The Ties of Life into One Essay Example for Free

The Ties of Life into One Essay All works of literature are bound together in a deep, enigmatic way not visible to the eye at first look. Like pieces in a puzzle, even the most dissimilar pieces of writing fit together to construct the whole picture of the world of literature and life. Austerlitz and The Task of the Translator, taken together, demonstrate this idea. Though they are vastly unlike each other in their natures and features, their perspectives and their arguments, their style of written language and the category of writing in which they are found, they can still be drawn together and connected to form something distinctive and beautiful. If read and analyzed carefully, these two pieces of literary work can be put together to form another piece, one profound and exquisite, almost enigmatic and immense. They seem to be connected in some mysterious and unreachable way. From within them, a certain pull seems to issue, one intangible and indefinable, like the pull felt on viewing some veiled mystery in life, or on feeling or seeing something felt or seen in the past, in a dreamlike world. Both works have, in themselves, a meaning that goes beyond the surface, beyond sight and touch, and reach for the part of human life that lies Last name, page no. beneath and is unseen to the world. Both have these in common, there are profundity to them absorbs the careful reader into a soul-moving experience, but leave the quick, casual, shallow reader on the outside, wondering and uninformed, even bored or tired. The book Austerlitz is a highly descriptive narrative about Jacques Austerlitz, a German boy who lost his past in the ashes of the history of the Holocaust. Adopted by a Minister and his wife, he lived his life in oblivion to his own history, shrouded by fog and isolation he created for himself. Later, however, he experienced flashbacks and moments of vertigo, which began his search to discover his parents’ identity and the circumstances that led to his being left an orphan. The story is retold by a narrator who, by chance, encounters Austerlitz. Austerlitz tells him of his search for the past. Later, they plan meetings, and long descriptive and discourses follow as they speak of Architecture, Nocturnal Animals, and the Passages of the Paris library. Austerlitz seems to be simple at the start: it is about a boy who loses his parents in Germany and is adopted by a couple who raises him and keeps the secrets of his past from him until a later date. On the outset, it is a simple story of someone searching to find what has happened to him and who his true parents were. Then, confusion seems to build. The narrator of the book and Jacques Austerlitz seem to lose themselves in speaking of Architecture, Nocturnal Animals, and the passages about the Paris library. Where could these things lead, and relate to the theme and story of the book, to the lost boy trying to find his lost past? Last name, page no. But, if you dig deeper, and read carefully, you feel you are standing at the verge of a precipice with a whole sea of meaning beneath your feet. There is something behind the words, something that pulls your soul into it, but something you cannot grasp, or touch with human words. Jacques Austerlitz has lived his early life in silence and mystery. He seems to be going on quietly into the future, with the present a fog around him, and the past darkness. There is something about the strength of ignorance here: it must be a carefree life, but not a happy one. The minister and his wife later tell him about his past and his true name, but he does not seem to care to dig into his past, and is contented to live his life in that silent oblivion. Then, as he walked into a train station once, realization seemed to strike him like lightning. He suddenly experienced moments of vertigo, and flashbacks and memories came to him. Why a train station? It seems that he had been moving, like a train, steadily and mechanically toward a hazy, unknown future, but failing to realize that his past, too, was hazy and unknown, and he did not know the beginning of his destination. The clock, then, seemed to turn at this place. The train station depicted travel, and now his journey began, not into an unknown future, but into an unknown past. He seemed to turn around and reach for the things of the time that went before. The speeches with the narrator, which make up a large part of the book, are not confusing and contradictory, as they seem to be. Austerlitz speaks of architecture, in all its vastness and minuteness. Architecture is a vast subject, there are large arcs, large buildings, vast things; but it is also minute, there are corners, crevices, nooks, not seen by Last name, page no. the normal eye, but existing, anyway. These two elements are part of each other. They never can be parted and thought of separately. What could they have reminded him of? Why architecture? Could the forms of things, which hid a history of lives behind them, remind him of the past, of a warm hand to hold, of memories buried into great walls and hidden crevices, like the fog that enveloped him in oblivion? Philosophers and nocturnal animals have a lot of similarities. After all his arguments, this veiled idea lies beneath all, that philosophers, like night-animals, see when everyone else seem to be asleep. They seem to have reached a deeper knowledge, which bears them up above the everyday passages of human life, with all its superficial knowledge and unthinking ways and speeches. Philosophers seek to interpret the whole of human life within the cloak of a history not untold, and therefore the history must be told. The passages of the Paris library are veiled in mystery, like the mystery of life, like the many passages in memory. They are all built together to form one building, one life, but the many passages are lost in the dark, winding and winding, and not found until explored. All are mysterious, all are beautiful, and, though some are hidden in the dark, all must be part of the whole, and all must be found out: all the parts of his life, though some are hidden in the dark, must be explored and found out. The background of this story, of course, is the Holocaust. Though the narrative is silent, and seems to turn its head from looking into the face of that horrible time in history, the context embraces it and it hangs over the whole story like the sky hangs above us all. Every moment is enfolded in this history, a contrast to Austerlitz, who tries Last name, page no. to escape his past. But the cause of his trouble is the war itself, and though no passage looks at it directly, a silent voice seems to cry against it, and, like the passages of the library, all are a part of the whole. He seems to be saying, besides, that Germany must reconcile itself with its history of the Holocaust and should not hide in its oblivion, but embrace the moment, and the ground of its memory. â€Å"For instance, if I am walking through the city and look into one of those quiet courtyards where nothing has changed for decades, I feel, almost physically, the current of time slowing down in the gravitational field of oblivion. It seems to me as if all the moments of our life occupy the same space, as if future events already existed and were only waiting for us to find our way to them at last, just as when we have accepted an invitation we duly arrive in a certain house at a given time. And might it not be, continued Austerlitz, that we also have appointments to keep in the past, in what has gone before and is for the most part extinguished, and must go there in search of places and people who have some connection with us on the far side of time, so to speak? † (Sebald 257-258). He seems to be saying this: all of individual experience is at once vast and minute; the grief of history cannot be consoled; and the moment and its ground of memory and history is dazzling in its quiet mystery. He is speaking of life, with all its little gifts and mysteries, how all of life is connected to itself, how the ground upon which we stand is full of memory, how today reaches out and touches yesterday, and together, reach over into what will be tomorrow. There is his history, pulling him back, there is architecture, part of yesterday, and part of today; there are the moths forming arches over boys’ heads, Last name, page no. full of mystery and the gifts of today; there are the passages about the library, full of the past, and yet existing, full of today, if explored and embraced. The Task of the Translator is a very deep piece of writing which shows a number of things about translating from one language to another. The author speaks of translating an original work of literature and some of the misconceptions of people who undertake to do that work. He defines translation in a way unthought-of and deeper than life. He speaks of the kinship of all the languages of the world, and says that all must strive for the ‘pure language,’ which is untranslatable in itself. Translations must be faithful to the original, but they must add more elements to themselves to lead closer to that ‘pure language. ’ â€Å"Although translation, unlike art, cannot claim permanence for its products, its goal is undeniably a final, conclusive, decisive stage of all linguistic creation. † (Benjamin 3) This, according to him, is the task of the translator: to move closer to this language, which is above all, and divine truth. The Task of the Translator seems to puzzle more than Austerlitz does. The themes can be seen with careful probing in the latter, but in the former, there seems to be a depth quite beyond, a mystery that cannot be solved, but that must be interpreted by us in whatever ways will benefit us best. Walter Benjamin’s style is more dense and thoughtful-his points are scattered throughout the article, and merged here and there with common misconceptions and the truth. His point is hidden in a dark sea of language, but his points, as they come, rise here and there, like sudden burst of light upon the mind. Like Austerlitz, the article seems to be a practical piece of writing, one written to guide translators in the task of translating literature. His points, though, seem so deep and Last name, page no. so buried that it becomes confusing at once. IS he guiding translators in the way that they should go? Or is he writing some deep literature about language and divine truth, knowledge and what lies beyond? He buries his thoughts in language so deep and so dense, so full of meaning and so difficult to grasp at. At this point, when his work has been read and reread, there seems to be a depth beneath, the same depth felt on reading Austerlitz. The soul seems to be pulled higher, yet deeper, into something whose presence was never expected to exist. He speaks of languages and how they are all related to each other in that they are born to express what is common to us: life. â€Å" languages are not strangers to one another, but are†¦ interrelated in what they want to express † (Benjamin 2) There is relatedness about them, and they cannot be separated. Moreover, they are not like each other at all. Each language has its own element which the others do not; each is special in its own way, touched by the fingers of something deeper than what they seem on the outset. He speaks of a pure language, which is, in itself, untranslatable and, above all, the core of meaning. The original strives to relate itself to this pure language, but not any work of literature or art can aspire to it. Translations come after, after the original has passed, and modifies it, striving, in itself, to reach higher than the original has, for the pure language. Both works do not contradict each other. The original seems to have nothing to do with the translation, and the translation is not a mere copy of the original. Instead, both of them are like pieces in a puzzle, each aspiring to come together for the aspiration for the pure language, which is beyond, which is untranslatable. â€Å"In translation the original rises into a higher and purer linguistic air, as it were. † (Benjamin 3) Last name, page no. He seems to speak of this pure language as the language of God, the language of true meaning, the language of divine truth. He seems to say that all languages are united, seeking for the language of God. In this, divine truth is hidden. All are part of a whole, all are related. Nothing can be taken by itself; nothing can be read by itself. It does not matter of the reader, of the one who observes the art, it is the aspiration for the better, the pure, the Good, the Divine. He is full of contradictions. He seems to desire translators to follow some way, not to stick to the original, but to aspire for higher language, but he seems to say, in another and more hidden way, that this is impossible to do. It is not an article that teaches translators, it is a hidden work of the true language, of his beliefs that divine truth can come with the pure language. There seems to be a deeper relation between the two works than their mystery and depth. They seem to pull themselves into something: ONE. Austerlitz ties all life into one: the horrors of the past, the inconsolable pains of history, the gifts of today, the ground of the moment, and what stood on that ground before the moment existed, the passages leading to nowhere, but all proceeding from one, the secret heart. And the Task of the Translator ties all language (and all life, because language is only the expression of life) into one: one great language, one truth, one divine good, one pure language into which all things merge. All are part of a whole. All are united. All language, all life, come down to ONE. Appendix Benjamin, Walter. The Task of the Translator. New York: Routledge, 2000. Sebald, W. G. Austerlitz. New York: Random House, Inc. 2001.

Rosalind and the Masks in Shakespeares As You Like It :: Shakespeare As You Like It Essays

Rosalind and the Masks In this essay I would like to focus on Rosalind's - or rather Ganymede's - preoccupation with the outward show of things. Whether this is a result of her cross-dressing, the reason for the same, or the playwright's way of revealing his presence is not as yet clear to me, but Rosalind's constant insistence on the truth of masks and on the other hand her readiness to doubt this same truth fascinates me. When she decides to dress up as a boy, Rosalind seems to think a mannish outside sufficient to convince the world at large (I.iii.111-118). She is "more than common tall" and therefore all she needs is a "gallant curtle-axe", a "boar spear" and a "swashing and a martial outside" to hide her feminine anxiousness. Taking it for granted that noone will have the hunch to look beyond her male costume, she reasons that since cowardly men are able to hide these feminine qualities, she should be able to pass off as a man, simply by behaving mannishly. Being so totally dependent on her own disguise not being found out, it is funny how she proceeds to doubt anyone who does not put on an outward show fitting to their claims to feeling. The first to be put on the stand in this fashion is Orlando. As Ganymede Rosalind refuses to accept Orlando's claim to being the desperate author of the love-verses (s)he has found hanging on the trees on the grounds that he has no visible marks of love upon him. A lean cheek, which you have not; a blue eye and sunken, which you have not; an unquestionable spirit, which you have not; a beard neglected, which you have not (...) Then your hose should be ungartered, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and everything about you demonstrating careless desolation. (III.ii.363-371) He is, in other words, not exactly the picture of the despairing suitor. Neither does Jaques measure up to Rosalind's expectations of the melancholy traveller. She greets him with a "they say you are" (IV.i.3), and sends him off with the order of: Look you lisp, and wear strange suits; disable all the benefits of your own country; be out of love with your nativity, and almost chide God for making that countenance you are; or I will scarce think you have swam in a gondola.

The Golden Lily Chapter 18

JILL DIDN'T GIVE ME any starry-eyed looks at breakfast the next morning, which was kind of a relief. Micah had surfaced again, and while they weren't as flirty as they'd been in the past, the two were chatting animatedly away about a science project she had. Eddie and Angeline were equally engrossed in conversation, making plans for when she was free of her suspension. Her blues eyes were alight with happiness as they talked, and I realized that she had legitimate feelings for him. She hadn't just been throwing herself at him for the sake of conquest. I wondered if he knew. It would've been easy to feel like a fifth wheel here, but instead, I was pleased and content to see my little cohort getting along so well. Stanton's conversation had still left me conflicted, but there was nothing wrong with appreciating the peace around here. I would've been happier still if Trey's behavior had also normalized, but when I reached my history class later, he was absent yet again. I had no doubt he'd claim he had family stuff, but my earlier suspicions were returning, about whether his family might be responsible for his injuries. Should I report my worries to someone? Who? I didn't want to jump to conclusions either, which left me in a bind. Eddie and I always sat near each other in that class, and I leaned toward him before the bell rang, pitching my voice low to address another concern. â€Å"Hey, have you noticed that Jill's been kind of acting weirdly around me?† â€Å"She's got a lot going on,† he said, ever quick to defend her. â€Å"Yeah, I know, but you had to have noticed her last night. In the library? I mean – keeping in mind I'm terrible at figuring this stuff out – it was like she had a crush on me or something.† He laughed at that. â€Å"She was kind of laying it on thick, but I don't think you have to worry about some romantic complication. She just looks up to you a lot, that's all. Part of her still wants to be a brave fighter who rushes out fearlessly†¦Ã¢â‚¬  He paused as he savored that idea, a mix of pride and rapture on his face before he tuned back into me. â€Å"But at the same time, you're starting to show her there all sorts of ways to be powerful.† â€Å"Thanks,† I said. â€Å"I think. But speaking of her being a brave fighter†¦Ã¢â‚¬  I studied him curiously. â€Å"Why don't you train her anymore? Don't you want her to hone her skills?† â€Å"Oh, yeah. That. Well†¦ there are a few reasons for it. One is I need to focus on Angeline. Another is that I just don't want Jill worried about that. I'll do the protecting.† Those were exactly the reasons I'd guessed. The next one was not. â€Å"And I guess†¦ the other thing is that I don't feel right being in contact with her like that. I mean, I know it means nothing to her†¦ but it means something to me.† Again, my social skills took a moment to kick in. â€Å"You mean, you don't like that you have to touch her?† Eddie actually blushed. â€Å"It doesn't bother me, that's the problem. Better for us to spend time together in a hands-off way.† I hadn't expected that, but I could understand it. Leaving Eddie to his own inner demons, I soon got caught up in the day and wondering what had happened to Trey. I'd hoped he'd come into class late, but he didn't. In fact, he didn't surface for the rest of the day, not even when I was finishing up my independent study. I'd thought he might come by again for homework. â€Å"You look troubled,† said Ms. Terwilliger, watching me pack up when the bell rang. â€Å"Worried about getting your project in on time?† â€Å"No.† I'd actually finished two of the charms, but I certainly wasn't going to tell her that. â€Å"I'm worried about Trey. He keeps missing school. Do you know why he's out? I mean, if you can tell me?† â€Å"The office notifies us if a student will be out for the day, but they don't tell us the reason. If it makes you feel better, Mr. Juarez's absence was called in this morning. He hasn't disappeared.† I almost mentioned my fears about his home but held off. I still needed more evidence. Between worrying about Trey, Ms. Terwilliger's work, the Warriors, Brayden, and all my other myriad complications, I knew I couldn't waste any of my free time. Nonetheless, I went to Adrian's after school on a mission I couldn't refuse. On our way to Wolfe's class earlier this week, Adrian had mentioned offhandedly that he hadn't had the Mustang looked at by a mechanic before purchasing it. Although my own novice assessment hadn't found anything wrong with the car, I pushed for Adrian to get the car examined – which, of course, meant I had to look up a specialist and make the appointment. It was just before my textile museum date, but I was certain I had time to make it all work. â€Å"The guy I bought it from seemed pretty trustworthy,† Adrian told me, after we'd dropped the car off with the mechanic. He'd told us he'd look at it right away and that we could hang around and wait. His shop was on the outskirts of a suburban area, so Adrian suggested we go for a walk through the neighborhoods. â€Å"And it ran just fine when I did the test drive, so I figured everything was okay.† â€Å"That doesn't mean there aren't problems you can't see. It's best to be safe,† I said, knowing I sounded preachy. â€Å"Bad enough you got a car you can't drive.† Glancing over, I saw a small, half smile on his face. â€Å"With your help, I'll be a pro in no time. Of course, if you don't want to help anymore, I'll just wing it and figure it out on my own.† I groaned. â€Å"You already know what I'd say about – wow.† The neighborhood we were in was pretty affluent. In fact, I'd say the houses bordered on being bona fide mansions. We stopped in front of one that looked like a cross between a hacienda and a southern plantation, large and sprawling with a pillared porch and pink stucco siding. The front yard was a mix of climates, green grass with palm trees lining the path to the house. The trees were like tropical sentries. â€Å"Gorgeous,† I said. â€Å"I love architecture. In another life, I'd have studied that – not chemicals and vampires.† As we continued on, we saw more of the same, each house trying to outdo the others. All of them had high fences and hedges blocking their backyards. â€Å"I wonder what's back there. Pools, probably.† Adrian stopped in front of another. It was as yellow as his car and showed another mix of styles, like a southwest version of a medieval castle, complete with turrets. â€Å"Nice juxtaposition,† he remarked. I turned, knowing my eyes were wide as I stared at him. â€Å"Did you just use juxtaposition in a sentence?† â€Å"Yes, Sage,† he said patiently. â€Å"We use it all the time with art, when we're mixing different components. That, and I know how to use a dictionary.† He turned from me and scanned the house, his eyes resting on a gardener who was out trimming some hedges. A sly smile crossed Adrian's lips. â€Å"You want to see the back? Come on.† â€Å"What are you – † Before I could say another word, Adrian strode up the granite pathway and cut across the lawn to where the guy was working. I didn't want anything to do with this, but the responsible part of me couldn't let Adrian get into trouble. I hurried after him. â€Å"Are the owners home?† Adrian asked. The gardener had stopped his clipping and stared at Adrian. â€Å"No.† â€Å"When will they be back?† â€Å"After six.† I was astonished that the guy was answering these questions. If I'd been asked them, I would've assumed someone was staging a break-in. Then, I saw the glazed look in the gardener's eyes and realized what was going on. â€Å"Adrian – â€Å" Adrian's eyes never left the other man's face. â€Å"Take us to the backyard.† â€Å"Of course.† The gardener dropped his hedge clippers and headed for a gate on the side of the house. I tried to get Adrian's attention to stop this, but he was outpacing me. Our guide stopped at the gate, entered a security code, and led us to the back. My protests died on my lips as I gazed around. This back property was almost three times the size of the front. There were more palm trees ringing the yard, along with a terraced garden full of plants, both native and non-native. A huge oval shaped pool dominated the space, its turquoise hue startling against the gray of the granite that surrounded it. On one side of the pool, several steps led up to a smaller, square pool. It could only hold a few people, and a waterfall poured out from it, down to the larger pool. Tiki torches and tables around the pools completed the lush setup. â€Å"Thanks,† Adrian told the gardener. â€Å"Go back to your work. It's okay if we're here. We'll see ourselves out.† â€Å"Of course,† the man replied. He walked back the way we'd come in. I snapped back to reality. â€Å"Adrian! You used compulsion on that guy. That†¦ I mean, it's†¦Ã¢â‚¬  â€Å"Awesome?† Adrian walked over to the steps leading up to the upper pool. â€Å"Yeah, I know.† â€Å"It's wrong! All of this. Breaking and entering, and compulsion†¦Ã¢â‚¬  I shivered, despite the sweltering heat. â€Å"It's immoral. Controlling someone else's mind. You know it! Your people and mine both agree.† â€Å"Eh, no harm done.† He climbed to the top of the pool and stood on its edge, surveying his kingdom. The sun brought out chestnut glints in his brown hair. â€Å"Believe me, that guy was easy to control. Weak-willed. I barely had to use compulsion.† â€Å"Adrian – â€Å" â€Å"Come on, Sage. Not like we're going to hurt anything. Check out this view.† I was almost afraid to go up there. It was so rare for any of the Moroi here to use their magic that it was easy for me to pretend it didn't exist. Seeing Adrian use it – the most insidious kind – made my skin crawl. As I'd told Ms. Terwilliger in our charm discussion, no one should be able to control another like that. â€Å"Come on,† Adrian repeated. â€Å"You're not worried I'm going to compel you up here, are you?† â€Å"Of course not,† I said. And I meant it. I didn't know why, but some part of me knew Adrian would never, ever harm me. Reluctantly, I went to join him, hoping that would encourage him to leave. When I reached the top, my jaw dropped. The intimate pool hadn't seemed that high, but it gave us a stunning view of the mountains off in the distance, rugged and majestic against the blue of the sky. The larger pool glittered below us, and the waterfall made it look like we'd entered some mystical oasis. â€Å"Cool, huh?† he asked. Adrian sat down on the small pool's edge, rolled up his jeans, and took off his socks and shoes. â€Å"Now what are you doing?† I asked. â€Å"Making the most out of this.† He put his feet in the water. â€Å"Come on. Do something bad for a change. Not that it's really that bad. We aren't trashing this place or anything.† I hesitated, but the water was intoxicating, as though it too could wield compulsion. Settling down, I copied Adrian and dipped my bare feet into the water. Its coolness was startling – and wonderful – in this intense heat. â€Å"I could get used to this,† I admitted. â€Å"But what if the owners come home early?† He shrugged. â€Å"I can talk us out of it, don't worry.† That wasn't exactly reassuring. I turned back to the gorgeous view and lush property. I wasn't always the most imaginative person, but I thought back to what I'd said about living another life. What would it be like to have a home like this? To stay in one place? To spend days by the pool, soaking in the sun, and not worrying about the fate of humanity? I fell into daydreams and was so caught up that I lost track of time. â€Å"We have to get back to the shop,† I exclaimed. Glancing over, I was astonished to see Adrian watching me, a look of contentment on his face. His eyes seemed to study my every feature. Seeing me notice him, he immediately looked away. His usual smirky expression replaced the dreamy one. â€Å"The mechanic will wait,† he said. â€Å"Yeah, but I'm supposed to meet Brayden soon. I'll be – † That's when I got a good look at Adrian. â€Å"What have you done? Look at you! You shouldn't be out here.† â€Å"It's not that bad.† He was lying, and we both knew it. It was late afternoon, and the sun was merciless. I'd certainly felt it, though the coolness of the water had helped distract me. That, and I was human. Sure, sunstroke and sunburns were concerns, but I loved the sun and had a high tolerance for it. Vampires did not. Sweat poured off Adrian, soaking his shirt and hair. Pink blotches covered his face. They were familiar. I'd seen them on Jill back when she'd been forced to play outdoor sports in PE. Left unchecked, they'd turn into burns. I jumped to my feet. â€Å"Come on, we have to get out of here before you get worse. What were you thinking?† His expression was astonishingly nonchalant for someone who looked like he would pass out. â€Å"It was worth it. You looked†¦ happy.† â€Å"That's crazy,† I said. â€Å"Not the craziest thing I've ever done.† He smiled as he looked up at me. His eyes grew slightly unfocused, as though they were seeing more than just me. â€Å"What's a little crazy here and there? I'm supposed to be doing experiments†¦ why not see which is brighter: your aura or the sun?† The way he looked at me and spoke unnerved me, and I remembered what Jill had said, how spirit slowly drove its users insane. Adrian hardly seemed insane, but there was certainly something haunted about him, a definite shift from his usual sharp wit. It was as though something else had seized hold of him. I remembered that poem line, about dreaming and waking. â€Å"Come on,† I repeated. I held out my hand. â€Å"You shouldn't have used spirit. We need to get you out of here.† He took my hand and staggered to his feet. A rush of warmth and electricity went through me, just as it had the last time we touched, and our eyes held. For a moment, all I could think about were his earlier words: You looked happy†¦ I brushed such sentiments aside and quickly got him out of there, only to discover the mechanic hadn't finished. At least in his shop, we were able to get Adrian some water and air conditioning. As we waited I texted Brayden. Running an hour late with family stuff. Sorry. Will be there as soon as I can. My phone chimed back about thirty seconds later: That only leaves an hour for the textile museum. â€Å"That's not nearly enough time,† said Adrian deadpan. I hadn't realized he'd been reading over my shoulder. I moved the phone away and suggested to Brayden we just meet for an early dinner. He concurred. â€Å"I'm a mess,† I muttered, checking myself out in a mirror. The heat had definitely taken its toll, and I looked sweaty and worn. â€Å"Don't worry about it,† Adrian told me. â€Å"If he didn't notice how awesome you were in the red dress, he probably won't notice anything now.† He hesitated. â€Å"Not that there's even anything to notice. You're as cute as usual.† I was about to snap at him for teasing me, but when I looked over, his face was deadly earnest. Whatever retort I might have managed died on my lips, and I quickly got up to check our status, in order to hide how flustered I felt. The mechanic finally finished – no problems found – and Adrian and I headed downtown. I kept watching him anxiously, afraid he'd pass out. â€Å"Stop worrying, Sage. I'm fine,† he said. â€Å"Although†¦ I'd be better with some ice cream or gelato. Even you have to admit that'd be good right now.† It would, actually, but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. â€Å"What is it with you and frozen desserts? Why do you always want them?† â€Å"Because we live in a desert.† I couldn't argue with that reasoning. We reached his place, and I swapped cars. Before he went inside, I inundated him with advice about getting water and resting. Then, I spoke the words that had been burning inside of me. â€Å"Thank you for the poolside outing,† I said. â€Å"Your near-sun-stroke aside, that was pretty amazing.† He gave me a cocky smile. â€Å"Maybe you'll get used to vampire magic after all.† â€Å"No,† I said automatically. â€Å"I'll never get used to that.† His smile immediately disappeared. â€Å"Of course not,† he murmured. â€Å"See you around.† I finally made it to dinner. I'd chosen an Italian restaurant, filled with the scents of garlic and cheese. Brayden sat at a corner table, sipping water and earning glares from the waitress, who was probably impatient for him to order. I sat down opposite him, dropping my satchel beside me. â€Å"I am so sorry,† I told him. â€Å"I had to do this thing with my, uh, brother.† If Brayden was mad, he didn't show it. That was his way. He did, however, give me a scrutinizing look. â€Å"Was it something athletic? You look like you ran a marathon.† It wasn't an insult, not by any means, but it did take me aback – mostly because I was thinking of Adrian's comment. Brayden had had almost nothing to say about my Halloween costume, but he noticed this? â€Å"We were out in Santa Sofia, getting his car looked at.† â€Å"Nice area. Keep going up the highway, and you can get to Joshua Tree National Park. Ever been there?† â€Å"No. Just read about it.† â€Å"Iconic place. The geology's fascinating.† The waitress came by, and I gratefully ordered an iced latte. Brayden was more than happy to tell me about some of the park's geology, and we soon fell into our comfortable rhythm of intellectual discussion. I didn't know the park's specific makeup, but I knew more than enough about geology in general to keep up. In fact, I was able to talk on autopilot while my mind wandered back to Adrian. I recalled again what he'd said about the red dress. I also couldn't shake the comment about me being happy, and how that was worth his suffering. â€Å"What do you think?† â€Å"Hmm?† I realized I'd lost the thread of our conversation after all. â€Å"I asked which type of desert you find more striking,† Brayden explained. â€Å"The Mojave region gets all the hype, but I actually prefer the Colorado Desert.† â€Å"Ah.† I slipped back into the flow. â€Å"Um, Mojave. I like the rock formations better.† This triggered a debate of the regions while we ate, and Brayden seemed happier and happier. He really did like having someone who could keep up with him, I realized. None of my books had said anything about the way to a man's heart being through academic debates. I didn't mind it, though. I liked the conversation, but it didn't exactly send thrills through me. I had to remind myself it was still early in our relationship – if I could even call it that. Surely the head over heels part would come soon. We talked for a long time after the meal was over. The waitress brought us an unsolicited dessert menu when we finished, and I surprised myself by saying, â€Å"Wow†¦ I can't believe how much I want gelato right now. That never happens.† Maybe the sweat and heat had leached my nutrients†¦ or maybe I still had Adrian on the brain. â€Å"I've never heard you order dessert,† said Brayden, sliding his menu away. â€Å"It's not too much sugar?† It was another of those weird statements of his that could be interpreted a number of different ways. Was he judging me? Did he think I shouldn't have any sugar? I didn't know, but it was enough for me to close the menu and set it on top of his. With no other scheduled forms of entertainment for the night, we decided to just go for a walk after dinner. The temperature was down to moderate levels, and it was still light enough out that I wasn't as concerned about the Warriors of Light jumping out from corners. That didn't mean I ignored Wolfe's teachings, however. I still kept an eye on my surroundings, watching for anything suspicious. We reached a small park that only took up one city block and found a bench in the corner. We sat down on it, watching children play on the opposite side of the lawn while we continued a discussion on bird watching in the Mojave. Brayden put his arm around me as we talked, and eventually, we exhausted the topic and simply sat in comfortable silence. â€Å"Sydney†¦Ã¢â‚¬  I turned my gaze from the children, surprised at Brayden's uncertain tone, which was very different from the one he'd just been using to defend the superiority of the mountain bluebird over the western bluebird. There was softness in his eyes now as he looked at me. The evening light made his hazel eyes take on a little more gold than usual but completely hid the green. Too bad. Before I could say anything, he leaned forward and kissed me. It was more intense than the last one, though still a long ways from the epic, all-consuming kisses I'd seen in movies. He did rest his hand on my shoulder this time, gently bringing me a little closer. The kiss also lasted longer than previous ones, and I again tried to let myself go and lose myself in the feel of someone else's lips. He was the one who ended it, a bit more abruptly than I would've expected. â€Å"I – I'm sorry,† he said, looking away. â€Å"I shouldn't have done that.† â€Å"Why not?† I asked. It wasn't so much that I'd been yearning for the kiss as it was that this seemed exactly like the kind of place you'd want to kiss: a romantic park at sunset. â€Å"We're in public. It's kind of vulgar, I suppose.† Vulgar? I wasn't even sure if we were really all that much in public, seeing as no one was next to us and we were in the shade of some trees. Brayden sighed with dismay. â€Å"I guess I just lost control. It won't happen again.† â€Å"It's okay,† I said. It hadn't seemed like that much of a loss of control, but what did I know? And I wondered if maybe a small loss of control wasn't such a bad thing. Wasn't that kind of the basis of passion? I didn't know that either. The only thing I knew for sure was that this kiss had been a lot like the last one. Nice, but it didn't blow me away. My heart sank. There was something wrong with me. Everyone was always going on about how socially inept I was. Did it extend to romance as well? Was I so cold that I'd spend my life never feeling anything? I think Brayden misread my dismay and assumed I was upset with him. He stood up and held out his hand. â€Å"Hey, let's go walk to that tea shop one block over. They've got this local painter's art on display that I think you'll like. Besides, no calories in tea, right? Better than dessert.† â€Å"Right,† I said. Thinking of the gelato didn't cheer me up any. The Italian place had had pomegranate, which kind of sounded like the best thing ever. As I stood up, my cell phone rang and startled both of us. â€Å"Hello?† â€Å"Sage? It's me.† I had no reason to be mad at Adrian, not after what he'd done for me, but somehow I felt irritated by the interruption. I was trying to make the most of this night with Brayden, and Adrian unsettled everything. â€Å"What's going on?† I asked. â€Å"Are you still downtown? You need to come over right now.† â€Å"You know I'm out with Brayden,† I said. This was pushy, even for Adrian. â€Å"I can't just drop everything and entertain you.† â€Å"It's not about me.† It was then that I noticed how hard and serious his voice was. Something tightened in my chest. â€Å"It's about Sonya. She's missing.† The Golden Lily: A Bloodlines Novel

White Trash Primer Essay - 1432 Words

English 112 7 May 2013 The Judgement In the short, personal memoir, â€Å"White Trash Primer,† Lacy M. Johnson talks about a girl’s life from childhood to her early adult life. Johnson begins her piece by talking about the girl’s childhood that seemed like an average childs life growing up in a rural area. This girl grew up in a family where her family was constantly working hard on a farm to get by. As time went on, lifes circumstances changed. The child began to mature and the family was forced to move due to financial problems. From the move, the family went from owning a farm and selling corn and soy beans, to a family that was forced to work at Wal-Mart. Depression eventually takes over the girl’s life and her lifestyle changed†¦show more content†¦Another great thing I took away from reading this memoir is that everyone looks at the same things, but in different ways. For example, the main character in Johnson’s memoir constantly went into Wal-Mart looking for a job. Aft er applying six times, she finally got hired. Some might have seen her as being a pest or an interruption to the other employees, while others saw her as being a determined individual that knew what she wanted. Everyone saw the same lady walking into the store, but all of their impressions were very different. Learning that everyone sees the world in a different manner then led to me wanting to be kind-hearted woman to everyone that I meet. Impressions are everything, so it is better to give a person the benefit of the doubt since their life stories are not revealed at the time they are seen. The last lesson I took away from reading Johnson’s piece is a person can go from living a comfortable life without the amenities, but with all the necessities, to a life where there is nothing at all. There are certain events that happen in your life that can change your life completely. Johnson is not the only person who is extremely satisfied with this piece. Many of her readers feel the same joy. One of her readers by the name of Claudia Rankine writes on an online blog saying: I was riveted by this piece—written with the haunting interiority of poetry and the compelling drive of prose. Much like being caught in a novel byShow MoreRelatedFundamentals of Hrm263904 Words   |  1056 PagesInterview 175 Summary 177 Demonstrating Comprehension: Questions for Review 177 Key Terms 178 179 HRM Workshop DID YOU KNOW?: Training Expenditures 194 Organization Development 195 Change Is a Popular Topic 195 The Calm Waters Metaphor 195 The White-Water Rapids Metaphor 196 Linking Concepts to Practice: Discussion Questions 179 Developing Diagnostic and Analytical Skills 179 Case Application 7: Timing of the Job Offer 179 Working with a Team: Preparing for the Interview 179 Learning an HRMRead MoreDeveloping Management Skills404131 Words   |  1617 Pagesenvironment this way: â€Å"We are in one of those great historical periods that occur every 200 or 300 years when people don’t understand the world anymore, and the past is not sufficient to explain the future.† Almost no one would argue that â€Å"permanent white water† best characterizes our current environment. Almost everything is in flux, from our technology and methods of transacting business to the nature of education and the definition of the family. INTRODUCTION 3 Despite all this change inRead MoreStephen P. Robbins Timothy A. Judge (2011) Organizational Behaviour 15th Edition New Jersey: Prentice Hall393164 Words   |  1573 PagesVermont Roger Volkema, American University William Walker, University of Houston Ian Walsh, Boston College Charles F. Warren, Salem State College Christa Washington, Saint Augustine’s College Jim Westerman, Appalachian State University William J. White, Northwestern University David Whitlock, Southwest Baptist University Dan Wiljanen, Grand Valley State University Dean Williamson, Brewton-Parker College Hilda Williamson, Hampton University Alice Wilson, Cedar Crest College Barry Wisdom, Southeast