Climbing Up to Fall Back Down

My breath wheezed like a broken air conditioner. Liquid drops formed on my forehead, arms, and back, and combined forces in my armpits to create a sweat stain. Mouth open, eyes foward, teeth clenched -- riding my bike up this hill was no easy task. With every heave downwards on the pedal, I realized that I had to do it again to keep moving. Muscles tightened like a belt after Thanksgiving dinner. Both lungs and my heart battled to see who could pump faster. My throat pleaded for a glass of water.  But I kept going, forcing my limbs to climb up that hill.
Finally I made it to the top. The relief felt like walking into home's door to escape the snowstorm. I could pedal now without any pain; my muscles could relax. Soon the hill began to slant in the opposite direction, and I floated down the hill. Wind met my face and patted me on the cheek. Tired eyes drooped as I accelerated without any effort. Faster and faster I went; the gravity that had pulled at my shoelaces before now shoved me downwards. My eyes were wide now, and the thrill of the roller coaster ride or the high speed car ride began to pump through my veins. The ride was exhilerating. As the ground began to once again level out, I let out a whoop, proclaiming my joy.

Excerpt From "Climbing Up to the Eagle's Nest" (a memoir about scouting)

Camp Morrison was located in the shadow of the Sawtooth Mountains near McCall, Idaho. Planted in the middle of dense forest next to the frigid waters of Payette Lake, this camp was a Launchpad for scouting. I arrived on that first day, wearing my favorite blue baseball hat, ready to earn as many merit badges as possible. My first few days were dedicated to hitting the bright red target at the archery range. I had never used a bow and arrow in my life. When I walked up to the line to shoot, I shook like a leaf, nervous that I’d stick my arrow in the eye of the instructor. But with the encouraging shouts from Dad (along with buckets of luck) I hit the bulls-eye on my first shot. Even the archery instructor let his jaw drop. Arrogance dripped out my ears as I began to pull the next arrow back, looking to once again dazzle my fellow scouts with another perfect hit. But this time the arrow sailed like a wounded duck. It didn’t even stick into the soft mesh of the target; it just bounced off and fell lamely to the ground. Heat rushed to my cheeks. This was going to be harder than I thought.

Signs of Fall

Football games on TV. Stressing about the first day of class. My mom's birthday. "The ALL NEW Pumpkin Smoothie" advertisement at Jamba Juice. Memories of getting lost in a maze of corn. Postseason baseball. The sudden realization that the leaves changed color. The sudden realization that the leaves needed to be raked up. Shorter days. Stony nights. A breath of air that smells like picked apples. Apples that came from a tree now leafless.

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."
-Thomas Jefferson

This summer I worked with children that had developmental disorders. They were different. Some could use complete sentences and put puzzles together. But some couldn't even walk to the puzzle table. A few of them could write their name. The rest I had to use a guiding grip to form the letters. There was one boy that screamed how much he hated me, how much he wanted to get away from me and go home. There was the other boy that I held in my arms on the last day, patting him on the back as he said, "I miss you." Any observer would tell me these kids were different, that they wouldn't fit into society. But as I built lego towers with these kids, I built my own opinion. An opinion that mirrors Jefferson's.
Yes, I understand that they are not like most people. Yes, I understand that they may not fit into society. I understand that physically, they were created differently. I understand all of these things. But I also understand that their creation runs deeper. The same being that Jefferson spoke of, the Creator that endows us our rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness -- this Creator created these kids. He created their Spirits. And following this life, when I wander in whatever state and whatever place that comes after, I will see these kids. I believe that my eyes will behold something similar, something equal to myself. As we meet, embrace, laugh, and cry, we will realize how equal we truly our. We were created by God, even as His children, all with an equal potential to become like our Creator. And we will probably laugh when we remember how it started -- with the colorful blocks of a lego tower creation.

Dear Dog

Dear Andee,

How are things going for you? Is your bed still smelly? And have you torn apart Brother Bear yet? I heard that Ms. Piggy has been ripped to shreds (what a shame). Things are going great for me. You would be jealous of the college life; I go on walks every single day. I walk from my dorm to my classes and back, sometimes taking a grand total of 1-2 hours of walking every day! I know, it's hard for your little brain to comprehend, but just imagine patroling the yard for an hour or two, and that is how long I walk. Isn't that crazy?! One thing I do not get to experience is running the fence. But I'll leave that endeavor to specialists like you.
Andee, I have heard that you have been a bad little boy lately. I just want you to know that you need to stop eating boxes of mac and cheese and chewing other people's clothes. Also, don't ever get into rat poisoning again (I know, it's hard to resist the sensation of hydrogen pyroxide, but you gotta put mind over matter). And if you ever feel like you need to get the wiggles out, pretend that the lawn mower is chasing you around the yard (you can also use this strategy to get rid of any unwanted neck fat). Anyways, I hope you take my advice to heart. Have fun in Boise, and don't forget to cuddle with whoever is in need of a cuddlebunny.

Love,
Ben

Clair de Lune

Suite Bergamasque  No. 3, L 75: Clair de Lune. Peter Schmalfuss.
I'm listening to it right now. The notes drift from the piano with a soft peace that fills me up like deep breath in bed after a long day at work. Like looking out over my new town from the mountain trail. As peaceful as looking at the picture of my dog Andee, remembering when he was a puppy.
The notes continue to ring out, each pressed key pushes open a door to thought. I think about running. Running up endless trails to the top of the hill. Sun reflecting off yellow weed. Keys continue to pound. I'm laying in my bed, thinking about my brother, about to come home from his mission. The light of my lamp softly illuminates the room. The room we shared, and now would share again as he returned. The song moves on. I'm saying goodbye to friends. To family. I walk away. Get on a plane. Move to a new place. Now the climbing crescendo. I find myself laughing with new friends, smiles pass around. I'm beginning classes. The subjects fascinate, captivate, inspire. As the song begins to close, I sit in the library with my textbook. I'm smiling. I close my eyes. The song ends.

A Handful of Simile

My hands are cold. Cold like the first steps out of a steaming shower. Cold like the feel of fingernails slashing against a chalkboard. Cold like mornings on a summer campout. Cold like the mountain air that laughs frigid wind. Cold like a winter sun.
My hands are so cold they are purple. As purple as the tips of a sunset cloud. As purple as the twenty-five cent grape soda that was sold in the vending machine next to Albertson's. As purple as the first leaves to change color in the fall. As purple as the face of my 10th grade basketball coach after we missed an open layup. As purple as the floor of my Honda Civic after I spilled my sister's smoothie while driving. As purple as the jar of jelly that's sitting half empty next to the peanut butter.
My purple hands are now too cold to type.

Wallet

A twenty dollar bill, a club card to the snowcone shack, 6th grade ID card (deteriorating due to innumerable laundry trips), Visa Platinum Debit Card, Visa Platinum Credit Card (I wonder what I can do with a 600 dollar limit...), twenty-five dollar gift card to Subway (only twenty dollars remain cause I bought a $5 footlong. Mmm... tasty), 7th grade ID card (I'm sportin the glasses & braces combo in this pic), 35 dollars worth of free movie tickets, Idaho Driver's licence, a picture of the Boise Temple, Eagle Scout card (that looks strangely similar to a credit card. Let's hope I don't get those two mixed up), 8th grade ID card, 9th grade ID card (how many ID cards do I have?), 10th grade ID card (oh wait, there's more), 11th and 12th grade ID cards, the For Strength of Youth pamphlet (wallet-size), BYU All Sports Pass (Go Cougars!), and a partridge in a pear tree (not really, I just wanted to see if you had read through all the rest of the junk that resides in my undersized wallet). Oh there's one more thing! My BYU ID card (Although lacking the glasses/braces combo, I believe this ID picture is the best. But that doesn't mean I'm throwing out my other ID cards!).

Excerpt From Creative Writing Assignment (Rough Draft)

Fruity Pebbles didn’t quite satisfy my sweet tooth, so I began enjoying the cinnamon swirls of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Finally learning how to read, I scanned the side of the box. My face scrunched up in confusion after reading the words: high fructose corn syrup. I wondered if 18 grams of sugar per serving was a lot for a cereal. But even if it was, I would have still gulped down my bowl to end the morning hunger. Those days were marked by hunger, but not for food – for words. I was constantly reading; my nose almost mummified after being buried in a book for so long. Instead of chasing the girls during recess, I snuck into the library. Secretly extending my bedtime when I found a favorite, I read under dim light in my room. Consequently, my eyesight weakened and I needed glasses, but that made me feel even more scholarly. I would get lost in nebulous worlds of talking mice and a magic tree house. When all the other kids in my class groaned as the teacher announced weekly trips to the library, I suppressed a squeal of glee. Under the influence of the whirling cinnamon squares of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, I found myself spinning into literature and loving every second of it.

Twentieth Maine

"Chamberlain raised his saber, let loose the shout that was the greatest sound he could make, boiling the yell up from his chest: Fix bayonets! Charge! Fix bayonets! Charge! Fix bayonets! Charge! He leaped down from the boulder, still screaming, his voice beginning to crack and give, and all around him his men were roaring animal screams, and he saw the whole Regiment rising and pouring over the wall and beginning to bound down through the dark bushes, over the dead and dying and wounded. . . ." (The Killer Angels by Michael Shaara)

In my mind the wood came to life. Men shouting amongst the bursts. The smell of burnt skin. Dead brothers. All of these images came to me as we walked along the trail of Little Round Top. This was Gettysburg. My sisters giggled and chatted behind me, probably excited by the fact that a cute tourist had walked by. I kept quiet, remembering the past. I could see Chamberlain; he was so alive. Walking along the line of troops, his mind working quickly like the bullets that whizzed by. Then the realization. The Twentieth Maine looked back at their leader with empty expression, as they revealed their empty rifles. Dry of ammunition. Chamberlain's mind didn't skip a beat. "Bayonets!" he hollered.
The word was enough. It ran like fire along the line, from man to man, and rose into a shout, with which they sprang forward upon the enemy. -- Joshua Chamberlain
Success hinged upon that man. I remember seeing a picture of him, and almost laughed at his mustache that extended past his chin. But now I knew what he did, what he accomplished under the grinding pressure of leadership. He fastened a blade to the end of his rifle and charged. And men followed.

My First Trip to the Library

Silence seeps in the walls of the lower level of the BYU Library. As I walked down the stairs, the friendly chatter and studious discussions began to diminish, becoming soft echoes. I smiled as I took my seat at a table nearby; the silence was just what I wanted. Screams and shouts of students, the blaring music in my dorm building, and the honks and horns on the streets, all pricked the patience of my brain. Now I could finally sit back and think. Now I could finally get some work done, and open the world behind the title page of my textbook. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief, and my eyes closed in satisfaction.
I found it difficult to reopen them. My eyelids felt weighted, pulling down a dreamy drape on my vision. But I was at peace; a smile remained on my face as I enjoyed the silence. Thoughts began to lose momentum, becoming slower and heavier. I wanted to read and work, but my body and mind resisted, lulling me to rest. I rested my chin on my hand, falling faster and faster out of the conscious world.
My arm became limp. Then gravity took care of the rest; my head fell and hit the table with a loud "THUMP." My eyelids finally whipped open and I awoke with a start, a quick breath firing up the motor in my brain. I looked around with embarrasment flowing into red cheeks, but I couldn't help but laugh. My first trip to the library may not have been successful. But seeing my head hit the table probably gave somebody something to laugh about.