My actual greatest fear

My greatest fear is totally entropy. I blame Isaac Asimov because I read his short story called The Last Question a few years ago and it haunted and fascinated me. If you read the story you will have a good idea of what I am talking about, but to be brief, entropy is the idea that the universe will degenerate into a state of chaos. Think about it this way: You buy a candy bar at the convenience store. You throw the wrapper away and eat the candy bar. What has happened to the components of what you purchased? The wrapper is in some trash can and the chocolate is being digested in your body.

THEN what happens to the components? Part of the candy is taken into your system while other parts of it are excreted as waste and the wrapper winds up in an unknown landfill.

THEN what happens to the contents? The nutrients are used as energy in your body. The waste is processed in a treatment plant and sent out into the environment again. The wrapper rots.

THEN what happens? Does part of the water evaporate and become a raincloud that ends a drought in Texas? Does it water a field?  Is the wrapper picked up by the wind? Burned? And what about you? are you able to use all the energy? and for what? Is there any possible way to bring all the parts of that candy bar back together? No. It went from being so organized and simple to being spread out into millions of pieces over who-knows-how-many miles. And think about all of the millions of candy bars that have been purchased. But why is that scary?

Things degenerate. That is the nature of EVERYTHING. The universe included. Asimov took it on a major scale to remind us that everything in finite. Now look at it this way: What happens to a graduating class? Some move away to go to school. Some stay and work at the fast food joint for years. Some end up in jail. Some die. A group that was once organized and got together every day at your high school becomes- after only a few years- impossible to reassemble. And in 100 years how much of them will even be remembered?

On my mission I was able to see the way entropy destroys things. I was completely removed from my life for two years and when I came back everything had drifted apart. Everybody that I cared about wasn't accessible. Of course over time people move out of your life, but to see it so sudden like that really scared me. I don't know of a single thing that could possibly bring back all of the people I care about even though we used to get together all the time. On my mission we once had an activity that brought together most of the missionaries in my mission. As I watched them all interact I felt like crying and I had no idea why, but now I recognize that for a small instant and in a small way entropy has been reversed.

Asimov equates the reversal of entropy to the power of God. If I could put a name to God's power it would be that. And what is amazing is that we have a little bit of that divinity within us. If you take a shirt out of your closet you can put it back. If you take out all of the clothes in your closet you could put them all back in the same order. That might seem really simple and not cool, but it I the same principle that would enable you to put together a body that has begun to decompose. One of the reasons I believe in God is because I believe that there is an antidote to entropy. All of my relationships are being destroyed by entropy. So much so that I am terrified of making new emotional connections, but I know that there is one relationship that entropy can't touch, and that is the family because God has given the sealing power to man and promised that " whatsoever ye shall bind on earth shall be bound in heaven" (Matt 18:18). True family units might not always be tight here on earth, but God can fix that.

Someday I think I might write a story about entropy. It will start out very linear and make perfect sense and then it will evolve and spread out and follow several different plotlines and characters and eventually it will be impossible to follow and become incomprehensive babbling. It's funny that they things we want to figure out are the things we spend our time on. At least that is my experience. I still don't have a hold on entropy, but God does, and I trust Him with it.

(To be really technical for the Physics Major that is going to come across this post I want to put a disclaimer that I recognize that I am using the term entropy incorrectly, but I don't have any other word for the phenomenon.)

Prodigal

He got home late. Really late Terrence realized as he looked at the microwave clock. He only had 4 hours until the morning shift. He wasn’t tired though. Not yet. He could stay up the rest of the night if he wanted to. But it would hit him, oh, three hours into his shift at the warehouse, and he couldn’t take another day like that. Not another one. He looked into the fridge. He wasn’t hungry, but he grabbed a thing of ice cream and set it down on the table anyway. He tried to remember when was the last time he had cleaned the table. Weeks ago probably. Pipes, papers, cereal bowls, and now a carton of ice cream. He hadn’t meant to be at Glory’s all night. He had told her that he had the early shift at the warehouse. Sometimes he wondered if she heard a single thing he said.

He didn’t taste the ice cream, didn’t know what flavor it was, but he felt it, cold, going down his throat spoonful after spoonful. He thought about a time not that long ago when his dad would take him to the zoo. He loved to watch the tigers. The power in those beasts behind the bars was miraculous to a boy his age. If he could have been anything in the whole world it would be a zookeeper. He figured he would just go out and buy a tiger and get started as soon as he could. Growing up hadn’t been simple though. His dreams didn’t hold up nearly so well after twenty years of wearing down, wearing down. He could have come up with any number of other things to do with his life, but he didn’t have any dreams anymore. Maybe that’s why he was in a rundown apartment on the wrong side of the tracks running with a girl who had a reputation for destroying decent men and smoking who-knows-what. Glory had stuck something in his lipstonight and he had puffed on it till it was dry. Maybe that’s how she got him into bed. He didn’t remember. He didn’t remember much of the last coupla months.

He remembered meeting Glory. She had drug him into some bar and convinced him to buy her drinks. He hadn’t wanted much to do with her, but she gave him attention when nobody else would and he guessed that tonight he found out why. It wasn’t at all like everybody makes it look. He felt like the world had been putting on some kind of act his whole life and now the curtain had been torn away and there wasn’t really anything behind it worth mentioning. Maybe the second time. Maybe the third time. Maybe eventually there isn’t any shame in the thing and it starts to mean something.

He looked outside and saw men going around gouging each other’s eyes out and now he could join their ranks. He squared up his twenty years of shoulders and wondered if sheer determination could get him out of the rest of his life unscathed. He wondered if anybody ever actually reached their dreams before real life set in and spoiled everything. He wondered briefly if Glory had ever wanted to be a zookeeper, but he couldn’t stand the thought.

He decided to take a shower. He felt like throwing up or crying or something, but he didn’t. He just washed his hair and let the hot water run over him as if it could wash away all the years that he was caked in. He toweled off and realized he didn’t know what clothes he wanted to put on. Three hours until he had to go to work. Was it worth trying to sleep? He thought about his father. What would he think to see his son like this?

Terrence made a decision, put on one of his nicer shirts and a pair of jeans. He wasn’t going to sleep and he wasn’t going to work and he wasn’t ever going to come back to this piece-of-crap apartment. He locked the door behind him and walked. Moving on. Again. Maybe this time for good. He closed his eyes and thought that there wasn’t a single person in the world who loved him.

Wing Night

It had never worked out before. But whatever, like that's about to stop us. We were in the usual spots. Usual mood. Typical work day. Break time always seemed so short.

"At least we have something to do with our day." said Marissa. "When I get home I basically sit on the couch until its time to go to sleep. I'm pretty sure that's what my whole day would be like without this job."

We all give non-comittal half-nods. It's funny how we all act super tired at work. It's not like just standing in one spot is all that draining. Plus we get special mats to stand on. Yipee. Mostly we ast tired during break. Most of work is actually made up of everyone waiting for the next break. When you're packing cucumbers you can't help but think about when you can stop. We keep coming back to work though. We all need the money.

"Lets do things," said Marissa. We waited. Somehow we all knew that this wasn't all. Sure enough: "You know, like watching movies together or going out to eat. Give us something to look forward to after work." The nods are slightly more than non-commital, but I'm really catching on here.

There are only a handful of us here, the college students getting some money for education between semesters. Most people here are as far as they will ever get, ya know? They're kinda stuck for life. 'Motivation to go to college' as my dad tells me. Anyway, we kind of stick together, us educated kids. Maybe because we are all the same age. We all sit at the same table at break and eat. We don't really talk. I mean little stuff, but nothing worth mentioning. Except I guess this conversation.

"Yes," I said. "Tonight is wing night at Native New Yorker. Let's do that" It seemed like people from our work group were going to wing night practically every week, so I figured that everyone would jump on the idea, but
"I have an online class," Alisha announced right away. Scott was busy, Jake wasn't at work that day, but Jared was game. Marissa shot me a look. "I'll text people" I said.

The responses were mixed, but we got at least three more yeses. That was enough. Wing night was on.

4:30- work ended, and of course we practiacally crawl out the door, we're all so tired. I was so excited. "Wing Night! Seven o'clock" I shouted through the front door when I got home. Why hadn't I ever gone to wing night before with my co-workers?  Something always came up, I guess. This was going to be the best.
Bam. My phone buzzes. Text from Marissa- Hey I can't give you a ride tonight. We are having an unexpected family visit tonight. I'm not going.

Haha. That's what I said back. Didn't mean it. So I shot out a text to the 'yeses' to see if anyone can give me a ride. I was real subtle. I said 'Who is still going to wing night? We are taking a headcount.'
emily- sorry can't make it after all
hailey- got called in to work. sorry
alyssa- nah I can't come. Thanks though
delsy-
delsy didn't actually text me back.

Ha. cause this had never happened before. Wing night always worked out perfectly for everyone. Just not me. I could never seem to make it. Other than that though.
So, what? No wing night. I had planned something and it flopped. I wasn't to wing night after all.
I texted Marissa- The whole world doesn't want me to go to wing night.
her reply- Haha. We'll plan better next time.

I wanted to tell her not to bother, but I just couldn't. It wasn't just the lack of planning. Things worked out anyway, sometimes. Whatever, wing night had never worked out before.

People tried to comfort me, but it's not like I was all that upset. I had just acted really excited for it. Lance vowed we would go next week. I wanted to tell him not to bother.

Mom was setting to places at the table. Her and Lance. They were leaving early for a hair appointment.
Lance- "unless I am working that day"
Dad- "honey don't you think we should eat as a family.
Mom- Lance and I are leaving here in about two minutes. We are already late.
Lance- I could just trade with some one I guess
Dad- We can get everone here and ready to eat. We need to eat as a family
Mom- (on the phone)
Lance- I'm writing it on the calender
Dad- Kids come to the kitchen! It's time for dinner.
Mom- (walks away from the kitchen. still on the phone)
Lance- (staring at his food)
Dad- the boys are taking the dog on a walk, but if Mom and Lance are going to start eating we might as well get everone who is around together to eat.
Mom- (snaps phone shut) Lance lets go
Lance & Mom- leave
I went upstairs. Dinner didn't seem to be coming anytime soon

Swimming

In situations like this, Charles had the habit of pretending the room was filling up with water. It seemed to seep through the floor, collecting in puddles among the white tiles.  It rained from the ceiling and spurted through the cracks of the walls steadily. The magazines in loose piles on the table grew damp as water streamed out of their pages. He did nothing; it was like a game, trying to act normal in such unusual circumstances. Geysers erupted out of the seats of the empty chairs spraying water on everything that was still dry. He had to remind himself to breathe normally and not look so tense. It wasn’t real; this water that splashed on one of his finer suits, and besides it was barely a few inches deep. Someone would take care of it before it became much trouble. He eyed the receptionist (whose fountain pen was acting like a hose) as she talked on the phone, (which was acting like a sprinkler); water was coming out of her mouth in foamy bursts.  His thoughts came in commands now: Close eyes, Deep breath, Tap fingers in agitation. Even then he could not block out the sound of water as it sprang into existence and landed on the linoleum floor. He could feel it climbing up his legs. Opening his eyes, Charles could see water cascading off the receptionist’s desk and the windows were now shooting gallons of water into the room. He found it funny that he had never come up with a source for the water. He looked down in time to watch the water swallow his lap. He wanted to shut his eyes, and cover his ears and scream, and it took time to regain control of himself. The urge returned again about the time the water hit his chest; about the time he could hear footsteps coming down the hall. Water was coming out of his own eyes now. When the doctor threw the doors open and came into the room it had the effect of breaking a dam. A great wall of water came at him, clawing at his lips, forcing itself down his throat. The taste was salty; bitter. There was no longer air. He could not contain himself. He was drowning. He sobbed and gasped as the doctor told him the news he has already guessed. Then the water consumed him.

People

I love people. You may not be able to tell this by being around me. In fact most people view me as cripplingly shy. Instead of shy i like to think of myself as an observer. Before i talk to almost anyone i like to observe who they are and what they are all about. And where i fit in in relationship to them. Then we can get going. Also i do not talk in group conversations. It just doesn't fly.

Even at my house sometimes i will just sit on the couch and watch the daily happenings. I love to just be around someone and feel their presence. I feel like i have a knack for feeling who people really are and enjoying them for who they are (and not just because of energy profiling ya'll).

You know who i LOVE? those people with the radiant, shining personalities. You know? As soon as one of these people walk in to a room it just lights up and, for me at least, suddenly its all about them. There is just this rich, warmth and light about the radiant people. I don't know if you get what i'm talking about. Its those people who can cheer you up on the worst days just by smiling at you. Its those people you miss the most when they are not around. Its those people you would give anything to hear laugh if you are feeling down. If one of these radiant people are talking i could just sit there and bask in it forever, you know? Probably not.

So i am probably going to have to marry someone with a radiant, warm personality like that, and let me tell you they are one in a million. But i love pretty much anybody that i have ever gotten to know. I just wish i could spend time with the people i love for pretty much ever. Not even talking or anything, just being there with 'em. There is something about being with a real person. Not on the phone, not on chat or via skype or text. We're talking legit people. I love 'em so much!!! <3

Eric Whitacre's Virtual Choir

Its Fabuluous!! and here's whats what: Some girl uploaded herself singing a song by Eric Whitacre to Youtube and Eric saw it and thought "What if we got a lot of people to do this?" Then he did. Because he is Eric Whitacre and also Amazing. The first go round was about 180 people strong and got a lot of attention. So Whitacre thought big. In virtual Choir 2.0 there are over 2000 singers (including me) My experience in this choir has been amazing!!! I get to sing with people from all over the world. And the video is inspiring Check it:

so when I heard that this was going down I WAS SO PSYCHED!! I had to be part of it. I started to learn the music, but it wasn't that easy practicing by myself. Recording was almost impossible. My webcam was horrible quality. I cannot even tell you how many times i tried to record and submit my video from the time it was announced to the final date to submit (september thru December of 2010) i got a digital camera for Christmas and decided that could be good for recording, but things were still not gelling. I thought it wouldn't be so bad if i wasn't a part of Virtual choir 2.0 after all. Then i saw a vid on Eric's blog.

The video was nine year old Georgie from the UK singing the first soprano part as her submission to the VC. I was so amazed and inspired that i recorded and uploaded my video singing Tenor I that very day. No matter how imperfect it was i knew the deadline was only a few days away and i was going to be a part of this thing. I also recorded my brother singing Baritone and uploaded the vid.

Then Whitacre announced that the deadline would be extended due to the bad weather (which didn't make a whole lot of sense) but that was cool because my brother's high school choir was learning sleep and i was able to help five members of the choir be a part of this endeavor. Also it gave me time to learn the second tenor part and upload that too. So thats the story . pretty exctiting stuff if you ask me.

Debbie’s Senior Prom

this is a fairly rough version of a short story i am writing. By 'am' i mean i already wrote it and it needs editing. It is not my best, but i though 'why not?'

It was unavoidably spring. The springtime brought a restless fever to Skyline High; a fever of intense heat that moved from student to student prompting each to fly out of their chairs and glide away on the spring breeze whose cargo was sweet spring scents, colorful kites and spring fever. Spring fever carried students out of their nighttime beds and onto the cool green grass allowing the moonlight to spill over them, its pale hue reflected in their shining eyes. Spring fever focused their eyes on spring beauty: the blue of the sky, the shock of flower petals flaunting their colors, the bright sunshine thawing wintered spirits.

Yes it was definitely spring, and all who felt the sweet delight of the slow, friendly breeze and the smiling sunshine were engulfed with the fever until the whole town was paralyzed in it's passionate embrace. The heat made it feel as if one spark would turn the town into a blazing inferno capable of consuming all life with its flames. That spark came in the form of a small note given to Lindsay Osbourne for Gerald Denetso with the words “Lindsay will you go to prom with me?” printed on it.

Ignition.

At Skyline High, the process for asking a girl to prom was much more elaborate than simply asking the question. The tradition started about ten years prior when Joey Long announced his undying love for Brittany Davis over the PA system and asked her to prom. Of course everyone’s natural tendency was to outdo him; and so banners were made, flowers were delivered, and gifts were given. The askings grew wilder as the boys came up with bigger and better ways to ask their dates. The girls bragged to each other about how they were asked even more than who had asked them. The boys grew mare daring in who they asked; the girls didn’t mind so much who was asking them so long as he did it in a spectacular way. Social barriers were broken down during prom; any boy could go with any girl simply by flattering her with a brilliant display of affection. The girls even found a way to incorporate themselves in the game by coming up with clever ways to say “Yes” to their dates.

It was tragically unfortunate that prom occurred in the spring.

The students’ fervor to outdo one another was only intensified by the crippling spring fever they were all taken by. Suddenly the impossible was within reach and every student was invincible. The was the scene into which Gerald Denetso found himself as he placed his unimpressive note on the desk of Lindsay Osbourne.

The student body was in an uproar. The girls, outraged by the simple way Gerald asked Lindsay advised her not to go with him, while the boys rushed to claim their dates before anyone else could. The small flame Gerald Denetso had begun was growing fiercer and hotter as it took possession of student after student. One student who watched the growing fire was Debbie.

Debbie was an average girl who had recently developed a strange habit of staring at the moon or smelling the wild flowers that grew by the side of the road. Her hopes for prom revolved around on person: Marcus Anderson. Marcus Anderson who sat two seats away from her in math class; Marcus Anderson whose grin was enough to coax a smile out of anyone. He was the focus of her growing infatuation which she was tempted to call love as the spring approached.

The most interesting feature of Marcus Anderson was his clone, Marc. Marc was the only clone at Skyline High, as clones were known as possessions of the rich. The Andersons were the only family Debbie knew that could afford a clone. Mr. Anderson, a doctor specializing in abortions, had money to spare, and so when his wife became pregnant, he had some DNA taken from the fetus and made into a clone. Marc and Marcus were both seventeen, both had Chocolate brown eyes and contagious laughs, but Debbie felt an attraction to Marcus that wasn’t there with Marc. Perhaps it was the way his words seemed to go through her, or the way he looked at her as if her knew what she was thinking. There was nothing wrong with Marc; he was terribly fun to talk to and always good for a laugh, but he was still Debbie’s second choice for prom.

Debbie watched as the ever consuming fire grew bigger, but Marc and Marcus remained untouched by the flames. One day the unthinkable happened.  (       )

The final school bell had rang and Debbie was walking to her car, taking time to enjoy the warm sun and the spring breeze. She being one of the few whose spring fever had not yet manifest itself in the form of flames, was being taunted by the sun and the wind which were both trying to enrage her fever to the right pitch; but to no avail.

Debbie reached her car and found it covered with streamers of orange and yellow, and filled with balloons of red and gold. A spark was formed.

She opened her car door relishing the faint tingling she felt as the flames spread through her. Balloons spilled into the sky, and the spring wind reached down her fingers to posses them. As Debbie blazed through the confetti jungle she saw a small note on the driver’s seat. It was with trembling hands the Debbie reached for the note and read: “Debbie will you go to prom with me?”

                                    -Marcus Anderson

The spring breeze carried Debbie home.

She flew out of her car, hands still clutching the note. Flowers reached out to her, the sun cradled her, and the wind engulfed her. She was entirely consumed with spring fever as she ran up the stairs and flung open her bedroom door. Her floor was a mess of red and gold balloons and orange and yellow streamers hung from her ceiling fan. On her pillow was a small unimpressive note.

Debbie carved a trail through the balloons while the streamers swayed licking her hair. Her fever was reaching new heights, but the flames were hot and uncomfortable. The tingling had increased to a stinging. Trembling, she picked up the note and read: “Debbie will you go to prom with me?” 

                                    -Marc Anderson

She held the identical notes side by side and they both turned to ash in her hands.

Debbie went to school the next day, her flesh a dying ember. Ash flaked off of her. News swept through the school spread by fiery tongues. And Debbie watched the flame blaze.

The afternoon found Debbie making a wreath of flowers in the shade of a tree. Her fire had been smothered by sorrow. As she finished her wreath she looked up to see two figures standing over her with smoldering eyes.

  “We’re sorry about asking you at the same time.” This was Marc. His eyes made it look as if he were suppressing a smile.

“We thought it best not to tell each other who we were going to ask.” This was Marcus. He really was smiling, and it made Debbie smile too.

“We know you don’t want to have to choose between us, so we will choose for you,” Marc’s eyes smirked, “If that’s ok with you.”

Debbie nodded fingering the delicate petals of the crown.

“Great, meet us at the rodeo grounds this Friday at eight,” and they were gone, their hair glistening in the sunshine.

Marc and Marcus took care of all the preparation for Friday night. All Debbie had to do was show up and claim her date. All week she imagined the scene. She would arrive at eight to greet a single figure holding a rose in the moonlight. She would walk up to him greeting his smile with one of her own. Their hands would slip into each others and as they danced slowly, he would whisper to her how wonderful prom was going to be.

The thought filled her with warmth.

All the while Marcus and Marc had another idea of what Friday night would be like. They worked furiously, inviting hordes of people to come Friday night to witness the event. They sprayed their gasoline all over town. And the fever stricken people were absolutely taken by the idea.

Skyline high was ablaze with the news. The sun pounded its heat relentlessly, and the wind blew frantically, and every student waited for Friday night.

Friday night finally came. And the moon it brought was enough to make anyone’s fever rage. Debbie drove through the town staring at the cloudless skies and imagining what the night might bring.

She could feel the heat before she reached the rodeo grounds. It hit her like a gust of wind, and as she got closer she saw the inferno.

The rodeo grounds were filled with people; all of whom had been infected by a screaming, raging, fever. The heat was blinding.

The people rippled and roared like a fiery ocean. Young entrepreneurs sold overpriced candy and soda, people made bets and exchanged money; all eyes were on the two figures standing in the center of the dusty rodeo grounds. They had chosen the rodeo grounds because cleanup here would be easier than on the football field.

Marc and Marcus stood staring at the immense fire they had built. Each was doped up on adrenaline and painkillers stolen from their father. They silently pulled out knives; the only silent onlooker was the moon.

 Debbie stood in shock as Marcus and Marc lunged at one another. A stab in the arm, a gash in the leg; each time that flesh and knife connected they had the effect of flint and steel.

Sparks flew like fireworks in the night sky connecting with the gasoline soaked bleachers to create eruptions of flame. The heat raged to a furious pitch, each onlooker standing and shouting. Debbie was bound by fire and fever and fear and flames. She could see nothing as tears crept out of her eyes slowly dissolving the bonds that kept her. She ran to her car as her fever broke; everything a haze, everything perfectly clear.

The fire swelled and escalated to an unbearable degree. In the end there was only one casualty.

“Will there be a funeral?” Debbie sat in her front room in a black dress.

“Of course not sweetie,” said her mother “he never died.”

Her father walked in, “Oh Debbie you look beautiful. You ready for the big night tonight?” 

            “But Mom he did die!”

            “We went through this honey, remember?” her mother said “Marc and Marcus were the same person; the same DNA. They were identical."

            “Well that doesn’t mean his life wasn’t important. What about identical twins?”

            “Debbie,” her father answered sternly “Enough of this!”

Debbie raged, “No! It’s not right that someone can just have their life taken away and nobody cares about it!”

“Now you listen to me!” her father reprimanded.

 Just then the doorbell rang.

“I think that’s your date Debbie,” her mother said. “Now don’t cry dear, you mascara will run.”

Debbie opened the door revealing a single figure with a rose in his lapel. He stared at Debbie as if he didn’t know what she was thinking.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Debbie.

He offered her his arm and she took it knowing that she took the arm of a killer.