#annemariewrites

I drive down the road in a storm.

The sky in front of me is an eclectic array of small,

dark gray clouds dotting the horizon as the sun sinks behind a large,

dusty yellow cloud that takes up half the atmosphere.

Between them, pockets of turquoise sky peek through.

This sight is mirrored onto the puddles of the pavement.

In the rear-view mirror, the sky is indigo.

I used to hate reading. I mean, as a little kid, I loved it. The way little kids love everything before the world rips that love away. I started to hate reading when I was in the third grade. We had to read a novel and do a project on it. Nothing will make you hate doing something you enjoy like being forced to do it for a grade. Maybe that's why so many people grow up hating to read books.

I was eight or nine and had never really read a novel before. I won't say what book it was. I don't want to potentially hurt the feelings of someone who may love this particular book. Anyway, I hated this novel that I had to do a project on, in large part because I had to do a project on it, but someday I would like to read it again. Maybe reading it for fun as an adult will make me appreciate it like I couldn't being forced to read it as a kid.

I remember having to do book reports. I read a bunch of books with animal characters that I really enjoyed. (not "Redwall." my love for that series came later when I was in the eighth grade.) I don't remember the names of these books but they had otters and lambs and I would have really loved these books a whole lot more if I didn't have to do those damn book reports. I remember my parents getting mad at me, having me sit at the kitchen table writing those reports. We had a pine tree in the front yard. It had died and my dad chopped it down. I had wanted so badly to watch that. I loved climbing that tree and I was sad that it had died. I remember sneaking out of the kitchen and watching my dad cut the tree down from the living room window and I was terrified of getting caught not doing my homework. I was real sad about the tree but I was so, so afraid of someone seeing me not doing that book report. I really wanted to say goodbye to that tree. That sure did make me hate reading. Made me hate schoolwork and kind of made me afraid of my parents.

But that's getting too deep into some childhood trauma that I don't want to talk about right now, so let's talk about a different kind of childhood trauma.

My great-grandmother died when I was 12 years old in the seventh grade. Right around the same time I read "The Outsiders." I had never really experienced death so up close before. My paternal grandmother had died when I was five but I don't really remember much from that. But I do remember when my maternal great-grandmother died really well. It was in November 22, 2008. I wrote about it in my diary at the time. I wrote a bunch of stupid and mean stuff in that diary. The entries about her dying and her funeral are really the only important things in there. There are several entries throughout my multiple diaries on the November anniversary of her death talking about the rain. It always seems to rain on that day. It often makes me think of the song, "November Rain," by Guns N' Roses. (sorry I know the band is problematic but I do still love that song)

Anyway, like I said, this was my first real experience with death. Having my great-grandmother die and reading a book where some characters die at the same time really did a number on my 12-year-old mind. I don't think I had ever read a book in which a character had died before. Maybe I have and just don't remember. I was shocked when Johnny and Dally died. It made me real sad. Knowing that fictional characters could die somehow made them feel more real, more alive, to me. Of course I had seen tv shows where characters died but reading it in a book felt different. Book characters didn't die. Not in my 12-year-old mind. This book changed that for me. It changed a lot about how I thought of stories and characters.

I know I just wrote about how being forced to read for a grade makes you hate reading but I actually was forced to read "The Outsiders" for a grade and it did end up making me love reading again. Maybe it just really depends on the book. Anyway, I always remembered how much it struck me when I read it in middle school. For years, whenever I thought of this book, the main image I would see in my mind was Dally dying under that streetlamp. That really stayed with me. It inspired me to think about writing my own story.

I made up these twin girls named Sam and Sara and their cousin Elise back when I was like 10 (they were originally oc characters that I made up for Naruto lol). These were some of the first fictional characters that I ever thought of. In my old middle school diary I wrote about how I wanted to be an author and write a book about those characters, I just didn’t really have a plot for them outside of the Naruto world. For a long time, I had decided not to write about them, out of embarrassment, but recently I have been thinking about how I could work them into a story.

After reading "The Outsiders," and realizing that fictional characters could die, I had the three girls eventually killed off. Elise died in November specifically. I remember writing an awful poem about them in the seventh grade; where they are all killed by Sam and Sara's father. Maybe I could turn it into a book, I don't know.

The way the mind works is fascinating. These four things are forever connected to each other in my head. My great-grandmother's passing, "The Outsiders," "November Rain," and Sam's story. Any time I think about one of these things, I always end up thinking about the other three as well. They are inextricably linked together in my mind.

I recently reread, "The Outsiders" for the first time since middle school. I've been wanting to reread it for years now but never got around to it. Rereading it felt almost cathartic in a way. I think I understand the theme and message of the book much better now than I did back in middle school. While I loved the book as a 12-year-old, I don't remember if I really understood the point of it. Maybe I did understand it? Maybe I'm not giving my kid self enough credit? I wish I had kept my school work on the subject so that I could read what my thoughts on it were back then.

This is getting kind of rambly so I’m going to wrap it up. The point of all this is that books should not be banned.

I've been reading banned books for a while now and "The Outsiders" is a book that gets banned from schools pretty often. I guess because of the violence and social commentary? But what if it had been banned at my middle school? How different would my life be? This is the book that made me want to write my own books. Where would I be without that? Who would I be?

Angelic sounds, the taut strings make,

When played for fallen kings and banished sons.

Across the threads, drift deadly gentle fingers,

And a harmonious chord it makes.

As he sings, grief and regret fill

The commanding, strong voice.

Lullabies and laments

Are all that come from the harp.

We are always far apart,

I didn't have a coat so I borrowed yours.

This reoccurring dream of falling

Down and immobility, are taking its

Toll on me. I can never wake up or be

Alone and it drives me crazy.

They tear and they rip into my

Mind, and there is no relief to find

When you don’t know how to stop

This kind of dreadful dream.

I just want them to be gone or

To be real. I just want to be awake

So that I don’t have to feel this