A woman storms into an otherwise calm room, disturbing the peaceful silence with slams and thumps that seem to rattle, though not break, the soothing aura of the room. A man is sitting there, quietly reading in a comfortable chair. He takes a moment to finish reading his sentence before looking up at his visitor with curious eyes devoid of any negative reaction to her violent appearance. His face is unperturbed, as if the calm nature of the atmosphere were a product of his mood, generating outwards from his serene inner core. A genuine smile crosses his lips, even as he observes this absurd behavior. He is happy to see this woman.

Man: (Pleasantly, velvetly) Hey sweetie!

Woman: (The woman screams her retort, unaware of the disturbance her behavior is causing) Don't you 'Hey sweetie' ME!!! What are you doing up?? Waiting for me?!? Spying on me???

Man: (Still quite calm, still pleasant and loving) No. (He holds up the book in his hand, shaking it slightly; she barely notices as she tries to storm out of the room. He rises to follow her, arms slightly outstretched, reaching for her, as if for a loving embrace.) How was the game? (She continues to retreat, and he continues to pursue, oblivious) Did you win?

Woman: Did I win?!? What, are you checking the facts to make sure that's what I was really doing??? Yes of course I won some hands, and lost others!! I told you I was going to play cards with the gang, you knew where I was! What I was doing!!! (Her arms flail wildly out of control as she screams this with fury, the display nearly knocking her off balance. This gives him a chance to catch her, his hands gently grabbing around her waist. Another smile crosses his face, a bigger one, mixed with amusement, patience, and adoration)

Man: You're right. I knew you would win. (He bows his head in as if for a kiss, but she pressed hard off his chest and whirls out of the embrace. He follows, confusion finally touching his face as he listens to her rant.)

Woman: Nothing HAPPENED, alright!!?! We played a few hands, had a few drinks, and then I drove Tommy home. Practically kicked him out of the car while it was still moving, you have to believe me!!!" (She stops for a minute, whirling suddenly so that it catches him off-guard, to study his expression. His eyebrows are pinched, but immediately they smooth out into another easy grin. He reaches for her again, sweetly, as he responds)

Man: Of course I believe you--

Woman: Oh my God, how can you not TRUST me!?!?! (She throws up her arms, twirls, and begins stomping away again, this time towards the door. For the first time an expression of confusion begins to overcome his face)

Man: Of course I trust you baby--

Woman: I mean, if you can't trust me at all, Eric, then what's the point of us even continuing this relationship!?! (The man's mouth drops open, too shocked to repond in time. Meanwhile the woman has thrown on her coat and struggles to secure her scarf as she storms back out the door, slamming it in his stunned fact so hard that a few decorations rattle dangerously as the screen fades to black.)

Elizabeth: Hi, it's me...(her voice cracks) Umm, (deep breath in) I lied to you, before. Last night, when I said that nothing happened between Tom and I. When we got to his place, I stopped, and we kissed. I can't remember if he started it or not, but I wanted him to. The moment I knew it was happening, I knew I wanted him to do it. (She takes another sharp breath in that converts to a sob. The following dialogue continues through tears that she's obviously fighting to hold back, and not succeeding). I'm so sorry Eric but I just, I couldn't tell you last night, I was so mad at myself for letting it happen and I just--(Another sharp intake followed by a deep, calming breath outwards, followed by an audible swallow) I couldn't keep it from you any longer. I'm sorry but I think I'm in love with him and--(Another sob, her voice begins to crackle again with impending tears)--I know that's not fair to you so I think it would be best--(a west sniffle)--if we didn't see each other anymore. (The voice cries for a few seconds, softly, but audibly, followed by some garbled whispers through trembling lips) I'm so sorry! I...wa--(The call ends with a definitive click, followed by monotonous dial tone).

Meanwhile: the screen fades in to focus on a close-up of the answering machine, or the cell phone, then slowly pans out to show Eric, sitting still but erect, clearly stiff with tension, as he listens to the message. As the voice starts to break down his body collapses into a profound hunch, and he covers his own eyes with his thumb and index finger, clearly in pain yet unable to cry. When the message ends, he remains still for the first 2-3 seconds of dial tone. Then he reaches to hit the button or sequence of buttons that allow the message to begin replaying again.)

...
 

'For, after all, everyone who wishes to gain true knowledge must climb the Hill Difficulty alone, and since there is no royal road to the summit, I must zigzag it in my own way. I slip back many times, I fall, I stand still, I run against the edge of hidden obstacles, I lose my temper and find it again and keep it better, I trudge on, I gain a little, I feel encouraged, I get more eager and climb higher and begin to see the widening horizon. Every struggle is a victory. One more effort and I reach the luminous cloud, the blue depths of the sky, the uplands of my desire.
 

...
 

'There are, however, times when I long to sweep away half the things I am expected to learn; for the overtaxed mind cannot enjoy the treasure it has secured at the greatest cost. When one reads hurriedly and nervously, having in mind written tests and examinations, one's mind becomes encombered with a lot of choise bric-a-brac for which there seems to be little use. At the present time my mind is so full of heterogeneous matter that I despair of ever being able to put it in order. Whenever I enter the region that was the kingdom of my mind I feel like the proverbial bull in the china shop. A thousand odds and ends of knowledge come crashing about my head like hailstones, and when I try to escape them, themegoblins and college nixies of all sorts pursue me, until I wish--oh, may I be forgiven the wicked wish!--that I might smash the idols I came to worship."

Many, if not all, of my creative writing instructors have advised mimicking the styles of other authors in order to learn the intricacies of their style and acquire their profetic talents. Indeed, many other types of artists--painters, for example, I know do this--usually sit in art musems and create exact replicas of famous works in much the same manner.

I admire Hellen Keller not for her handi-caps that she overcame, but for the accomplishments she realized that make my heart pound with envy. She mastered five languages: English, German, French, Latin, and Greek, which she used to read some of the most profound and influential literature of those cultures in their native tongue. I couldn't be more jealous! I always feel a rush of shame whenever someone asks me "How many languages do you know?" and I can only grumblingly reply two: Spanish and English. How embarrassing! What a sin! It makes me ashamed to use my Spanish. It's the ONLY other language I know, I should be completely fluent, right? No accent, no lack of vocabulary, no misunderstandings or misspeakings...only perfection! And yet, lack of perfection is so natural as to be acceptable, even defined optimistically in academic terms as "variation" in one's native language. It's not fair.

To a certain degree I also envy Hellen's luck to have been born to a wealthy family, for surely she would not  have enjoyed the same privledges and thus succeeded to the degree that she did without the opportunities available to her through purchase from her parents' coin purse. At the same, however, I feel conflicted; although she was lucky to have inherited the financial status that her parents enjoyed, they only provided the means for her success. They may have sponsored a great car, but her driving won the Indy 500. It is thanks only to the fruits of her firey ambition, desire to excel, refusal to except defeat, and hours of manual labor that she was able to realize the opportunities her parents' dimes afforded her.

Which creates a personal dilemma. Do I press the anger on my resentment, like pressing a pot on the stove to make the water boil faster, or do I admire and take notes, like jotting down a family recipe that's just too good to be forgotten?

Instead of either of those routes, each of which I consider incorrect and incomplete, respectively, I think I'm going to take after the example my grandmother laid out for me. She was always vivaciously positive about everything. She never directly preached on this, but her exhuberance made it clear that she believed a beaming smile could solve any problem. In other words, I have chosen to consider Hellen Keller's example as one that demonstrates the achievements that can be obtained by the nonable-bodied if given the same opportunities as those people who lack handicaps. Our society tends to think of the handicapped as "broken" people, human beings who have somehow failed or been struck as if for punishment. I firmly believe that these members are  every bit as valuable as their able-bodied counter-parts, which would become immediately more obvious if we made our society more accessible for everyone.

Georgia Kleene, a talented writer who also happens to be blind, once made a comment quoted in a newspaper article that I read. As I have since lost the article, I cannot remember the exact quote, but it was something to the effect of "changes made for the disabled usually benefit the non-disabled population as well." Her example was wheel chair ramps: created for those who cannot step over the curb at a street corner, but also benefitial to people pushing strollers.