Personal Narrative: The Face Stealer

We had traveled in the minivan for 5 hours, for a group of 13 year old boys this trip felt like eternity. However, our excitement kept us all jaunting to each other about silly middle school shenanigans, who can dougie better, and how we were all going to “murk” this tryout. Johnny Evans, Malik Chatman, Gavin Rose, Ronnie Fountain, and I were all selected to try-out for the 14u Team South football team. This team would represent all the best players in the southeast and clash them against other regions best athletes. This would be a 3 day try-out. After leaving Orlando, the van had finally reached its destination. Coach Rose jingled to the car “Atlanta is the place to be, with orange peaches and southern tea,” we all stared at Gavin as his face turned as red as a Crayola. We pulled into the lot of the hotel all participating athletes had been assigned right off of I-75. We all unloaded the van of our luggage proceeded to the check in, Coach got the keys for room 325 and 326. I was so tired of riding in back of the van that I did not really care how the room would look as long as I could put my bags down and fall right into the bed. Malik, Johnny and I entered our room 326 to the right was with a bathroom sink, a mirror, and shower. On the left, a mini kitchen with a stove, island table, and refrigerator. In front of us, there were two wooden dressers pinned together with a television on top. Near the window, there was a small table with a lamp as well as chair in the corner.

Lucy Grealy tells a story about not fitting in, unbearable pain that takes up residence in one’s head as loneliness and confusion, questioning what things mean, being scared and lost in your family, enduring intense physical pain, and most importantly, figuring out who you are. Lucy had no idea she might die, even though the survival rate for Ewing’s sarcoma was only five percent. She does not present her parents as overly afraid for her life, either. Her autobiography is not a story about the fear of death, but about such courage and anguish. Lucy shows how she falls under the spell of her disability, allowing it to control her life and dictate her future to a greater extent than it would otherwise. Having a disability means that

I know this is kind of a drag, but its become a real problem and I just don't know what else to do besides send out a memo, so here goes. The refrigerators nasty. It really is. We all have to share that space, its common courtesy. I mean, come on guys, don't you think you could do a little better cleaning out your old food? Doesn't it kind of make sense, you know, if you don't eat something for two weeks to throw it out so it doesn't get all moldy?

In the year 1928 two kids went to an abandoned amusement park. They left terrified with bad things in their head, no one knows what happened because they were so terrified to tell. They never told anyone, not even their friends. Well let’s just take you to the beginning shall we says the grinning face, It’s summer break in 1928 “Whoooo school is finally out” says one of the students named Xavian while he is throwing all of his school papers in the air.

He dragged his large duffle bag to the door. He said his goodbyes to his family. He walked to the big green bus that said in bold letters, “FOOTBALL CAMP”. As the door opened, he realized the bus was full of kids his age trying to get into the Western State College Football team. Jonathan was excited but also worried about the camp.The engine started up and the bus was off. As he waved goodbye, he remembered.

I don’t ever remember a time when I tried to save face with my friends or peers. I believe that I have always been honest and upfront to the best of my abilities. I do, however, know of a time that my cousin, Dana, faced this problem.

Blemishes, flaws, insecurities. They are ubiquitous. For me, my biggest imperfection was my lack of organization. From kindergarten through high school, I would constantly have my belongings scattered across my house. My family nickname was unkempt Tanvi. Amazingly, I managed to never miss homework assignments and important events. However, I soon realized my success was impermanent.

From the moment I looked at my friend's brush pile in the bathroom, my intimidation towards make-up grew larger. I was trying to approach it from the angle of painting lesson's in my childhood: small brush for small strokes and big brushes for wide strokes? But it didn't end at that! The more I looked the more a realized that some of the big, thick brushes were angled, some of them pointy... I didn't find peace by studying small brushes either. I felt dumbfounded, lost and couldn't even begin to think about make-up itself, blocked off at the very doorstep to beauty.

Eyes not quite looking, ears not quite hearing. They all jump along with the tracks but act as if nothing had happened. It’s not about the presence in their eyes, it’s about the destination. They all had different places to be, different faces to see, things to do. From an onlookers perspective, they all looked so dead, and maybe they were content with staying that way. Maybe they didn’t want to be noticed, wanting to blend in with the person next to them. They swayed when it came to a halt, people standing and sitting and sitting and standing and leaving and going and coming. We just watched. I couldn’t tell if he noticed, but I did. They all collided, bouncing off of one another like bees in a hurry. The metal handles on the

The other week I made some plans with friends for the weekend. The only problem was that I was scheduled to work on that day. This wasn’t a big deal, as I could simply text my coworkers and ask one of them to take my shift. As I received one excuse after another, I became more desperate until finally someone replied with an “Ugggghhhhh”. This told me that although they didn’t want to take my shift, they probably could seeing as they didn’t give me any reason that they were busy. So how did I convince them? I suddenly changed my approach. Here is the actual, word-for-word text that I sent them. “By the way you're a great person and I'm glad I get to work with you and we're best friends.” Why did I say that? Did I just happen to remember how much I enjoy that person and feel the need to tell them? No. I was trying to get something that I wanted, which was them covering my shift. Now, I may have exaggerated in this example, but this is a very real behavior that we all have used.

I woke up to the smell of a reeking bathroom and the sight of a run-down repair shop. Wondering why in the world we had stopped, I couldn’t help but feel a little irritated to why we weren’t knocking time off the remainder of the trip but instead only adding to it. Within a couple minutes I had learned that the bus had gotten a flat tire and that the air conditioner had shut down and was now flooding the entire back of the bus. What was supposed to be an eighteen hour trip would now turn into a twenty-four hour journey.

I’m sure some of you ever wondered whether things you do are fruitful, you can rest assured that you did a good job; otherwise, don’t bother reading (bleh).

Although most of my time spent there is a blur due to prescription drugs and repression I do clearly remember my moment of “awakening”. The earliest memory I have was living with my mother in Brooklyn on 105th street in the suburban version of the projects. This glorious day wasn’t a storybook some positive romanticized experience or the realization I was a gay (we’ll get to that later). No this was far more important than that it was the day I was punched in the face. Although I don’t condone violence I will say it was an important day because I woke up and also learned the importance of words and the power they have. My power for manipulation was born on this day and I received plenty of opportunities to try it out this new found skill.

“No! I’m the driver. I decide where we GO!!!” Glenda veered off the road onto an unmarked dirt path, the bus gaining speed. There was a startled cry in the bus and when I looked, back I saw my friends telling everyone

Nine teenage girls and their leaders crammed on outdated bench seats as the smell of various sack dinners and chocolate filled the borrowed short bus. Vinyl seats cracking, teenage girls laughing and the makeshift radio blasting we followed behind the boys in their SUV to Woodland Park. The brisk March wind rattled the old windows of our little white and blue, borrowed bus. Miles of twisting roads and pine trees that seemed to pierce the low floating clouds lead us to our retreat house. Gravel crunched beneath our tires, hitting the sides of our bus, creating a rumble under our feet as we pulled up the drive.