Home My MySpace Photobook A Survey of Tanna Home of a Creative Writer Poet Book Hardcore College Essays Discovering Paris The Old Revamped Email Me!	The Breaking Summer Last summer I graduated high school, and my mom picked up all our things, broke some of them, and moved the rest to a small yellow house on the east edge of East Salem. And I stayed behind because I loved a boy. My dad's house, by the boy, was suffocating, but I stayed for the boy until the last straw, the morning I left for England, when my father poured a shot of hard liquor in his morning commuter cup of coffee. So I knew that even though I loved the boy, I wasn't going back to my father's house. While I was in England, I decided that I wanted the boy to pick me up from the airport instead of the shot of hard liquor. I also had the boy move my things out of my dad's house, including the laptop with the broken question mark key that I have the pleasure of typing on right now. I remember the boy wrote me that all of my things smelled like cigarette smoke and could he please throw some baking soda on my stuff or something? I remember that when the plane landed and I saw him I dropped my stuff and leapt into his arms. He was my best friend. He was my hero. He knew how to take care of me, even though it was hard. There was a boy I loved last summer. So last summer, even though I lived in a yellow house on the east edge of East Salem, I still had a boy I loved, and he loved me. Just thinking of him kept me company, and his visits kept me sane. When I went to college, he helped, because he loved me, and when I hadn't made any friends yet he comforted me. He was always there for me. This summer...he isn't. This summer he has a new girlfriend to be there for. The boy that I loved, that loved me, doesn't. And this summer I am all alone, with none of my high school friends since I moved the summer I graduated, no Salem friends because where would I have made them? No college friends because they live hours to the north, and hours to the south, and I am stuck at the 45th parallel in the middle. This summer I have no boy that I love, and I have no friends for hugs. I am all alone, and I had no idea how hard it is to be the new kid in the asphalt heat of summer. I had my mom, and she loves me, even when I'm a bitch. And she hugged me when I'd get upset over the boy who used to love me. And she told me that I was strong and could get through this, that if he would do something like that to me he didn't deserve me. She told me how way cool I was and that I'd only forgotten that for a little while and everything would be better again. She told me that the boy had lost a lot moment he asked that other girlfriend out. So I got a job at the Fred Meyer apparel department (which they abbreviate ALE). And I made a friend with my very first handshake: Melissa. She is young and lives a 20 minute drive away, but she puts a smile on my face when we work together. One night I was in the Children's department and she was in Men's, and I had just come out of the stock room and I saw this man with a horrid tattoo on his face, on skin that already looked like it would melt off in a heap of ancient, worn flesh. It was...a "huh" moment, but I went back to my department. Moments later, Melissa calls my yellow, giant, in store cell phone and tells me that this weird man dropped a bunch of bags back near the men's socks and Jockey's. She asks what should she do? The manager is at lunch. I run back there to see and to help, and there they were, several bag full of men's 501 Levi's. The manager's on lunch. We grab "Tom Cash," loss prevention, out of the magazines and tell him what's happened, and he starts ranting about stupid thieves and runs off to catch the guy. Melissa and I check the fitting room for more contraband, but the only thing in the stall is a packet of ancient Fred Meyer shopping bags stuffed under the bench, back from when they were still white. How smart is a thief with a tattoo on their face? Then I made another friend at work, Corina, who drives an hour and a half to get to work when she lives at home, but needs the job during the school year when she's at Western, where there are no jobs. One night she closed with me, but had to open the next morning with a $60 hotel stay in between. So she stayed at my house in between for $0, and I got a hug at the end, and company. Because I had had no company for a week. When the summer could go no worse, it did when my grandma almost died. Now, I'm not going to lie, the bleakness comes not out of concern for my grandmother, where there is some, but only in familial ties and not out of genuine love, but in the loss of my mother for a week, in taking care of a household by myself, and losing yet another tie to people. And when my mother came back, my grandmother came to, taking from me my TV, my privacy, and my mother, who now devotes attention to the grandmother and makes me play along. I went to the beach for a few days while my mother was gone and it was exactly what I needed. Looking back, it was a turning point in self-esteem, and a let go of the boy. I love him still, or moreover, I love the person that he used to be because he has his new girl now, who rubbed my loss in my face on MySpace in a full demonstration of her maturity. I saw ancient roots at the beach, covered and uncovered by sand, to be covered and uncovered later by sand. And they made it, they're still here thousands of years form the ancient tree's germination, so I can make it too. I've done so many things and made it, so I can now. And my aunt bought me a facial, a real one at a spa, the $100 kind. And I needed that. They had a hot tub facing the ocean, and I needed that. I took walks on the beach and found agates, and centered myself. I came back refreshed, and I came back knowing my mom was right: I had only forgotten how myself for a minute, and now I was back. I miss the boy who loved me, but he has another, and while I hate her, loathe her, she can have him, and he can come back when he remembers how cool I am again. I saw Liz for the fourth of July and her home is wonderful. The town is pure picturesque beauty, her house is unique and inviting, her family warm, her grandparents lovely, and the river wild and grand. I love my Liz, and it meant the world to me to see her. So here I am, this summer, having completed many projects, left a few unfinished, with a gym membership, a personal trainer who is patient, interesting, and kind, and I have myself back. It has been a long time, girly, keep yourself. IMPORTANT NOTE The boy who used to love me has made the request to change the above text, but I have declined. He wishes a more fair and balanced picture of himself, but I think that I am being honest and have not intentionally tried to villainize him. He wants to let the interested reader know that mistakes were made on both sides leading to the breakup, which I agree with, but to which has little to do with the text and the intensions above. The above only wishes to portray the big gap that is in my heart and the loneliness I feel this summer that is due in a large part to the boy who used to love me, not to hurt the boy or make him look bad. I loved that boy, and have no wish to hurt him, just to express how I feel.

The Breaking Summer

Taped Up Tanna

Last summer I graduated high school, and my mom picked up all our things, broke some of them, and moved the rest to a small yellow house on the east edge of East Salem. And I stayed behind because I loved a boy. My dad's house, by the boy, was suffocating, but I stayed for the boy until the last straw, the morning I left for England, when my father poured a shot of hard liquor in his morning commuter cup of coffee. So I knew that even though I loved the boy, I wasn't going back to my father's house.

While I was in England, I decided that I wanted the boy to pick me up from the airport instead of the shot of hard liquor. I also had the boy move my things out of my dad's house, including the laptop with the broken question mark key that I have the pleasure of typing on right now. I remember the boy wrote me that all of my things smelled like cigarette smoke and could he please throw some baking soda on my stuff or something? I remember that when the plane landed and I saw him I dropped my stuff and leapt into his arms. He was my best friend. He was my hero. He knew how to take care of me, even though it was hard. There was a boy I loved last summer.

So last summer, even though I lived in a yellow house on the east edge of East Salem, I still had a boy I loved, and he loved me. Just thinking of him kept me company, and his visits kept me sane. When I went to college, he helped, because he loved me, and when I hadn't made any friends yet he comforted me. He was always there for me.

This summer...he isn't. This summer he has a new girlfriend to be there for. The boy that I loved, that loved me, doesn't. And this summer I am all alone, with none of my high school friends since I moved the summer I graduated, no Salem friends because where would I have made them? No college friends because they live hours to the north, and hours to the south, and I am stuck at the 45th parallel in the middle. This summer I have no boy that I love, and I have no friends for hugs. I am all alone, and I had no idea how hard it is to be the new kid in the asphalt heat of summer.

I had my mom, and she loves me, even when I'm a bitch. And she hugged me when I'd get upset over the boy who used to love me. And she told me that I was strong and could get through this, that if he would do something like that to me he didn't deserve me. She told me how way cool I was and that I'd only forgotten that for a little while and everything would be better again. She told me that the boy had lost a lot moment he asked that other girlfriend out.

So I got a job at the Fred Meyer apparel department (which they abbreviate ALE). And I made a friend with my very first handshake: Melissa. She is young and lives a 20 minute drive away, but she puts a smile on my face when we work together. One night I was in the Children's department and she was in Men's, and I had just come out of the stock room and I saw this man with a horrid tattoo on his face, on skin that already looked like it would melt off in a heap of ancient, worn flesh. It was...a "huh" moment, but I went back to my department. Moments later, Melissa calls my yellow, giant, in store cell phone and tells me that this weird man dropped a bunch of bags back near the men's socks and Jockey's. She asks what should she do? The manager is at lunch. I run back there to see and to help, and there they were, several bag full of men's 501 Levi's. The manager's on lunch. We grab "Tom Cash," loss prevention, out of the magazines and tell him what's happened, and he starts ranting about stupid thieves and runs off to catch the guy. Melissa and I check the fitting room for more contraband, but the only thing in the stall is a packet of ancient Fred Meyer shopping bags stuffed under the bench, back from when they were still white. How smart is a thief with a tattoo on their face?

Then I made another friend at work, Corina, who drives an hour and a half to get to work when she lives at home, but needs the job during the school year when she's at Western, where there are no jobs. One night she closed with me, but had to open the next morning with a $60 hotel stay in between. So she stayed at my house in between for $0, and I got a hug at the end, and company.

Because I had had no company for a week. When the summer could go no worse, it did when my grandma almost died. Now, I'm not going to lie, the bleakness comes not out of concern for my grandmother, where there is some, but only in familial ties and not out of genuine love, but in the loss of my mother for a week, in taking care of a household by myself, and losing yet another tie to people. And when my mother came back, my grandmother came to, taking from me my TV, my privacy, and my mother, who now devotes attention to the grandmother and makes me play along.

I went to the beach for a few days while my mother was gone and it was exactly what I needed. Looking back, it was a turning point in self-esteem, and a let go of the boy. I love him still, or moreover, I love the person that he used to be because he has his new girl now, who rubbed my loss in my face on MySpace in a full demonstration of her maturity. I saw ancient roots at the beach, covered and uncovered by sand, to be covered and uncovered later by sand. And they made it, they're still here thousands of years form the ancient tree's germination, so I can make it too. I've done so many things and made it, so I can now. And my aunt bought me a facial, a real one at a spa, the $100 kind. And I needed that. They had a hot tub facing the ocean, and I needed that. I took walks on the beach and found agates, and centered myself. I came back refreshed, and I came back knowing my mom was right: I had only forgotten how myself for a minute, and now I was back. I miss the boy who loved me, but he has another, and while I hate her, loathe her, she can have him, and he can come back when he remembers how cool I am again.

I saw Liz for the fourth of July and her home is wonderful. The town is pure picturesque beauty, her house is unique and inviting, her family warm, her grandparents lovely, and the river wild and grand. I love my Liz, and it meant the world to me to see her.

So here I am, this summer, having completed many projects, left a few unfinished, with a gym membership, a personal trainer who is patient, interesting, and kind, and I have myself back. It has been a long time, girly, keep yourself.

IMPORTANT NOTE
The boy who used to love me has made the request to change the above text, but I have declined. He wishes a more fair and balanced picture of himself, but I think that I am being honest and have not intentionally tried to villainize him. He wants to let the interested reader know that mistakes were made on both sides leading to the breakup, which I agree with, but to which has little to do with the text and the intensions above. The above only wishes to portray the big gap that is in my heart and the loneliness I feel this summer that is due in a large part to the boy who used to love me, not to hurt the boy or make him look bad. I loved that boy, and have no wish to hurt him, just to express how I feel.