Poetry Under Stars

It’s too cold to be outside, but we take blankets out. We can’t resist the stars. After a moment of looking, guessing constellations, Abigail opens up her poets.org and I my Emily Dickinson. Without explanation, we take turns reading. Abigail reads with her gusto, words shooting from her mouth like they’re trying to escape to the stars. I read hesitantly, not belonging to this world of poetry Abigail loves. But we are friends, and tonight is one night that will be perfect as we huddle on a damp blanket, reading words I can’t understand, but words that light up her soul – I can see it in her eyes. This is our friendship: watching Abigail become enlightened at the touch of anything beautiful while I look on, wishing I could understand and feel and become. Wishing I could produce something as beautiful as her soul.

A Flowered Card

I sat on a ribbed floral couch, sandals deep in burnt orange carpet. It was dark in the room, not because the curtains were closed, but because the walls were boarded in the pre-2000s style. Next to me sat *Carol, my companion, in a red blouse and black cardigan, chatting. On the swivel recliner across the room sat *Julie, an older lady with curly white hair trimmed to her scalp and a red striped shirt. She rarely smiled, rarely talked. When she did talk, her voice was soft but forceful. Her eyebrows were constantly pulled together as if in impatience.

As Carol talked to Julie about vacations, volunteering, and the return of Carol’s son from Singapore, I thought of the first memories I had of Julie. Most were at church, one over the phone, and the visits Carol and I made.

At church, as she conducted the last hour, she was to-the-point, never gracing us with her smile, never making a mistake. She looked into the eyes of many women, making notes with her fine tipped pen, and speaking softly into the microphone. I was intimidated by her grace and style.

Over the phone when I would tell her we could come visit her in the evenings once a month, she told me plainly that evenings were difficult, but that she would allow it. To my apology, she would retort, “Well, I don’t like it, but it works.” I would hang up, blushing in embarrassment. Carol would comfort saying, “You know how Julie is.”

The visits Carol and I made were much the same. Julie would listen with rapt attention, rocking on her chair, rarely smiling, and offered her hasty opinion whenever there was silence. Thirty minutes on Julie’s flowered couch always felt like a very long time.

One day, I was surprised to find a flowered card from Julie in my mail box. When opened, I read her cursive script. She told me of her appreciation of my service in church, and that she had noticed my efforts. She said she looked forward to visits from me and wished me the best.

I was astounded. In my mind, Julie was not a person who wrote kind words on a flowered card. She was not a person who would notice the small doings of others, and compliment them for it. I was pleasantly astounded.

That card made me discover something that many people before me have already realized. People are not to be judged harshly based on a few encounters or memories. There is so much more to people than we know, and I am embarrassed that I had to learn this lesson yet again, at the fault of my own.

I was completely touched by Julie’s card, but I shouldn’t have been surprised. There the opportunity to be good is in everyone, and people choose that opportunity more often than we expect. I hope I can be one of those people, and follow the touching example of Julie.

*names have been changed

My Biggest Mistake

As I look back on my life, I’ve made some pretty good choices. I worked hard in school, was involved in cross country and other after-school activities, made close friends, went on fun family vacations, got accepted into my dream school, and married a wonderful and handsome guy. I’ve lived and learned, and I’ve been blessed. However, there is one dark cloud in my past, one that I count as my biggest mistake.

My biggest mistake is my failure at a positive relationship with my brother.

It wasn’t always bad – we were best friends when we were growing up. When he would get into trouble, I would cry to my parents and beg them to have mercy on him. We shared an apple under a blanket when our parents told us we couldn’t eat anything else but our dinner. We played knight and mother-to-the-knight in our little backyard, and went on bike rides together. It was bliss.

Something changed. Me.

I think I transformed into a witch. As we got older, it got harder and harder to be patient with him – to show that I loved him. It was easy to fight and say hurtful things as we walked to school, and later, drove to school. As I look back, I know I got mad at him for the little things he did. He teased, played loud music, criticized my driving. None of those things were worth the things I did. I did much worse.

I yelled, I screamed, I kicked, I ignored. I was the worst sister he could ask for. I damaged our relationship, no matter how many times he tried to repair it. Only now do I see the effort he made, and his despair when I refused to give in. Only now do I have endless guilt and shame for how I acted. A simple apology to him cannot dissipate such a dark cloud in my past.

Much to my relief, our relationship is slowly repairing. It’s gotten better since I’ve moved to college and married, giving us time and space. As he prepares to take big steps in his own life of serving a two-year mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints and going to college, we find we have things in common. We are able to talk about things – what’s it like in college, relationship advice, music, and religion. We are almost friends again.

In an effort to gain at least partial forgiveness for what I have done, I promise to never treat another human like that again. I promise to make it up to him every time I see him. I promise to learn from the biggest mistake of my life, and I feel overwhelmingly grateful for second chances and eternal love. As our relationship continues to build, I feel peace and hope that we have time. Time for me to heal past wounds and to be there for him for the rest of his life. I love you, brother. Forgive my biggest mistake.