My Stomp Day has Ended, Finally.

“Stay quiet and don’t move” said the man with a gun.

It was July 31^st, 2009.I was on 7^th grade. It was my brother’s birthday. Waking up in a Friday is very difficult, but this was a special Friday, it was our fist stomping project, besides my brother’s birthday.

I woke up like a normal day, heading directly to the shower. The hot, almost burning water awaked me a little from staying asleep in the shower. Putting on my contact lenses was a very exhausting thing to do, also brushing my teeth.

Don’t blame me, it’s Friday!

 Anyways, singing “Happy Birthday” and hugging my brother started to make my day better. But the emotion of performing our fist stomping project was bigger. I felt like nothing could ruin this day. I walk down the stairs as always, jumping them in groups of 5.

“Morning mom” I said, “how did you slept?”

“Fine darling, thank you” she replied, rubbing her eyes to separate them to not fall asleep. Maybe she didn’t sleep so well at all.    

5:25 AM, 5:26 AM… I felt like the clock didn’t want me to go to school! Time was passing slowly than ever. Now, I wish time would have been passed slowly that day.

However, I grabbed my lunchbox, my backpack and my little, oval, Adidas suit where my clothes were. I grabbed them so fast, that I didn’t realize that I had thrown away a red, squared candle in the little, like side-bed table, besides my backpack.  

“Sorry mom!” I yelled from the door.

The bus passed like 10 blocks away from my house that year, so my dad always woke up, put on his green, almost mint, V neck shirt and his black shorts. Since my dad is a doctor, his shirt had a big, black impress stamp that said “Nuestra Señora del Pilar- Dr. José Manuel Lemus (Departamento de Radiología)”. Seeing this stamp each day was good. It meant it would be a normal day. Well, it didn’t was.  

“Its time kids” yelled my dad, searching a song in the radio of the car. At that time in the morning, he didn’t find anything, so he finally gave up and turn it off.

“Let’s go Rodrigo” I yelled to my brother, from the first floor to the second.

“I’m coming” he yelled back “Get into the car”

My car was a big, reddish, almost wine-color, truck of the year. My dad worked hard to buy it, and he finally achieved it

“Let’s go” I said. I was thrilled and excited to get school. In fact, it was the first Friday this happened to me “Exited to get into school in a Friday?” I thought to myself, “What a freak!”

The street we usually waited for the bus was a silent, almost empty corner. I remember that in the corner, there used to be a Banrural bank and on the opposite a Dominos Pizza that is still there. We also see allot of people who was heading to work, walking alone.

We usually talked about things we did in school the day before, activities of the day, or how exhausted work was yesterday for dad. Sometimes, we find a song and started singing.  

I was excited, almost yelling to my dad, telling and explaining him what a stomping was.

                My dad was in front, with my brother as a co-pilot. I was behind my dad.  

I saw two men walking down the street, beside the car, trying to look inside. I really didn’t pay them to much attention, they seem normal. Well, they didn’t were.

“Look, you have to make sounds with your hands or with bottles or with normal stuffs you …”

I just saw my dad struggling, like fighting with something, or someone at his window. The moment I turned my head, my mind went black and my heart stopped beating.

I saw the two men with guns. One of them points at me and the other points at my dad; with a face that I felt they were the devil.

Till today, I don’t understand how they managed to enter the car. But it happened. They enter the car and started yelling at us.

“Move, make me space, don’t yell, don’t cry, don’t move a finger, don’t do a thing!”

“How to move a thing when you have a cold, freezing metal called gun pointing your head?” I thought.

My dad was forced to move from the front to the back, where I was, inside the car. His knees hurted, but it was major the scare and the fear than the pain.

“Where is the alarm of the car?” said one of them.

“I don’t know” said my dad. Hearing this make me fell more afraid. He said it with so a fragile and frightened voice. Imagine your biggest support in life in a situation that you’re involved and he feels.

“Tell me!”  He said. I only heard an “Ouch!!” from my brother. The man in front hit him to make my dad said where the alarm was. My dad literally yelled where it was. In his place, I would do the same. It his sons life, the most precious thing in life, who is in risk of death.  

The engine started and we are moving.

“Where we are going? Are they going to kill us? Are going to kidnapped us? Are they going to leave us alone with no dad? Are they going to keep one of us and free the others?” all these questions were around my head, while, the man who was driving told the other one, who was pointing the gun to me:

“Call the boss, tell him we got them” said with a voice so hard, deep and threatening, that made me a chicken-skin.

The car was moving so fast that in every curve, I got closer to the gun. I never felt so cold, mean and freeze metal in my life. It was an awful feeling, just with a finger move; a life can come to an end. In this case, mine.

“Where do we put them? In the same place as always? Or in the new one? Do we kill the all? Or just one of the”” these were the questions one of the robbers asked in the phone to, maybe, his boss. These questions were the death ion life for me.  

“They have a place?” “How many people have passed form these situation?”

These questions bounced in my mind, until we finally stopped.

“I want you to go out of the car fast, and get into the ditch that’s over there”

“Do not look back and stay there for 30 minutes, someone will be watching”

“If you go out or move, the spy will kill you”

These statements were frighten, horrific, scaring, etc… all you can imagine.

“Out and run” said my dad. My brother and I exploded into tears and started running.

“Where?” we were at a desolated ride in the middle of nowhere. But a little house on the horizon saved us.

It was a hospital. We ran into it and started crying. We asked for a call. The first person to call was my mom.  

“Are you ok?” said my mom with tears the moment he saw us. She lasted 15 minutes from my house to the little hospital. But, they were 15 hours to me.

Feeling fear that the robbers would come and kill us was the worst part of it.

“Now that you’re here, and we are safe, yes” said I with all the tears in my face, feeling a mix of emotions. Fear, happiness, safeness, scare, frightened, but most important, relief. Relief because these situation have ended. This situation thankfully ended. My stomp day has ended, finally.

    

How the Coldest Day Became the Shinier One

It’s freeing!

I think it was on November or finals of October. She had 10, I was 12. Some friends and I were at the park of my house just hanging out talking about T.V. shows and some other stuff.

 Some of them where sitting in the floor. Some others, including me and her, were sitting in the concrete, almost broke bench.

“Did you saw the movie last night on Disney Channel?” someone asked.

“I did, but I had seen it like 49 times. It bored me!” she said.

I had seen it also, but I didn’t say a word. I was concentrating in getting my hands warmer.

                It was a freezing day; the one that you would like to be in your warm, little bed, rolled like a big taco with 3 bedcovers, hugging one pillow like it’s your mom. And having a hot chocolate at you bed-side table. That type of day and so freezing that just touching the porcelain of the cup will make your lips tremble and go very cold and almost convert into ice.

                But we were all out, just talking about things you could talk inside. Perhaps now, I understand why a get a cold some weeks later.

                Anyways, we were all laughing about some jokes, or how everyone’s teeth were shaking and making a little, funny noise like a crystal bell calling for dinner in a royal palace.

                One by one, every one was going to their home

                “My mom is calling me” said ones.

                “It’s just to cold out here, besides, I have to visit my cousins” said one.

                At the end, only Marcos, her and I were talking about the new Harry Potter movie that was coming out soon.

                “Its number four” said she.

                “I know” said Marco “its called The Goblet of Fire” remarked with excitement. Finishing these sentences, he lifted-up and said “I will get some snacks and a hot chocolate from my house, do you want some?” said pointing to both of us.

                “No thanks” we both said at the same time.

                “Ok, I will come back in a minute.” He said, rubbing his hands, trying to make some heat between them and putting them in his face.

                “We will be right here” she said with a trembling voice, while I saw the little smoke coming out of her mouth.

                As we watched him go away, joking about the funny way he walked and the bubble gum he had pasted in his pants, she HUGED me!

                “I’m freezing” she said to me while tying her arms in my orange, puffy sweater and putting his head in my shoulder.

                “Ok” said I, while hugging her back, putting my hands over his shoulder, putting my head over her head and completing “lets share a hug and heat.”  

                “And, what would you be doing for Christmas” asked. I felt his mouth move in my shoulder, making me a little tickle.

                “Well, with my family, I suppose. And what would you be doing fro New Y…” I never ended that sentence.

                She kissed me. She was the first person I’ve ever kissed in my life. Later on, I knew that I was the first person she had ever kissed too.

                It was so freezing, but in that specific moment, I felt like the sun turned on. I didn’t know what to do in that moment. But I stayed and responded the kiss. It lasted like 7 seconds, but she and I felt it like forever.

                We both separated our lips and looked to our eyes. Her eyes were like mines: very deep, dark brown. We held our hands in that moment. She went red like a tomato or like a rose. She held his head down. I remember to take his chin up, take out the fringe out of her eyes and just gave her a little kiss on the check.

                Two years later, she moved out. I still speak to her in Facebook. Nobody knows about that little moment in the park. Not even Marco that by the way he never appeared back that afternoon. We were all afternoon talking about how we saw people kissing or hugging and saying how disgusting it was. But now, we did the same things and not because of fun, but because we both felt the same way.

                I always her that you feel butterflies in your stomach, and I never believe it. Now, I know they are true. Not only in your stomach, but all over your body.

                I think that’s why I prefer cold than hot. I think is better because you can huddle with the person you want, or take how much hot chocolate you want, doesn’t matter how full you are.

                So, this is my story of how the weather changer my life. How the coldest day became the shinier one.  

A Fish Out of Water

“My name is Kelsey Kudak. I’m from Minnesota.” She said with a trembling, nervous voice the first day of school.

It was the first day of school in third grade. We were all nervous, excited and frightened about new teachers, new friends, maybe a new life.

“Only two more years of school”. That phrase was repeated all day long. Everyone was searching for their names on desks or list in the door of class.

“I’m in section C”, “I’m in section B”, “I missed you!”, “How your vacations were?”, “I hate him, and we are in the SAME class”, “My crush is in front of my desk!” All these questions and secrets were all day conversation.

Seeing new, fresh and friendly faces was exciting too.

Physics with Debbie, Science with Marta, Math with Checha, and Health with Wendy… so on and so forth. But, who is going to teach Grammar and Literature? There were two teachers that were missing.

The only thing we knew is that a new teacher had come from United States

The first time she entered the class, the only thing you could first noticed was her bright, almost perfect fixed in a pony tale, blonde hair. The second thing was her sky-blue, as crystalline as the water, eyes. She’s not too tall; she’s a regular tall, I think. I noticed that she was nervous by the constantly rubbing with her hands. Like it was a very cold, freeze day and you want to give your hands a little heat. But she started to talk. At first, she introduced herself.

“Hi guys, I’m Kelsey Kudak. I’m from Minnesota and I will be you teacher from Grammar and Literature.”

We were all statics, like an alien came from space and was talking to us in its weird, indecipherable language.

She started to tell us about why she was here in Guatemala, or about his home. Maybe her story when she broke his leg.

 I think the fist time I heard her talk, I had a difficult time. I wasn’t used to hear someone speaking English SO FAST!                

The first’s classes with her were frightening. I mean, you didn’t answered her questions just because you didn’t knew the answer; you didn’t answer them because you were afraid of saying something wrong, or misspell something and she will laugh at you. Or, you’ll have the wrong one and she will be mean and take 5 pints out. So, it was difficult for her to break that big ice that was between us.   

Seven months have passed, and Kelsey is not longer a teacher. She’s like a partner to us.  I mean, she left us homework; she gets angry when we start whining about the Grammar pages, or to read at home. But, when you talk to her in out of school, she’s kind and nice to everyone.

She likes coffee, A LOT. She always has her coffee cup in her hand. Sometimes, a porcelain cup with a pink drawing. Or, other times, a plastic like Starbucks cup; one of them like a sunset, orange juice, orange cup and the other one like a reddish blood. These two combined with pure, always clean white.

She’s a nerd; or at least she says so. I think, in part, she is. She likes to read a lot, but most important, she understands the lectures. She’s one of the persons you’ll find in a coffee shop a Saturday night at 10:00 PM reading an antique book. Maybe she will be parting in a disco dancing till die. But my image of her is that.

Also, I can say that she is a little vain. I mean, not of those girls that every period of class has to “re-touch” her makeup. But you can see it in her almost perfect, curly, blonde hair. You will never going to see Kelsey with the same look every day. Sometimes, she will be wearing hair clips or other times just a diadem with her full hair out. But you will never see a little hair out of its place. That’s Kelsey.   

She’s nota a typical teacher.

I mean, in Literature, she’s not the one who only left the reading at home, then do the study questions and on Fridays a quiz. She’s the one who make us go deeper in the reading and see the real meaning in the story. I can assure you that most of us, in our life, have ever heard or even talked about a sonnet, less a Petrarchan or a Shakespearean sonnet. So, it’s cool to know more about literature, even do sometimes it’s a little boring.

Or in Grammar, she concentrates in editing skills. Not just verbs, adjectives and past participles.

Also, you can distinguish her personality by her loyalty. If you need help in something, she will help you no matter how late the e-mail goes or how many time it takes.

So, if you know Kelsey, you’ll know what I talked about in the past 700 words. You will picture her in every sentence.  

But, you know, I didn’t make this of her to gain more points or to get me in her favorite spot. I did it because, in all of the sea of heads you see every day at school, there’s always going to be a bright spot. A spot that may be seen only from Monday to Friday, but an interesting hair spot.  An almost perfect, curly, blonde hair spot. Like a fish out of water.        

Every night, the same pillow.

“You have 7 pillows!” she replied.

                It was a normal, calmly night. It wasn’t too hot, but I had taken a shower. I was going out of the bathroom, when my dad yelled “Dinner its ready!”

                “I’m coming!” I yelled back.      

                I took my contact lenses out and put them into their case. Pull them out was difficult. I have showered with them, so they turned sticky into my eye like an already-chew bubble gum into your jacket, and you realized it was there an hour after.

                I couldn’t see, not because I haven’t my lenses, but because the entire vapor that had left the hot, almost burning water was all over the room. Running from the bathroom to my room only with my towel was almost suicidal. I slipped in the 5 foot distance from door to door. Only the door frame was my lifeguard in that moment.    

                It was refreshing to put on the cold, dry pajama on. It was a long, sky-blue lined pajamas and a simple long-sleeved shirt. My black and white, simple flip-flops were lined-up in front of the T.V. like waiting from me to put them on. They were cold, but that fell quite good, because my feet were wet and hot.

                Running down the noisy, wooden stairs is always fun. There are like 8 stairs, then a large, wooden table, and then another 5 stairs. But I always past the first 5 in a big jump then walk the 3 more, and the jump the other 5, all at the same furious, fast speed. Because the wooden is not totally set in the white, metal base, the steps of the skinniest person would sound like a big, noisy crunch.

                Jumping the last 5 stairs, I see my mom coming out of my parent’s room. She is the sweetest, but still direct, objective and proud person I’ve ever meet. You must not make her angry or disappoint her because you maybe be regretting for that. She has his red, blonde and brown hair ironed perfectly. A woman who almost always is well combined in her clothes. This time it’s not the exception. She is wearing black, silk pants with a floral print shirt. Perfectly jewelry and shoes that combines with the outfit. As always, she is wearing high heels.

                “Hi darling” She said to me with his pretty, few-wrinkled face.

She walks towards the wooden, rustic, 8 chairs dinner table. My dad was already serving into his plate a bunch of sticky macaroni-and-cheese, graving in his other hand the plate of beans.

“Nights dad” I said to him. My dad, a 50 years-old man, was wearing as always a suit, with a perfectly combined shirt and tie. I kissed him in his shaved, little hole in his head. He has a little bit of hair in all his head, but in the top is different. In the top, a very well-formed circle without a single hair shines like a new pair of shoes.

The conversation starts like any family would. “How was your day?”, “And yours?”, “How school going?” Every night these questions are repeated in the same conversation, kind of boring at some time.

When my brother dropped the question: “Did anyone saw my pillow?” All of us nodded.         

“I have my 7 pillows” I said with a calmly voice, like these was not big new.

“You have 7 pillows!” my mom replied, in a face between shock and surprise.

“Yeah, is that weird?” I said with a calmly voice.

“How do you sleep, I mean you literally are sleeping in a sitting position.” My dad said with his fork pointing at me.

“How haven’t you hurt your back?” said my brother, all my family was shocked by a thing that I seemed normal.

You know, I, every night before sleep, do a little arrangement in my bed. I see the bedcover and I grab it and pull it out completely with a great force because my bed is besides the wall. Then I shake the blanket all over like for 5 minutes.

I do this because, once, a red, creepy spider was on my bed and I lay down. When I started to fell his little, but hairy legs in my face, I started screaming like a person who is about o be killed in The Texas Chain Saw Massacre. It was awful.

Then, I grab my fist two rectangle and soft pillows and put it side by side. They, together, make the exact size of my bed.

Then, a square pillow that is hard enough to hold a plate when I eat in my bed. This pillow is in the middle of the two rectangular, making a little form of a high mountain or a little volcano.

Above this 3, another two rectangular pillows are placed. These ones harder than the other ones. These two more makes the shape of the volcano even higher.

Above all this mountain of pillows, there are these two pillows that have little legs in the sides. They are called “abuelos” in Spanish. They are very comfortable, because your head is always in a pleasant way that will never be crushing with the bed or bed board.

So, this is my little personal ritual.