I'm ready to leave,

but I'm not.

I'm ready to be done with lasts,

And ready find new firsts.

I'm ready to leave,

but I'm not.

If it weren't for the band,

I would leave without tears,

Only sad to leave my friends,

And mourn for my childhood.

If it weren't for band,

I would leave without tears,

But now I can’t help but cry.

Our last concert is tonight.

I cried for the end of marching,

With hope of the fun year to come,

But now that year is over,

I realize my whole life,

I’ve looked forward this,

And now that it’s here,

I want to go back.

Soon I'll have my first game with the Tiger marching band,

In a land far from home.

Soon I'll have my first concert in the orchestra,

As one of their only oboes.

But before I know it,

I'll mourn my tiger marching band,

And give my last concert in the orchestra.

I’ll be ready to leave,

But not,

Thinking that if it weren’t for the band,

I would leave without tears.

Oh how time flies by,

And we are powerless to catch it!

I'll think to where it all started,

In my own dear high school band,

That I tearfully leave today,

That will never be the same again.

I'm ready to leave,

but I'm really not.

I'm ready to be done with lasts,

And ready to find new firsts.

I'm ready to leave,

but I'm not.

He listens to what I say,

and he is patient when I'm accidentally unkind.

He goes silent, contemplating my beauty,

and he looks me in the eyes.

He holds me when he wants to be held,

and he sacrifices his time.

He saves his money to spoil me,

and he holds my hand.

He walks me to class,

and does his best to understand.

He opens doors for me,

and he compliments me.

He supports me,

and he helps me.

He talks to me,

and he gives me his time.

He loves me.

He's mine.

Imagine a crepe, light, beautiful, and slender. The top is covered in tasteless whipped cream, but beneath is a pile of sweet strawberries.

When you first eat me, you may think I’m too sweet, but inside me is a lemony cream. The cream, although sour, is still pleasant, but if you eat the cream by itself, you may think otherwise. Please eat the sour inside with the sweet strawberry simultaneously for the best experience.

If you delve even deeper, you will find dark chocolate below the lemon cream. It is a slightly bitter chocolate, but it is deep and rich. I understand that dark chocolate is not for everyone. Most who eat me eat around the chocolate, but some delve into it, tasting the bitterness with its depth. If I ate myself, I would eat around the dark chocolate too, but it is a part of this me that you cannot get rid of.

I want to warn you that if you eat a lot of me, I can be a bit much. I'm afraid that if you eat me too much, you will get sick of me. I would like to remind you though, that this is the case with most foods.

You must dive past the quiet exterior to reach the sweetness within, but I must warn you, once you get to know me, you will find the lemon. I beg that when you find the lemon, you will remember the strawberries, and please, don’t eat too much of me. When you finally get past the lemon, you will see what hides underneath: a deep feeling. Thoughts too deep for anyone’s good. Sometimes these thoughts may be tinged with sadness, and the depth of the dark chocolate may frighten you, but it is part of the crepe. It is part of me; try as you may, you can't get rid of it.

Why are you frightened all the time?

What do you have to worry about?

Yes, it's scary that time passes, and you can’t hold onto it…

Yes, it's scary, leaving your childhood behind…

Yes, it's scary, facing an anxiety diagnosis…

Yes, it's scary to heal…

Yes, it's scary to hurt before you heal…

…But, as time passes, you find more adventures.

…But, leaving your childhood means building your own life.

…But, healing will free you.

…But, the hurt is worth it.

Why are you frightened?

What do you have to worry about?

Worry only stops you from seeing and enjoying the beauty around you, and I want you to

know that if you let go, not only will things work out… they will be beautiful too.

The chest was bolted shut. I stared at it, sitting among scattered papers, in a cloud of thought.

He warned me not to open it, but he was gone. The last paper was in there, and even though I was flooded in notes and stories, that paper was the key. I held a hammer. If I dropped it on the chest, would they hear? I decided to chance it. It thundered against the chest, but to no avail.

Footsteps. They heard it.

They stormed in, and rained threats on my head, but those threats weren’t without action. They took me to the place I dreaded most, a rounded hole in the forest beside that old mansion. A hole shaped like a funnel, rounded, with a slippery slope leading down, down, down. It was deep enough not to see the bottom, and wide enough to fit at least four people. They threw me down, and showered the papers over my head as I fell.

“Get away from the window Laura.” Luke locked the door and shooed me away. He and David peered out. I pushed my head back up enough to get my eyes above the window sill, and there I saw Mama and Papa, standing on the other side of the street. I wondered why they didn’t stay inside the bakery, but now that I think about it, they were probably just going to run home to make sure we were safe. At the same time Mama and Papa ventured from the bakery, a girl, maybe three or four, ran out into the street. Later I learned that her name was Annabelle. She was lost and frightened by the noise, so she ran to the only place she knew: the church.

A bullet crashed through the window on the other side of our door. Luke pushed us away from it and closed the curtain. I grabbed the rifle and unlocked the door when Luke and David weren’t looking. I cracked it open and peeked out. One of the men in the brawl I recognized. He disliked Papa, and now, burning with rage, he saw his chance. To me, it was all in slow motion, though it all happened in a few seconds.

Papa saw the child stumbling across the street, and he ran after her. He swooped her into his arms, Mama behind him. BANG! Papa’s eyes opened wide, and he stumbled forward. As he fell, he put the terrified child in Mama’s arms. Screaming, my brothers and I rushed out of the house. We gathered around him, lying face down, blood pouring from the hole in his back. There was nothing we could do.

It would’ve been easy for our family to fall apart that day. Our stunned grief followed us wherever we went. It was a feeling we couldn’t shake, a weight we had to carry every day. Every morning we rose to lift that weight, but over time we got stronger, and the weight that seemed so heavy at first got a little easier to bear.

Mama was the strongest of us all. She held tight to God and saw to it that we helped each other through our grief. It hurts to think about that day, and the days following, but it was one of the most important parts of my life.. This event and the actions of my parents shaped me into who I am today, and as I grew older and approached the age of independence, I thought of my family when I thought of who I wanted to be. Like my father, like my mother, I wanted to do something important with my life. I just wish I knew earlier that the important things in life aren’t the big things, but the small ones. It wasn’t my father’s death that changed me, but how he lived every day of his life until the last moment.

One year. One month. One day. One ship. One man.

I shuffled along the deck. The crew dragged bags and pushed barrels. Their skin glistened in the sun, tanned by the heat. Sweat poured down their backs. They tugged ropes and wandered the deck, searching for shade. Soon the heat would dissipate, but their weariness would only increase. Distant clouds threatened rain.

One crew. One secret cargo. 350 men. I was there to change the life of one. I passed the sailors, and wondered if they understood their place in history.

I glided down the stairs. The trapdoor closed behind me. The cool sea air and bright sun gave way to darkness and suffocating heat. Horror. No word could describe it better. 350 men, dying in mind and body. Coughing, and groaning, laboriously breathing. They stared through me with vacant eyes. I could’ve helped them all, but my reasons for being here were selfish.

I stumbled over bodies and passed through blood. I knew the name of the one I was looking for, but I had no knowledge of his appearance, and in the dark bunker of death, I began to despair.

The trapdoor opened, the sun offering the hope of life for brief seconds as men close to death were dragged on deck. The sailors thought the air might restore them. I saw him. A tall, black man whose frame was strong months before was now skinny and shaking. The hot air and utter darkness, and the stench of bodies around him were too much for his soul. He was dragged to the deck.

He was laid carelessly in the sun. He would wake soon. I sat beside him and touched his hand.

“Great-grandfather,” I said. “It’s me, Asha.”

“I don’t know you.” He said.

“You may not, but I need you to live. Without you, I’ll never exist.”

“Existence, girl, is difficult. For me to exist is the most torturous of all. See where I am? I am close to death, and even life is death. No matter where I go, everything I see is death.”

“Great-grandfather, don’t talk like that. Even in darkness, there is light.”

“You’re right. Even now in the shadows of death, I see the sun.”

He woke and looked at me, but he didn’t see me. “Even in the shadows, I see the sun,” he mumbled. “If only I could get out of the shade and stand in its warmth.”

“You can. Have hope,” I said.

The sailors forced him to his feet and pushed him back into the darkness. His dying companions were tossed into the sea.

One man. One storm. One night.

The ship rocked and creaked. Clouds covered the sun. Icy rain poured over the sailors. Winds chilled the hardiest of men.

One man. One storm. One night. One hour.

I ascended the mast and climbed into the flooding crow’s nest. I couldn’t help but shiver at the sight of the endless, storm-tossed sea. The ship looked like a toy below me, the captain one of its figurines. He stood at the wheel and shouted.

One man. One storm. One night. One hour. One minute.

I grabbed the spyglass, which was carelessly left to soak, and descended. Halfway down I saw my mark clearly. I dropped the glass. The captain crumpled to the deck.

I trudged through the flooded deck. I touched his hand.

“They’ll die if you let them out,” I said.

“Some will, but all will die if I don’t.”

“Let one man stay. He will die if you don’t. Give him food later. You know he is weak.”

“He’ll come out like all the rest.”

“If he does, you will never wake.”

“Am I asleep?”

The crew rushed to their captain and carried him below deck. Now I must wait.

The sailors passed the night without sleep. Drenched, they waited eagerly for the warm sun in the morning hours, but the rain kept pouring.

The captain woke in his cabin. He threw on his long coat, and returned to the rain. He shivered. The ocean, once warm, was a frigid sea. It was time. The captain ordered for the men and women to be brought out for food.

In the storm, the poor souls were ushered from their furnace to the frigid deck. I scanned the men’s faces. He wasn’t there. I rushed to the nightmarish bunker and found him, sitting on the floor. He was deep in thought, his face marked by sorrow.

“Great-grandfather. It will be okay.” He didn’t hear me, but his face softened. “Even though your path is hard, and your road dark, push on.”

“I will not give into despair,” he muttered. “My father raised me better. I must be strong, though I do not feel strong.”

“You are strong to have come this far.”

“I know there are those who need me. My life was happy. Now it is sad, but I must be there for the women, and my new companions on this boat. I long for the day we find land, but I fear it just the same.”

“You will have many struggles on land, but you will see the sun again.”

He sat in silence, staring up at the dark ceiling. He smelled the vomit and stench of rotting bodies. The darkness pressed around him.

“I will press on,” he mumbled.

Alas, if only history could’ve changed in this way. I only dream of an alternate reality. In that year, in that month, on that day, on that hour, the man was kicked onto the deck, chained to his brothers. There the drastic change from the oven to the icebox killed him.

Because he died, I will never live. Because he died, he never married. Because he never married, I was never born.

Never will I see the sun, and feel the ocean breeze. Never will I see mountains, rivers, or streams. Never will I behold the snow, or dolphins in the sea. Never will I see these lovely things.

Maybe I will never feel the rain that covers the sun, or the winds that make ships sink. Maybe I will never see clouds cover the mountains and floods in the rivers and streams. Maybe I will never shiver in the winter, or be stung by the creatures of the sea.

But life cannot grow without rain, and the beauty of the sun is more magnificent after the clouds. Reconstruction won’t begin without destruction, and warmth is heavenly after the cold. I will never be stung by the creatures of the sea, but I will never have the chance to see someone have compassion on me.

One year. One month. One day. One ship. One man.

One life that I will never have.