I was sixteen years old when we took our first trip to the ocean. Myrtle beach to be exact. My parents took me and my cousin for my birthday. I was so excited to go, I wanted nothing more than to get out into the ocean and swim.

About a month before we left I watched a show that educated me about what lived in the ocean. Needless to say after that I didn’t feel like I wanted to go into the ocean anymore. There were pokey fish that poisoned you, the eel things that popped out of the sand, and giant fish that could swallow you. Not to mention sharks. (I’ll go ahead and say, I’m not sure if any of those fish are native to that beach area but with my luck they’d probably move in that same weekend.)

But above all those things, the one thing that worried me most was the jelly fish. I was told they latch onto you and sting you; you can’t get them off and someone said they left barbs in you. It hurts for a long time and you always remember it. Well, as most of you know, I don’t do pain well. So I resigned myself to sit on the beach my entire trip and watch the waves roll in.

Don’t worry, my cousin talked me into trying it out. We decided that we could stand in the waves just far enough out that the water hit us just below the knees. The water was murky so there was no telling what was swimming around us, what horrors lie just beyond my toes. I didn’t like it. My cousin and I talked while we stood there, watching people swim or float. They were so far away from shore it gave me anxiety. They splashed around happily with absolutely no fear of what could be around them.

I stood there waiting for these people to be picked off my some prehistoric giant all while holding a conversation. In the back of my mind I couldn’t shake the thought of what was near me. I was barely in the water but something could be there, especially a jelly fish! I kept pushing the thought to the back of my mind over and over again but it always resurfaced. We had only been standing there five minutes but I could feel my time running out. Something was about to get me.

And something did. Without warning something latched itself around my ankle tightly, sealing itself to me. I automatically began screaming, cutting my cousin off mid sentence. I flailed my arms, kicking my leg to release whatever it was that had me but it wouldn’t let go. With the force of the waves, I couldn’t pull my leg up high enough to see what had me so (while screaming and making a spectacle of myself) I stumbled backwards towards the beach. I’m proud to say, I didn’t fall. I would take a step back and then kick, in hopes it would release me from whatever had me. This creature however had me and it wasn’t letting go. I could only assume it was a jelly fish, I waited for the piercing pain I had heard about as I stumbled onto the beach. I’m still screaming.

At one point I screamed, “It’s got me!”

My cousin ran out of the water with me, away from the swarm of unknown creatures that were left behind. They watched from a distance as one of their own took out a human (me). My heart was in my throat and I was about three seconds away from being sick. Stumbling onto the beach I forced myself to look down at what had me. There, wrapped tightly around my ankle, was a grocery bag.

A grocery bag.

I looked up to see a few people snicker. I kicked the thing off of my ankle with as much hatred as I could muster, which wasn’t much because all the fight had been drained out of me during my race for the shore.

After I threw the bag away, we went back to the hotel; quite frankly I needed a nap. I never went back. 

It was my first week of working at the grocery store, my sister also worked there as a manager. She usually worked a different shift but that day we worked together. I had just been put on the register by myself the previous day and I kept my head down, making sure I scanned everything, entered the right codes, and gave the right change.

Things were moving along fine and my line was full. When my sister walked up to the register and asked me to move down to the baggers position I thought I had done something wrong.

“Why?” I asked almost insulted.

“Just move down for a minute,” she told me pushing me to the side.

She finished ringing up my current customer and welcomed the next, it was then I noticed them. How I didn’t notice them before is beyond me, I suppose I was concentrating harder than I thought. Two men stood in my line waiting for their turn to be rung up. They were older than both of us, with dirty blue jeans, one had a t-shirt and the other a button up shirt that was halfway unbuttoned.

They struggled to stay upright, swaying this way and that; one fell into the candy bars a few times. They tried to talk to each other but they only slurred. At this point in my life, I had never seen someone that drunk. Both men had a firm grasp on their cases of beer which kept tipping them forward which made it a real struggle for them not to fall into the customer in front of them. I felt my eyes widen as I took them in.

Finally it was their turn to pay. They stumbled up to the register, dropping their cases of beer onto the counter; almost missing it. One of the men pulled his wallet out—oblivious to my sister’s face. Calmly she put her hand on a case of beer and spoke.

“I’m sorry guys I can’t sell you this beer.”

“Why?” One of the men asked surprised.

“Because you’re already drunk,” she told them.

“I’m not drunk,” the man proclaimed pressing his hand against his chest, “It’s my medication.”

I heard my sister sigh ‘uh-huh’ under her breath before she spoke again.

“Well I can smell your medication all the way over here. I can’t sell this to you.”

The man huffed as if he were offended; jerking his head back with attitude (almost falling backwards) he managed a disgusted slurred sound.

“Well I’ll go somewhere else and buy it then.” He spit, his friend nodding in agreement behind him.

His friend managed a, ‘Yeah’ before stumbling sideways.

“That’s fine.” My sister told them.

I stood there astonished, counting the times each one almost fell over. I couldn’t believe just how offended they were at this point.

Then he leaned over the counter a bit, squinting his eyes as if he couldn’t really see my sister. He looked at her as if he were confused at first, then he turned to me; still squinting. He pulled himself back upright as he looked back at my sister.

“I don’t know which one I want more,” he told her, “You or the little blond.”

I can only describe the sound that came out of me as the initial sound you make right before you throw up. I didn’t mean to make that sound but it was out of me before I could stop it. The woman next in line scrunched her face up silently as if she smelled something raunchy. There was a good ten seconds of him awkwardly starting at both of us (I was silently screaming on the inside) before my sister inhaled deeply.

“Leave.” She had never been that monotone before.

They turned and stumbled towards the door, unbelievably staying upright the whole time. My mouth was still open when I turned back to her.

“Okay take your spot back.” She told me walking away.

​I was so stunned I couldn’t say anything. To this day, she still laughs about it. 

I left the house like any other morning to go to school but this particular morning was different. My father was sitting in the car in the driveway waiting for me like usual, when I passed through the back door I ran into one of those pesky spider webs. You know, the ones you can’t see that plaster straight across your face.

I did my ninja dance and then carried on with my day. I hopped into the passenger seat with my book bag that weighed at least a hundred and forty two pounds.

“You ready?” My father asked putting the car in reverse.

“Yeah.” I huffed, already dreading going to school.

But then the unexpected happened. This gigantic arachnid scampered ACROSS MY FACE. It raced from my forehead down to my left cheek bone, back across my hair. Now normally I’m okay with spiders if I see them before hand but that day Itsy Bitsy had crossed the line.

It took all of five seconds for him to run across my face, just enough time to stop my heart and throw me into a tantrum the likes of which none had ever seen before.

My dad was looking at his side mirror (that’s how he backed up) and had just took his foot off the brake when I went into a mad hysteria of screaming and flailing about. I screamed so loud the first time it echoed in the car but I didn’t stop there, I let out a series of screams that had few to little breaks.

Somehow I got my foot out from under my book bag and began stomping the dashboard in order to thrust myself backwards away from the spider. Which didn’t really work, it was still on my head. I repeated the move again, stomping the dash with my foot, almost kneeing myself in the face, while I began slapping myself in the head- trying to knock the spider off.

My father who had yet to see the spider, slammed on the brakes and watched in awe at my emotional break down. I remember glancing up at him between the kicking and swatting, somewhere between the third and fourth dashboard assault; the man was looking at me like I needed a straight jacket. I was trying to simultaneously swat at my head and unbuckle my seat belt but was unsuccessful.

I’m not sure what Itsy Bitsy’s thought process was at this point but I’m sure he just wanted to get as far away from my self-taught taekwondo moves as he could. He hopped from my head onto the center console. That’s when my dad finally saw him. He looked at the spider in disbelief and then I saw a glimpse of relief go across his face when he realized I hadn’t completely lost my mind. I’m pretty sure Itsy didn’t have anything nice to say to me as he dashed off.

“Are you alright?” My dad asked, still watching the spider.

He looked up just in time to see me jerk my seat belt off, push the door open, and jerk my coat off. I stripped from the car all the way into the house. I was in the bathroom rocking back and forth in the corner when I heard him talking to my mom. (He apparently shut the car off and came inside.)

“I didn’t know what happened,” he said.

There was a short pause, I’m assuming my mom said something, and then he replied, “Well she kicked it off her forehead!”

Happy Father’s Day everyone.

My first year of high school was a mix of emotions. I was excited to be out of middle school and finally in high school, I’d be able to do ‘big kid’ things and yada yada. Unfortunately my last few weeks of middle school I had become aware of a certain celebration called Freshman Friday. Now Freshman Friday was celebrated on the first Friday after school began by the upperclassmen waiting for us.

Freshman Friday, as it was explained to me, was a free for all where the upperclassmen could basically do anything to us and get away with it; simply because they had survived it themselves. Apparently anything goes, you could get stuffed in a locker, head stuck in a toilet, beat up, you’ll get wrong directions so you’re late for class, your food gets stolen, backpack, you name it.

By now you should know, this wasn’t going to cut it for me. I had considered running away from home (at least for a day) to avoid this catastrophe but running away seemed like such an effort on my part. And considering I was involved, something worse might happen in the process of running away; I could get kidnapped or find myself on the other side of the world. I don’t know. By the time I had entertained the thought of running away, my head was spinning so bad I decided getting stuck in a locker was better than the latter.

Well just so you know Freshman Friday really isn’t a thing. It was something the upperclassmen made up to scare us. If I had thought about it I might have figured it out but for goodness sakes it’s me, I tend to assume the worst and go with it… have you read any of my blogs? I’d also like to note that I wasn’t the only one afraid; other people bought into it. Probably not to the extent I did but I wasn’t alone. It was a shame I didn’t find out Freshman Friday wasn’t real until after the fact.

Needless to say, that Friday I was on edge like never before. Every turn, every corner, I was ready. Would I get jumped now? Would they drag me off to where the teachers couldn’t hear me scream? I was trying to stay focused on where I was going, it was easy to get turned around, you didn’t want to be late for class because you got lost. I will say there were some nice people that gave me some good directions, it’s a shame I didn’t follow them; I’m still thinking they’re purposefully leading me wrong.

I was about halfway through the day when one of my friends called me out on it. She told me to calm down (I apparently had a look of panic the entire day) and that would get me got quicker than anything. It was then she told me she didn’t think Freshman Friday was a real thing, it was then I thought she’d be the first to go. We were standing in the hall during break, I remember thinking all the people around us were really tall. Well that’s because they were all seniors. We were on the senior hall. When I realized this, I started taking them in; it was probably the first time I had looked up from the ground all day. My thought process was, if you didn’t make eye contact, they couldn’t get you. Ah youth.

These scary seniors and other upperclassmen lined the halls, standing in front of lockers, laughing and talking. They watched as other students walked by but quickly turned back to their conversations. I realized they weren’t paying us any attention at all, they didn’t care if we were there. They also didn’t seem like they’d be the type to shove me in a locker. Well, maybe a few of them did. What was I so afraid of this whole time? All these kids I thought were diabolically scheming behind my back didn’t even know I existed. I thought there might be some hope for me, I might just get through this day unscathed.

I watched as a taller boy entered the hall, they were all so tall I couldn’t for the life of me tell what grade they were all in. This particular boy walked up to another boy (who was much taller) that was leaning up against a locker and nonchalantly pulled back and slugged the taller one right across the face.

Oh dear.

The whole hall fell silent. I felt my jaw drop. Did this kid want to die? I’ll give the taller boy props; he rubbed his jaw while glaring at this kid and then turned to walk away. Shorty however wasn’t having any of that, he slugging him again from behind.

We should move, crossed my mind. Too late. The taller boy turned around and shoved this kid so hard that the kid fell to the floor and skidded a little ways.

“You need to back off.” The taller one told him.

I agreed. He wasn’t even yelling but the way he said it and as calmly as he said it, he had my vote. Shorty however had something to prove, he jumped back up and started swinging. Now I had seen some fights at school before, you know, they’re swinging but they can’t really land anything or they’re swinging and then the teacher steps in. It never really lasted long. This was a whole new level. No one was backing down and they were mad! Where the teachers were, I have no idea; but if they had any sense they’d stay there.

These two continued to slug each other in the face for a while, moving down the hall. The taller one always seemed to be able to back the smaller one off but the smaller one always came back at him. They shoved each other into the lockers a few times (glad it wasn’t me) and slugged each other in the face multiple times. They acted like they didn’t even feel it, I felt it. I got the sense that the taller one, as mad as he was, wasn’t putting his all into it. Several times the taller one told the other to back off, you need to quit, just walk away. The short one wasn’t listening. Maybe he had been hit in the head too many times. I was beginning to think they’re were both going to end up with brain damage when the taller one knocked the smaller down on the ground for the final time.

“Just stop.” He told him.

Of course, Shorty jumped up to swing again. That’s when the taller one had had enough. He turned slightly and reared back with his foot, kicking this kid in the stomach so hard he flew through a closed door. A. Closed. Door.

There’s the teachers! They seemed to come out of every hole in the school, swarming the smaller kid (who was not getting back up) and stepping in front of the bigger one; who at this point had stopped and was just standing there. The teachers were throwing their hands up at him like he was going to charge. He just stood there, annoyed at the whole situation. I felt for him, he tried to walk away. The teachers took both kids away and I took my first breath since the fight had started.

Yeah, Freshman Friday isn't a thing. 

It was a hot day and I volunteered to do an ice cream run for everyone at work. We ended up with an order of thirteen hot fudge sundaes, two with extra hot fudge.

So I hurried off to get these famed sundaes in which everyone loved. In the drive thru I ordered my thirteen sundaes, two with extra hot fudge and then waited. And waited. Then I waited some more. I’m not sure what the people in front of me ordered but I’m pretty sure it was one of everything on the menu.

No matter, I’ll just turn on some tunes. That’s when everything went south. Before I knew it a song came across the waves that just tore up my insides. Something about someone dying, never going to see them again, they couldn’t believe it, I’m here without you, why did you leave; so on and so on.

I’m not exactly sure what happened or why I was so tore up by this song but I began to bawl. Bawl. And just like that the line began to move and I was at the window before I knew where I was. I hurried to wipe the tears away and pull my life together before the woman came to the window.

Too late. The window swung open and the lady looked me over. Here I am, ordering thirteen sundaes (two with extra hot fudge), bawling, scrambling for dollars and change. I was still rummaging to get the money when I looked up at her. She cocked her eye brow and rocked back on one hip. She didn’t say anything but her face said it all.

I handed her the money and she started passing the sundaes through the window. When she handed me my change she gave me a look that just screamed, ‘Honey go get you a gallon and pick up the pieces’.

​She slammed the window quickly and left me weeping with my thirteen sundaes.