[Illustrated] Six-Word Memoir

I was looking for a writing challenge. I generally try to stay away from the autobiographical ones, but when I came across the Six-Word Memoir I had to try it: what six-word sentence would summarize my life so far? 

I wrote worry challenges me to be better and then illustrated it. 

Want to know more about the Six-Word Memoir? Click here or here or here- it'll all lead you to the same website :D 

Happy Monday! 

Bub

The glass floor of the submersible did not lessen my fear, but exaggerated it. The pulsing red lights weren’t help either. “Infrared lights for our underwater friends,” the captain said, “we’re invisible down here.” I sent out my mind into the abyss: I’m invisible, but can you hear me? See, I have a headache. Is there some all natural remedy down here one of you can get for me? I waited, but received no response. I know I’m invisible to you so you probably don’t believe something invisible can have a head that can ache, but I have a head, and it’s aching. I-.

Suddenly, the submersible shook because below my feet was the giant head of a squid. I waved at it despite knowing its eyes were not yet looking at me when I heard in my mind, Did I bump into you?

I looked around me: people were in a panic, but careful to move slowly and carefully, their cameras poised to take videos and pictures. Some people had sketchpads or notebooks. Other people were too afraid and watched from the suspended walkways. The captain began to announce something over the PA system; something about ‘This great monster-!’ and ‘Isn’t The --- such a marvelous submarine that it will withstand the attack of a giant squid?” Again I heard in my mind, Is it you?

I took a few steps back, away from the crowd of people to give them more space to stare, and answered, Hello. Hi.

Did I bump into you?

Uh, yes- no. I guess you bumped into me, but it’s not exactly me-. You bumped into my home.

Your what?

I smirked. My home- the place where I live.

The giant squid swirled in and out of view until it finally pressed one of its eyes to the glass. You feel funny. You’re hard like rock, but you’re not rock because you can talk, and you’re smooth like me, but hard.

It’s my home you’re feeling.

The giant squid disappeared from the view of the glass floor, making everyone moan and complain. The captain suggested everyone get back to their usual duties, but I did not. I sat at the edge of the glass floor and sent out my thought: Are you still there?

Am I still there?

So, you didn’t leave.

Leave?

You didn’t go away?

I didn’t go away?

I don’t think we understand each other.

No. What is ‘there’? What is ‘leave’? What is ‘away’ and why is it going? Where is it going?

Wow. We have a lot to talk about.

What is ‘talk’?

We’re talking now. It’s the exchange of words.

What are ‘words’?

Are you a giant squid?

What’s a ‘squid’?

Okay, fine. Um, I am Justine.

I am-. The giant squid made some incomprehensible bubbling noises.

I see.

So you have eyes!

“A lot of them,” I answered looking around the submersible’s many people, port holes, and cameras. Yes. Do you have eyes?

Yes. Where are your eyes?

Uh, can I call you ‘Bub’?

What is ‘Bub’?

Well, if I am Justine, can you be ‘Bub’?

The giant squid didn’t answer. I caught a glimpse of its tentacles swimming away. Goodbye, I thought. It did not think back, so I returned to my duties.

Not in the Eyes

For whatever reason, it wasn't his eyes that entranced me, but his touch.

It was usually the eyes. The eyes always sucked me in, like a black hole about to swallow a solar system. The eyes that would convince me to do anything to believe anything. Men could not easily bed me, but they could easily tempt thoughts, provoke ideas. Men could easily get me to say anything. Their eyes, blinking or winking, or crinkling from laughter, would undo my trickiest knots; my mind theirs to swim. I might as well have been bedded for all I revealed. 

But his eyes were different. They were lovely eyes, but they were eyes I'd seen before. The same eyes that stare thoughtlessly at nothing; the same eyes that scrutinize the tiniest details. I was familiar with his eyes though with different sockets; different minds. His eyes did not stun me. 

I wouldn't let them stun me.

But his touch subdued me. 

He hadn't meant to touch me, I'm sure. I surely didn't put myself in the way to be touched. He'd only reached over the table and his shoulder rubbed against my own. Then a friend yelled, "Picture!" and he wound his arm around my shoulders, only for a moment, and was done. 

Had there been something between us something might've changed because I only knew his name. Though I forget it now. Like his eyes, his name was lovely but familiar. 

Yesterday's dawn. 

Another night he grabbed my arm to pull me out of the way of an oncoming vehicle. 

Another day he accidentally bumped into me walking too fast behind me.

Another day he and I tried to reach for the same glass of wine.

Another day he was yelling at the top of his lungs, announcing something-or-other for all our friends to hear. He swore confetti and streamers and lights and drinks and music and dance and steak and wind. I looked him in the eye and said, "Do you pinky swear all that will be there? Just like you say?"

With one hand he took my wrist; with his other hand he swore: "I keep my word."

He strengthened his words with action, but dulled the sharpness of his eyes. The eyes I had observed with much familiarity now shrunk with mystery. Eyes I could not discern, not as stunning as his touch.

"All right," I barely answered. I wished he'd let go of me. He pulled me  closer and said over my head to the others, "Anyone else dare challenge me?! I keep my word! I keep my word, I do!"

I pushed away from him, sure of his word. Sure of his touch and now his eyes. Swayed by too much of him- had there been anything between us anything might've changed- anything did change, a change I wasn't in control of.

--- ^^ well, this is super cheesy, obscure, and something to be messed with later. 

Eight Hours

"Hello," she said to the secretary. "Hi. My name is Heart. And this is my brother, Pulsus."

"I'm sorry?"

Heart swallowed her nervousness. Next to her, her little brother, Pulsus clenched his fists. Heart couldn't think of a way to calm him down. But if she didn't calm him down soon he'd pop a vein. And not his own vein, but the vein of the secretary.

Heart repeated, "My name is Heart. And this is brother, Pulsus."

"Last name?"

"Mine or his? But I guess that wouldn't matter. We have the same last name." Heart laughed, butt he secretary's facial muscles must be malfunctioning because his indifference morphed into annoyance. He hadn't thought Heart funny. Heart picked up the pace and answered, "Sishon. Our last name is-."

"Spell that for me, please?"

Heart got the feeling the secretary rarely said 'please' but instead of commenting on that, she spelled her last name.

Pulsus pulled at her jacket. He shook his head. "No," he whispered. She shushed him, and did her best to ignore his sad, scared eyes. He has to go to school, Heart reminded herself.

The secretary found Pulsus' name and information. He confirmed the information with the stack of papers Heart brought. Then with a smile that would've deterred an attacking polar bear said, "Welcome to kindergarten, Pulsus. This way."

"But he's scary!" Pulsus barely whispered. Heart agreed, but fearing another of the secretary's smile corrected, "He's dairy-free! He's- he's dairy-free. Free of dairy. Dairy gives him-."

But the secretary did not hear. He'd led them down the corridor and disappeared into a classroom shutting the door behind him. Heart wasn't sure whether or not she should follow so she turned to Pulsus. He could've looked sadder if he tried, but he was too scared to try.

"Pully," she said to him, "you can't say stuff like that out loud." She wished he would ask 'Why?' She wished he would fight for his American-given right to freedom of speech, but he just looked at the floor, trembling. She knelt to look him in the eye. "Look, Pull, I know. School's hard. Neither of us like school, but for now we have to do what's required of us."

Pulsus rolled his eyes but nodded, obliging to his *ate's desperation.

Just as she stood to her feet the secretary opened the door inviting them in. "Thank you for your patience. Come in." Heart got the same feeling the secretary also rarely said 'thank you', or 'patience' for that matter.

He led them toward the classroom teacher who stood at her desk, hands neatly folded in front of her. The students were quiet. Not even whispering rumors (that would become facts) about the new kid. Heart preferred rumors to their silence. At least if they were talking she could shut them up. She likes shutting people up. Proving them wrong. They were always wrong about her and her brother.

The teacher, whose name Heart would never learn to pronounce, announced to the class, "Class, attention. This is your new classmate, Pulsus Sishon."

Heart was surprised not to hear a snicker reverberate through the students. They continued to sit in silence.

"Class," continued the teacher, "say 'Hello' to Pulsus."

"Hello."

Pulsus glowered.

"And this is Pulsus' mother."

"Sister," Heart corrected. "Sister. Just a sister. Guardian. Sister. My name's Heart." She smiled.

"Well, Heart. Would you like to take your brother to his seat?"

Pulsus grabbed Heart's hand and dragged her to the only free desk in the room. He plopped down, pulling her down with him. She had to kneel next to him. "Hey," she whispered to him. "I'll be here five minutes before I have to pick you up. How's that?"

He nodded.

"You- you have a great day, Pull, and then we can have ice cream after, okay? You'll be fine."

He shook his head, but let go of her hand and pushed her away. He stared at the desk.

"Okay!" Heart said. "I guess I'm out of here. Thank you. Lovely classroom. Great decorations. Well. Have fun class. Okay. Thank you," Heart quickly bowed out of the room.

She'd told Pulsus she'd be five minutes early to pick him up, but Heart had nowhere to go. She could only loiter around the area. What would she do for eight hours? She had a book with her, but didn't feel relaxed enough to read. If she opened it she would just stare at one word.

The last time she did that, she ended up not reading the book at all for with every attempt to read that book, she could only see the one word she stared at. That word was 'elusive'. She looked up its **definition: difficult to find, catch, or achieve; early 18th century: from Latin elus- 'eluded' (from the verb eludere) + ive. Later she told Pulsus a new word she'd learned.

Even later, Pulsus tried to tell their parents, but they were unresponsive.

Heart didn't have the heart to tell Pulsus they would never respond, but she also didn't want Pulsus to stop trying.

Pulsus stopped trying to do a lot of other things.

Heart raced down the street looking for an open store to loiter in. She'd have to fill eight hours. She figured she'd best fill those hours with ways to keep Pulsus trying.




*Tagalog for 'older sister'- term of respect.
**http://www.oxforddictionaries.com/us/definition/american_english/elusive

On the Other Side

I remember the first time I told someone that the world on which I live is flat. He just kind of looked at me then laughed at me, and said, "Oh, good one." I decided I didn't need to talk to him anymore. So I left him and wandered around for a bit. 

   I do come from a flat world. I don't know why that's any stranger than living on the side of a ball. I understand their physics. I do wonder why they didn't understand the physics of my world. It's not as though the physics of a flat world is impossible. 

   Maybe it requires more numbers- less simple addition and more...chemistry. Yes. Chemistry. Much more chemistry. 

   Walking through the park, I meant to find more people to talk to but they were all preoccupied with flying kites or playing tag. None of them looked like they wanted to be bothered. Of course, they deserved this all this sunshine after two weeks of rain. I could always come back later to ask them questions. They like answering questions. Especially about themselves. Like any human would. World's flat or not.

   I sat at a bench intending to write down my observations (and a comic strip or two), and I did for a few minutes until I felt eyes. I knew I felt eyes because the way I felt is the exact same way I make people feel when I watch them: paranoid. I looked over both my shoulders, but no one was watching. I looked in the sky, at a few security cameras. Still nothing. I started to put my notebook and pencil back in my bag when I found the watching eyes. I jumped, surprised. A little girl's face looked up at me. Her eyes as curious as me. "Hi? Hi." I said. 

   "Hi," said the little girl. She held a teddy bear, and waved its arm at me. I waved back. The little girl continued, "I heard you talk with that man. You come from a flat world?"

   I smiled. "Yes. I do. Do you?"

   The little girl squinted her eyes and rubbed her teddy bear's chin. "No. I don't think I do."

   "Good. Because you don't."

   "Why do you come from a flat world?"

   "Why? Well, I don't know why. I know that I do. I-."

   The little girl got out from underneath the bench and sat cross-legged at my feet. "Can I see this flat world? What's it look like?"

   "It looks a bit like an island but floating in space instead of water."

   "An island?"

   "Yeah, like the island we're on now."

   "Is there a China underneath your world?"

   "We have different names for our countries."

   "But is there China underneath?" The little girl looked determined to have an answer.

   I thought about ways of telling her what's 'underneath' my country. "Think of it like- like a book! Yes! Like- like a book." I closed my journal and pressed my hands on its covers. "Technically, my world has a top and a bottom. No. You can't fall into space. Not technically. Not unless you really tried. Trying to jump off the edge of my world- first you have to get to its edge- you'll have died before you get there." The little girl's brow furrowed. 

   "Never mind. Back to the book analogy. If this is the top of the world," I motioned to the front cover. "And this is the bottom of the world," I motioned to the bottom cover. "The pages are the middle part of the world. It's layered. Your world is layered. You can't see it, but underground there are layers of dirt-."

   "Like caves? Caves are underground."

   "Right. Yeah. I guess. Caves can be between the layers. But don't think of a flat world as a double sided picture. It's not. It's like-."

   "An island."

   "Yeah! Oh! No!" I jumped up excitedly. The little girl jumped with me. We jumped as I spoke: "Like, like an apartment building. Floating. In space." I stopped jumping. "Is that really what my world is like?"

   "So, where do the rich people live?"

   "Anywhere. On every layer. Depends on what kind of riches they have. Or want." 

   "What are you doing here? On a round world?"

   "It's- it's my job." 

   "Can it be my job to explore your world?"

Cat & Deen: Name Names

His name was so strange, she had to become his best friend: the only guy she could never marry. Done deal. She approached him quickly, and certainly not as suavely as she intended but he didn't seem to notice. "Hi," she smiled at him, "uh, I'm Jane. I hear you're...new."
   He wasn't sure whether he should smile or walk away, but he liked the gap between her teeth so he said, "Hi Jane. I'm-."
   "Cera Agustin Tomlin."
   Cera nodded and smiled, but scooted a couple centimeters away.
   Jane continued, "I'm just Jane. Jane Dodeen."
   "Nice to meet you."
   "Can I call you Cat?"
   Cera was so surprised, he answered, "Only if I can call you Deen."
   They shook on it.

Cat had made several new friends at school, all of whom had names he considered strange, but he never said so out loud. He didn't want to hurt his new friends' feelings. He knew exactly what it was like being made fun of for having a weird name. A girl's name, but even weirder because it wasn't even spelled normally. But at this new school everyone had such different, strange names that they weren't so strange after all.
   He liked to write their names to practice his handwriting (his teachers' gave out gold stars for the students with the best handwriting). Soon, he realized that his name was nothing short of ordinary compared to his classmates' names.
   Some of his classmates' names meant something in different languages.
   Other kids were named after great heroes or events.
   Other only went by initials.
   As far as Cat knew, he was the only one who went by an animal.
   One day he tried to call (his new best friend) Deen, Dog, but a teacher scolded him for that. His teacher didn't explain why; he'd only said, "Don't call girls dogs." Cat never did again.

"I!" Deen declared during recess one day, "Have an! Idea!" She raised her arms high. "You are all! Going to! Love! My idea!"
   Most of the kids didn't pay attention. Cat did, but he had no choice, he was in the middle of playing Go Fish (which they endearingly call 'Go Cat') when she interrupted their game with this announcement. But Deen was undeterred, determined to get everyone's attention. "Excuse me!" she yelled. When they still didn't pay attention she recruited the help of a teacher.
   The teacher, amused, decided to help. She hollered, "If you can hear my voice, put your hands on your head!" All the children put their hands on their heads. "If you can hear my voice, put your hands on your shoulders!" Shoulders. "If you can hear my voice-!"
   "It's okay," Deen interrupted. "They can hear me now, Mrs. Hoven." She hemmed and knitted her fingers together. "I! I have! An idea! You are all! Going to love! My idea." Her classmates' looked at her absently, eager to return to their games and play. "We should all exchange names! Because we can't exchange shoes! That's gross. If we exchange names, we can know what it's like to be someone else!"

Bad Blogger

I didn't blog yesterday or Saturday. I'm so sorry. I wasn't busier than usual I just... How dare I?! On Saturday, I was four days away from an entire month of blog posts. Next month will have to be an entire month of blog posts straight. I'm sorry. So, I guess today will be a threefer. Yesterday was supposed to be a twofer. Ah, c'est la vie.

what was supposed to be Saturday:
I read all of Galatians that morning because I realized that I'd hardly touched the Bible all week. I've already gone through James 15 times this past month, I wanted to read another letter: Galatians seemed most appropriate. A lot of people read Galatians and are amazed at Paul's explanation of his transition from persecutor to humble servant. It's difficult not to notice that. Really, it's a running theme in all of Paul's works.

Now that I look at it, Galatians is like Paul's version of James'...James, but it has a different twist. Instead of Paul writing that faith without deeds is dead, Paul writes that works of the Law is like old skin, and faith is new. Way back when he was Saul, he worked the Law perfectly, but "For all who rely on works of the law are under a curse: for it is written, 'Cursed be everyone who does not abide by all things written in the Book of the Law, and go them.' Now it is evident that no one is justified before God by the law, for 'The righteous shall live by faith.' But the law is not faith, rather, 'The one who does them shall live by them.' Christ has redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us [what we commemorate every Good Friday]...'"

Like James, Paul doesn't suggest that one can be done or had without the other, but he emphasizes faith because all he had before was works. I guess after 'coming to faith' he had a greater reason to work.

what was supposed to be Sunday:
I didn't sing any hymns that I recognized in church. I also attended a new church and stepped out of my social boundary skills so that I could meet A LOT of new people. What?! But!- here's a song from Tenth Avenue North called Beloved. If you want to know what inspired Mike Donehey to write this song (on the first album) click here.


and today:
The following isn't the result of a writing challenge. I think I wrote this two years ago. (Two years?!)

"oh, shit!" she yelled. "oh, shit!" she yelled. "...oh, shit!" she yelled and that's all she would keep yelling if he wouldn't leave the room, and she wants him to leave the room. 'poisonous apparition', she thinks, 'hasn't he poisoned me enough?'
   "you are being dramatic."
   "oh, shit!"
   he clamped her mouth closed with his sweaty hand. "cease." he said. "desist."
   'oh, shit.' she thought.
   "whatever is the matter?"
   "i'd thought i'd lost you!" she mumbled into his hand. he didn't ask her to repeat herself; he'd felt every word and was sorry she was suddenly so afraid of him.
   "why did you think you lost me?"
   "well, i don't know, let's see. oh, now i know: because you left!" she punched his arm to no avail. "you left without saying goodbye! here you are without saying 'hello!' you left! no reason! no explanation! no note! no phone call every now and then! no facebook message! you left! at many points in your lostness i thought you'd died! you- you left! where's my goodbye? you owe me a goodbye."
   "goodbye."
   "i won't accept it."
   "why?"
   "because you didn't mean it! say it like you mean it!"
   he paused. he took in a deep breath. "goodbye."
   "goodbye to you too!" she crossed her arms and turned away from him.
   he stepped outside of the room, left through the front door closing it behind him. he then knocked three times and she answered.
   "hello," he said.
   "hello! where the hell did you go?"
   "i left."
   "to where, damnit?!" she threw a pillow at him, but the pillow left her hand too late and landed at his feet instead of hitting his face at the earlier projection she'd intended.
   "you won't believe me."
   she looked at him and stormed back into the room. he followed swiftly behind her. "i won’t believe you?" she picked up another pillow. "i won't believe you?" she sat down. "i won't believe him!" she yelled at the ceiling.
   "i've already established that."
   "me? the girl who lets you do whatever you want. me? the girl who's patched up your ripped pants and bleeding scabs every time without interrogation. me? the girl who's cried at least once a week, hoping you were all right. me? this girl won't understand?"
   he bit his lip. "only once a week?"
   she threw the other pillow at him and this time did not miss his face. "oh, shit," she murmured. "i can't believe you're alive." she fell onto her chair and pulled her knees up close to her chest. "you're alive."
   the man got off his own seat and knelt at the young woman's trembling side. "i am alive. i'm sorry you thought i was dead."
   "yes. yes, i did. i thought you were more than dead. i thought you were having fun without me!"
   the man smirked and laughed. "while my adventures away from you were exciting beyond comparison," she shot him a look. "although i'm sure yours are just as exciting—all my adventures have proven one thing."
   "what's that?"
   "that i miss you."
   the young woman perked up and smiled. "you had to go on stupid, crazy adventures to figure out that you'd miss me? you couldn't take a personal holiday like a normal person and miss me? communication included?"
   "me? a normal person? me? the boy who's manipulated kings into believing me their lost prince. me? the boy who's planted dandelions in the amazon and fed poisonous scones to british intelligence? me? a normal person taking a normal holiday to figure out the most natural and inspiring thing is that i miss you?"
she bit her lip. "you only missed me?"
   he kissed her gently and quickly on her mouth and loved the feel of her shy smile. "no," he said. "i more than missed you." he took her hand. "now, it's time to go to confession."
   "excuse me?"
   "yes! you've just kissed an apparently dead man and said 'shit' at least ten times!"
   "don't forget 'hell' and 'damnit'." she mumbled.
   "off to confessional! christians are not supposed to touch, let alone kiss, dead bodies; nor are christians supposed to curse."
   "yeah, well," she said pulling on her sweater. "you make me feel human."
   "and that is why i have missed you."
   "dante says there’s a special circle in hell for you."
   "and which circle is that?"
   the woman paused and laughed. "my heart."
   "you cliché little she-devil."
   "ah, apparently you missed the clichés, you brazen bard!"
   "i thought you were almost going to call me a bastard."
   "i've filled my daily curse quotient."

Lately [Haven't] Read // Writing Challenge

I've been wondering what I could do to make me read more because quoting a book isn't incentive enough for me to read consistently. I still haven't even finished Americanah. But I don't want to do book reviews. I don't want to review books. I just want to reeeeeeeeeeeead them. GASP! I've got it. I'll do a writing challenge.

-----

write a story using these things/elements/objects

• rabbits
• ice skates
• lighthouse
• rosebush

Mother shoved the ice skates into my face nearly cutting off my nose. "Don't be so dramatic," she said when I called out. "They're just ice skates. Now. Put them on." 

   "But I don't want to."

   "Jared. Put on the ice skates."

   "It's summer."

   "Put. On. The ice skates." 

   I stared at my mother who face looks as severe as an unexpected tsunami, all the more violent for its unexpectedness. I pulled on the ice skates without another question but my tongue burned for every word I didn't say. I almost asked my mother to open my mouth for me just so she could read all my questions. 

   As soon as I finished pulling on my ice skates she blind-folded me. Luckily for her, I have underdeveloped ninja skills and didn't slice off her leg with my tightly laced ice skates. 

   "Okay," she said, huffing and puffing, "I am going to carry you to the car."

   "What?! I can walk on my own."

   "Yeah, I know. You're ten years old, but if you walk around the house in ice skates you'll tear and scratch everything up. So, I'm going to pick you up now." 

   I opened my mouth to say, "Then you shouldn't've told me to put the ice skates on! I should've put them on later at the, you know, ice skating rink," but said instead, "Whose ice skates are these anyway?" She swung me over her shoulder. Out of breath, she murmured, "They belonged to the kid next door. She didn't want them."

   "These are girl skates?!"

   "An older girl's. Now, shh. No such anti-feminist things will be said while I'm around. Skates are skates. Do Mommy a favor, and try your best no to squirm. I don't want to drop you."

   Eventually, she got to the front door, and rushed out to the front lawn where she unceremoniously dropped me on my bottom. I growled, but she paid me no attention as she took my hand and instructed that I walk the rest of the way to the car. But as soon as I took my first step she yelled, "Wait! Don't step there." She let go of my hand. I lost my balance and landed flat on my back. I heard her whispering something, but was too winded, and too much in pain to care. 

   "Good thing you didn't drop me, Mom."

   She laughed, and after a minute helped me back up on my feet. This time, she lead me to the car uninterrupted. 

   She started the car and drove away with the music blasting as loudly as she could. I could hear her talking but I was too angry to bother responding to her. She deserves my cold shoulder, since I can't really afford to run away or anything like that. I mean, I can't leave! I need someone to make me my food. 

   Hours and hours later, she stopped the car and said, "Okay, my blind, incapacitated son, now you need to be deaf so I'm going to put in these ear plugs. Oh, and I also need to deprive you of touch, so I have to wrap you in a blanket!"

   "Enough!" I yelled. "Are you trying to kill me?!" Angrily, I kicked off the ice skates (well, I had to angrily untie them first) and ripped off my blindfold. I was just about to ask all those questions I wouldn't ask earlier when before me, people yelled, "Surprise!" 

   "It's not my birthday!" My face felt angry. My heart felt surprised. My voice sounded happy. "Why are you yelling 'surprise'!" All my cousins and aunts and uncles, and my dad stood behind my mom who was holding the fluffiest rabbit I'd ever seen. It was one in the pet shop window. "Is that mine?"

   My mom nodded her head. She passed the rabbit to my dad and hugged me. "Oh, I'm sorry, Jared. I wanted to keep Rosebush a secret from you. And you know how I am at keeping secrets, so I decided that if I couldn't talk to you about Rosebush, I'd just talk nonsense at you. But since I bought the ice skates, you'll have to start taking lessons, okay? Okay. Good. Win Mama an Olympic medal."

   I nodded, but I still didn't really understand. She must still be hiding something because that last part was still nonsense. "So," I said to distract her, "Rosebush is the rabbit?"

   "I hope you don't mind. Your little sister took liberties at naming it. It stuck."

   Before I could say, "I would rather name it Satan than Rosebush," my mom pulled me away, along with my family, to the beach where we stayed until the lighthouse awoke to warn passing ships of the rocky shore. But from where I lay with my family, Rosebush the rabbit, and some sun burn, on the sandy shore, not even the sinking of a ship could bother me. Because I'd probably swim out to save it anyway.