My Name.

              My name never really mattered. Ones that once knew it, eventually forgot it. Sometimes I feel like I must remind myself that I even have one-- Just like every person does. And when I think of my name, I still manage to find myself as insignificant as before. A voice unheard.. A face unseen. I am my own person-- Not that I like it that way. That's just the way it has always been.
           
             My name is Shannon. A normal name for the abnormal. It means honesty.. Loyalty. A severe case of bad luck. It is like the lonely duck or the child that plays by themself. Like a cloudy day.

             I try my best to make a smile, a statement, but no one is listening. I spent most of my life wishing that the world wasn't as lonely as it seems.

            My name, just like any other name in the eight billion humanoids.. I feel like my name is at the bottom of the list. One can spend their entire life reading through these names and die before reaching mine.

Based from the Candy and Me memoir

Growing up is never an easy thing to accomplish. Not even years should be the notation of how old one is. It's the amount of years inside the human mind that make us age.

Scooby-Doo

When I was young, Scooby-Doo and his crew of "meddling kids" were my best friends. When I was alone, they were my comfort and entertainment. When my mother was gone all day at work, or where ever she was at the time, I was hanging out with my best pals.

Birthdays, Christmas' never held much of a surprise to me. I always knew what was behind that beautiful, crinkly colored paper. And I was always right. Scooby-Doo stuffed animals, Scooby-Doo jewelry, Scooby-Doo board games, pillow cases and blankets. And on a good day, my mother would even bring home a box of Scooby-Doo fruit snacks. He was my animated model. Well, for a while that is.

I soon figured out that every ghoul, ghost or creature was just a normal human being. Someone that wanted something. There was no supernatural creature. No scary, wicked beast. I began to become bored-- lonely even.

My friendship began to fade.

　PowerPuff Girls

Not long after my infatuation with Scooby-Doo had sizzled out, I had discovered something new. Something that every young girl dreamt of-- the abnormal.

I watched with fascination as they zoomed about in the skies and had always thought how it would be amazing, electrifying to fly. Or how they could punish those who have done wrong and be praised for it.

I often pretended I was one of the Powerpuff Girls; running around on the playground with two of my class peers. We thought we were unstoppable. We'd run from one side of our pretend village to the other side, our hair whiplashing our face, the adrenaline of how fast our feet were carrying us, our hot rapid breath. I loved the feeling of the wind through my small fingers. I loved feeling as if I could fly or be more than what I was, really.

As I grew, I learned that I'd never learn to fly and my love for the Powerpuff Girls died out.

Dragon Ball Z

At seven or age eight my agenda was very simple. I went to school and then came home and watched my favorite animated television show while eating almost an entire bag of nacho Dorito chips. Although I did this quite frequently, my mother never approved.

This show consisted of violence, power and adventure. I was in bliss. A day wouldn't go by without watching my favorite cartoon.

This obsession ended in about a year. That was when the re-runs started and became it had become inattentive.

Courage the Cowardly Dog

　           I had always found the strange to be of interest.

I was skipping though channels one day and came across what seemed to be a rather odd cartoon. The main theme of this cartoon was about the love a dog has for his owner. Courage was his name, though now I realize how ironic that placement was-- Considering that he was afraid of just about everything.

Courage the Cowardly Dog conformed of the most bizarre occurrences. Be it ghosts, giant bugs, killing cats or other killing creatures, to an evil, singing goose, or sand whales, this animated television show always had me on edge. It never stayed constant and I admired every moment of it.

The thrill of something other than reality. The natural curiosity that clung to me like a backpack. 

I don’t recall when I had lost this backpack, but I’m sure it wasn’t long after I contrived that there was nothing other than the dull-validity of the human race. There were no legendary brutes, beasts, or creatures. No magic and dancing daisies.

I suppose that everyone needs to grow up someday, though I’m still waiting for that day to come. Until then, I’ll be dreaming of a departure to a land much different than this one. A land where there is no strife or grief-- and magic flows like a stream.

ca

Change

"I'm so sorry, Candy." Tears streamed down my cheeks, tickling as they fell past my chin.

I never knew it'd be the last time. But who would have known? I was just a mere girl at age 12, not expecting the big changes that would soon take place in my life. That my life could somehow drift out of reach, grazing each end of my fingers-- never to be touched again.

Growing up, I had two families. Two Christmas', two birthday celebrations, Easters, and Thanksgivings. I used to hate the fact that my father remarried, that the chances of him and my mother getting back together were at zero-percent. I refused to let my newly adopted step mother into my circle of loved ones. I had thought of her as sheer poison that would suck my family dry. And if it hadn't, I knew that surely I would be. Though as the years past, I began to accept-- and possibly love. A bit too late I'd say.

I'll never forget that night. The screaming, the shoving. I had ran out the door and dawned my bike. My friend and I cycled into the sunset in hope that with return, things would have gone back to normal-- back into the peaceful state that it usually was. The place that I was beginning to claim as home.

I remember the red lights reflecting off of the white house as we approached in the dark. It was then that I knew things would never be the same.

Inside the house, shards of glass glittered on carpet like dozens of twinkly stars. My step mother hunched over the sink, scrubbing stressfully on the dishes. My father's shirt ripped past his bellybutton. I was told to go to my room. It was then that I began to pack my bags. Trying to make sense of what had just happened. I knew I was going to have to leave, but only for a while, right? Of course-- for only a while.

"This will blow over, right?" I asked my friend in desperation. She didn't know how to respond.

The look in those beautiful, baby brown eyes made my heart thud at a rigid rhythm. I knew I had to say goodbye, but I never knew it'd be the last goodbye given. My niece, so intelligent at age six. She had become not only a sister to me, but my best friend.

"Where are you going, Shannon?" She looked at me like her personal God. The first time anyone had ever seen me in such a way. Perhaps that is why I became so attached to her.

"I'm leaving for a little bit, but don't worry. I'll be back in a few weeks." I smiled at her, tears squeezing their way out from the corners of my eyes. I kissed her head and held her tight.

It was my step mother’s reaction that damaged me the most.

"I'm so sorry, Candy." I went in for a hug. Something of comfort, but she pushed me away.

"Don't touch me." Those were the last words I heard come out of those lips. The ones that read me bed time stories and kissed me goodnight. The ones that told me how to make blueberry jam and told me stories from when she was my age.

I never saw any of them again. Life seems to work that way though. A flowing river. You seem to float along, drifting, flowing. Away from the things that you have become familiar with. Away from the friends and family that you grew with. The ones that have seen you sprout like a budding rose.

Yes, I'd say that life is like a river-- Inconsistent.

Snapshot

I grew up in Atlanta, Michigan, a microscopic town in the middle of nowhere--the kind of town that you need to stock your pantry in because the nearest Wal-Mart is an hour or so away.

                I didn’t know my father that well then. I just remember how much I had adored it when I was blessed with his presence.  He called me sweetheart, unlike my mom ever had. I loved it when he’d smile at me. His salt and pepper mustache raising up on each side when I’d do something silly such as trying to walk in his shoes. Which were at the time, nearly as big as me.

                My mom on the other hand, was not quite as gentle. She’s a strong woman and always has been. A ferocious, petite woman that could shut up a grown man in a matter of seconds.  Her hair, so much thicker at the time, was ruffled and tangled around her delicate face. Her eyes had this sort of glint to them, displaying every emotion she felt; sometimes happiness, anger, amusement, but more often than not, a hint of sarcasm. Nothing can explain the love a child has for their mother, but if I had to attempt, I’d say that she was my personal God. I looked up to her and expected her to take care of me. And she did.

                Our property of 20 acres was unlike any place I ventured to. More than half of this 20 acres was just our backyard. It seemed to stretch on forever in my child eyes, ending with a horizon of pines. In the middle of this field held a swing set and what seemed to be an idea of a meadow. A flowery patch of Earth, surrounded by rocks of varied sizes. Of course, I was forbidden to play in my little meadow because of the chance that I may be bitten by a snake, but that only added to my adventure. Nothing suits an adventure better than a bit of adrenaline and risk.

                Our livestock was complimentary song to our home.   We owned chickens, ducks, goats, and common household pets. Two dogs and an abundance of cats, I found myself in paradise.  This land was so full of life and rich life at that. Well, except my mom’s sunflower garden. This small garden died after a short span of a month. It never grew back.

                Life was much easier then. Before I began to learn outside of the world I had been accustomed to. Before I found out all the imperfections of the universe. That there wasn’t just home or the comfort of my mother’s hand in mine. Or my toys and animals. My sweet blanket and mom’s famous soup. When problems are unseen and there’s a surprise at every corner-- and not even just that. There’s a push. A want, or even a need, to know more. There’s no such thing as assumption or sarcasm.

Yeah, I’d say it was a lot easier.