wearing an expensive-looking suit, which was a tad unusual considering the laid back norm around here. After the show he approached me and introduced himself as the representative for a professional orchestra in the area, composed of only the best players of wind, percussion, and stringed instruments, alike. I was a bit confused about why this guy was talking to me, I wouldn’t even think of considering myself as good as some of the people in an orchestra. But sure enough, he offered me an audition in the spring of next year, at which point I said yes with every smidgen of excitement in my body, and I’m sure he could see that too. Afterwards, I packed up my gear and drove to Skylar’s house. Shivering from the bitter winds of the season, I rung the doorbell and Allen, Skylar’s father, answered. “Damien, you’ll catch a cold in this kind of weather, come inside.” I walked through the doorway and into the family room to find Skylar wrapped up in a blanket on the couch, a big smile on her face, just for me. I sauntered over and sat down, while Allen flopped into the recliner beside us. Wrapping my arm around Sky, I pulled her close to me enjoying the warmth of the blanket.  They could tell by the seemingly painful ear-to-ear smile on my face, that something was up. So, I told them about the audition I was offered and both of them excitedly congratulated me. I decided to stay the night with Skylar, since it was already so late and I was comfy-cozy.

The next day I awoke to see the love of my life huddled next to me, still asleep. As I lay there watching her smile, so far away and dreaming, I realized it’s moments like these that I’ll treasure forever. Looking about the room, I could see the things which made up her everyday life. The walls painted a medium, yet eye-pleasing shade of blue. It seemed almost teal as the sunlight reflected upon its darkest depths. Sky loved the water, and the beautiful uses nature gave it. The way waves rolled in, white-tailing, eventually crashing into the rocks below. How the rain would fall for what felt like days at a time, drop by drop, splashing against the world. Her room was a testament to her love of water. Atop her dresser stood the fragrances which made her even more desirable to me. One in particular stood out, as she wore it most often. Closing my eyes, scents of a fresh-picked bouquet of flowers, ranging from the brilliant aura of the vanilla orchid to her favorite, the awe-inspiring cherry blossoms, began to reminisce in my mind. Lastly, the mirror which rested above her dresser, holding my notes in place. While we were still in high school�"a year or so into our relationship�"I would write her these notes which revealed how deep my feelings went on for her. The very first one I composed still resides in my mind today, “As our eyes met, a dance of the intellect took place. A breath of chance, gazing into possibility, and a hesitant return. As to pull the trigger of a loaded gun, spark and ignite our passions.”

Wandering within my own world, I soon realized a half hour had passed. I slowly peeked down to see those ever-so beautiful eyes looking up to me with such whole-hearted content. I took her hands in mine, folding them in an unbreakable bond. We smiled and drew our faces near gently bringing our lips together. Her smooth skin and sensual touch sent shivers down my spine, just as a metal rod gets struck by lightning. Slowly breaking it off, I lightly nudged her ear with my nose and whispered, “Good morning, beautiful.” I could feel her smile grow on my cheek, followed by a slightly tighter squeeze on my hand. Somehow we managed to fully awaken and sit up. I looked at the clock, 10:18 am. I struggled as I fought the urge to stay with my love, admitting, sadly, that it was time for me to head home. I got dressed and hugged Skylar�"receiving a small peck on the cheek followed by a whisper which I gladly returned, “I love you”,  and headed out the door with a smile on my face.

Nothing could wipe that smile off my face. Not the harsh winter winds or the slush, which I carefully drove home in. I arrived home to find my mother, sitting at the kitchen table, head down on one arm, with the other dangling at her side holding a bottle of rum, nearly empty. I walked into the room and happily greeted her, “Mom, you’ll never believe what happened, I was offered an audition to get into a professional orchestra!”  An angry, drunken slur of words were then yelled back at me, “Where th�"e hell have you been, (hiccup) I was s�"pposed to get my share of your pay�"sheck last night!” “Now, wha�"’s this I hear ‘bout an audition? Stop wastin’ y�"ur time wit that music crap, you ain’t goin’ no where wit it!” That was the final straw, the only thing that could take away my happiness, my mother demanding me, her son, to not only give up his hard-earned money to fuel her alcohol abuse, but also to give up on his dreams. My temper flared, “No, I refuse to give you anymore of the money I’ve earned! As to my dreams, which apparently mean nothing to y�"” then something happened, which I never saw coming. Amy, in the heat of my explosive outburst, had gotten up, walked over, and slapped me hard across the face, stopping me dead in my tracks. “Look at you talking like you’re all high and mighty, don’t you forget who brought you into this world! You think I wanted to have you? No, it was your lousy excuse for a father who talked me into keeping your worthless self, and putting me through all the pain and trouble that came with you!” In a fit of rage I dashed out of the apartment, hopped in my van and drove to my favorite place to think, the park.

The street lay bare and soundless as I slowly neared the curbside. Turning the key and pulling it from the ignition, I sat there in silence, glaring into the rear-view mirror with an intense look of resentment in my eyes, sizing up the mark my mother had laid upon me. As thoughts of hatred and revenge shrouded my mind, I observed the area surrounding me. Lifeless. Everything was locked in a state of misery, just like me. I felt like I was stuck in an old black and white film; overbearing white snow, stale overcast skies of gray. It was as if all the happiness in life had vanished. This gloomy vibe added to my melancholy, drawing out even more sorrow from within. I heard a faint knock on my passenger side window, the last person I wanted to see me in this state, Sky.

I unlocked the door, but couldn’t bring myself to look her in the eye as she sat down. Still in silence, she pulled me in for a much needed embrace. As we sat there in each others arms, I could feel her cold tears on my face. My mouth resting next to her ear, I whispered with a shaky voice, “I.. I don’t know what to do.” Clutching me even tighter she whispered back with a gentle voice, “We can get through this, together. I promise, I’ll never leave your side.” Coming back to my senses I took a deep breath, regaining my composure. Bringing my voice up from a whisper, I said “..and I’ll never leave your side.” Pulling away, I wiped the remaining tears from her face. Looking into those watery eyes, I felt a rush of confidence. The time had come, I knew what had to be done.

Now passing through the midst of January, the weather remained frigid. It’s rough, barren feel began to reflect upon the people. Less than enthused, I stood before the door which divided me from the monster I was forced to call “mother”. Taking in a deep breath, I turned the knob, opening the door with a loud creak. A stench of alcohol hit me as I entered the apartment, but I was used to it. Walking into my room with a trash bag in hand, I gathered everything of meaning: clothes, a few paintings I made, several books. Tying off the bag, I threw it over my shoulder and headed out. My hand on the doorknob, I caught scent of smoke in the air. I heard the flick of a thumb as fresh ash fell from the fiery tip of a cigarette. I turned around to find my oppressor casually seated in the armchair across the way. In a wheezy voice, she questioned “Where’re you off to? Never mind, that’s not important. I am gonna need that money before you�"” After everything, I couldn’t believe she still expected me to give her the money. Keeping a level head, I strongly replied “No.” Opening the door, I walked out into the hallway of the complex. Slowly looking over my shoulder, an emotionless expression about my face, I stoically voiced “Goodbye, mother” gently closing the door. Thereafter, I sat in my van taking in a breath of newfound confidence and releasing with a sigh of liberation. Needless to say, I was free.

Seeing as it has only been two months time since I discovered my true voice and found deliverance, I’m proud of what I’ve achieved thus far. Sky and I compiled our money and bought our own apartment. It isn’t luxurious by any means, but it is our home, and that’s what makes it special. The complex lies right along the water, giving Sky the view of the ocean, which she and I both adore. Remember that audition I was offered? I had it a few weeks ago, and just received my results yesterday. At first, I didn’t fully realize what I was trying out for, but with my acceptance letter I read that I had been hired into the, New York Philharmonic Orchestra! As I read the page, I thought it had to be a fraud, but my doubts were erased when I got a call to see if I had received the letter. Everything is going so well, I couldn’t be more thankful. However, there is something that has been weighing down my thoughts, lately. I can’t seem to choose between a vintage ring with a round diamond or a modern one with a square cut... 

Author's Note

An easy read, but try to look past that. Thanks in advance (: