Hey, Hey Violet
I sit on the floor of a casino with about two hundred other people. My best friend is sitting next to me with her phone out, ready to take video of whatever could happen next. I honestly can’t believe I am here, sitting on the floor of a casino in Connecticut, six hours before doors even open for the concert. I look to the doors, a security guard is coming out. I look to my dad, sitting on the only available bench holding the poster I bought, he is so out of place. I look at my friend. She looks like she is on the verge of tears. I am too. Looking around, everyone else seems to be too. I look back over to the doors, crew is bringing out stools now. It is happening. This is happening. Their manager comes out and talks to us. We all scream. Is this really happening? The band walks out. They are right in front of me. They’re waving to me. They’re saying hi to me. Nia smiles at me and gives me a little wave. My friend falls on my shoulder, about to cry. I feel like I could cry. These three girls and Casey have inspired me to dedicate myself to music, and here they are. These people have given me a family. I feel like this band and all the fans are like a big family; we’re a big, happy, dysfunctional family. They play an unreleased song for us. It’s the second day of the tour, we’re the first to hear it. We all sit on the floor, looking up at our idols while they perform for us. We all sway along to the lulling strums of the acoustic guitars and the powerful voice. I am not even a foot away from them, my knee is almost touching one of them. How is this happening? Want to meet the band? Their manager asks. This can’t be happening. We all cheer. This is happening. We get up and stand in a line to meet them. When it gets to my turn I go up, trying to hold back tears. Miranda you have inspired me so much, I say. They all smile and say how sweet I am. We take a picture together and I go to get my phone from their mom, who took our picture, but not before they call after me, you’re so sweet we love you! And oh my god that just actually happened.
My name is Elena. Although, throughout middle and elementary school nobody could ever say my name right which made me wish to have a normal name like Jane or Samantha. I felt that my strange name made me somehow different and less important than all the Ashleys and Elizabeths. Whenever I couldn’t find my name on a keychain I felt a little loss of hope. My brother’s name is Adam! Why couldn’t I have an easy, common name like that? His name is found on everything, ranging from keychains to even t-shirts; I haven’t even found someone who knows how to pronounce my name let alone get it printed on a T-shirt. For years I had planned a trip to Spain, where my name is common. Why did I have to be named something so different? Was I different? When you are nine years old, being different is about the worst thing you can be. Am I okay with being different? Does my name show who I am as a person? I guess at first I wasn’t okay with my name being uncommon. Frustrated when confused reactions from teachers when after the third time correcting them, they still can’t pronounce it right. But as I grow up I start to love my name more and more. But then I start to think about what my name means to me. In Spanish it means shining light. My name is like the shining light in my life. It means the creativity that my parents had when they named me. It means simpilar times of childhood and growing up. Hearing my family yell my name to call me down to dinner, or to tell me some big news. It is Christmas morning when my brother comes into my room yelling my name to wake me up. It is the sweet ignorance of being a child. My name means something to me, it doesn’t have to mean something to anyone else.
The Disappointing Slurpee That is Life
Fourth grade sucks. It’s like the end of a Slurpee, wet and unflavored. Even if it is flavoured, it’s really gross. No one wants to be my friend, and I really don’t know why. I’m not that bad, and they don’t have to live with me. I have to live with me. But I guess I get it now, after all, I don’t even want to be my friend. But I kinda wish someone wants to be my friend, because it’s getting lonely sitting alone at a cafeteria table. Especially since Lydia told the whole grade that I have cooties and no one should be friends with me. I'm not quite sure what cooties are, but I guess I have them. They all believed her as well, so now I really have no friends. It’s such a difference from third grade, everyone loved me then. I was in the popular crowd. I went to parties with girls and boys. They all seemed to like me. We even played spin the bottle like adults. Now all of them hate me. Even the teachers don’t like me. But like I said, it’s okay. I hate me too.