Efflorescence

Ernest Hemingway once wrote, “We are all broken, that’s how the light gets in.” Everyone has a past, and everyone has a demon that will forever lie within them. That is why I became a writer; I could put my demons and troubles on a piece of paper and simply toss it away. I want to help people; I want people to know that they aren’t alone; they don’t have to suffer in silence.

I was never a person to stay in one place, I had no roots, I had no ‘home’. Yes, I had a place to live but it was always temporary, always changing. I never stayed in one place for too long because getting attached to places and people makes it hard to be free. I loved to write, and I loved to teach, this allows me to travel all over to different schools and host writing workshops, give lectures in different colleges. I was able to help those kids see another way to handle what they were dealing with and no one could ever take the power to write away from them.

So that is what I set out to do with my life; I dedicated my life to writing and teaching others to love to write. My goal when I was 18 was to have a novel published by 21; I achieved that goal while I was finishing my last year of college. By writing and publishing that novel it made it possible for me to wander across the US and do these workshops, that set me up for the life I wanted.

My next destination was Seattle, Washington; I loved Seattle the city is the ideal type of city for a starving artist to live in. I would normally stay at a hotel or do a month by month lease just depending on how long I planned on staying. Basing my timeframe was up to the kids. If I had a group that seems really interested and is engaging, I normally stay for my month-long class; if there isn’t anyone who is really reaching out and expressing interest, I only stay a week. I tried to find places that had multiple high schools so I could do two at a time; I go to one school Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and the other Tuesday, Thursday. The school that only has two days I do a session in the morning and afternoon. The number of students also helps me decide, some of these schools have 3000 students and some have 300, obviously the more students the more time it will take.

I stepped outside the airport and took in Seattle; I loved the overcast and cool temperatures it was beautiful here. My first school on the list was Ballard high school which was the first school I reached out to. I rented a Camaro; cars were my guilty pleasure that’s why I never bought one so I could always rent something new. I put my suitcase in the trunk and started the 30-minute drive to Ballard High School. I watched the rain falling on my windshield as I drove; Seattle really was beautiful, and I might just stay here a little longer for myself. My agenda today was to go to the school and determine how long I really am going to be here.

My GPS took me through some windy back roads, and I admired the skyscraper height trees. I pulled into the parking lot and parked towards the door. I stepped out of my car and grabbed my little guide to the program I teach. I walked up to the door and pressed the intercom button which I’m assuming buzzed to the office.

“Hi, I’m Melanie Wilder.” I let go of the button.

“Ah yes we have been expecting you, come on in.” The door clicked so I’m assuming she unlocked it.

I opened the door and looked for the office, I walked in and asked to speak with the principle.

“Ms. Wilder, it’s so nice to finally meet you.” A large man in a suit came out of the back office.

I shook his hand and we walked back into his office. He showed me the list of students who signed up to take the program. The list had 80 students on it so it was a decent sized class. I went over my lesson program with Mr. Lyle and he was happy with it. With that I told him I would be here at 8 a.m. tomorrow and now I had to find a place to live. With that size of class and my sudden love for Seattle I decided to rent something; this would be cheaper than staying in a hotel for the entire time. I started searching for apartments, but everything had a waiting list. I finally scrolled far enough that I found a house for rent that wasn’t too far from here and it was furnished. Finding something that is furnished is very rare so I called the number as soon as I could.

The rent was affordable, and it was perfect for what I needed. It was two-bedroom one bathroom which it was just me so that was fine. I spent the rest of that night unpacking and getting my writing prompts and ideas finished for this class. I had a gut feeling that Seattle is going to be good for me, maybe I’ll write my second novel here.

My alarm went off at 630 and I groaned, I neve was one for early mornings, never have been and I probably never will be. It never fails that I am always nervous on the first day; I never know what kind of kids I’m going to be working with. I have helped kids who: were contemplating suicide, having trouble at home, kids who felt invisible, the list goes on and on. Writing is an escape, a healthy coping mechanism, a way to make kids feel like they aren’t alone in this world.

Getting dressed for the first day was always a hard decision as well. I wanted these kids to be able to relate to me and see me as someone they can trust so I don’t want to go in there in a Hilary Clinton pant suit. I grabbed some skinny jeans and a sweater and decided that was dressy enough. It was already 715 so I needed to get my ass in gear and get to the school.

On the drive to school I couldn’t help but gawk at just how pretty Seattle was, the cloudy weather, evergreen trees as far as the eyes can see. I didn’t even realize I was already pulling into the parking lot. I parked my car and got out, there were kids hanging out in the parking lot talking and laughing. I walked into the school and went to the classroom that the principle assigned me too and started getting my stuff settled in. I sat at my desk and saw I had an email from my publisher, she was anxiously awaiting my next novel, little did she know I was too.

“This is the new writing program, right?” I looked up to a boy with brown shaggy hair.

“Yes! This is it, I’m Melanie Wilder, but you can call Miss Wilder.” I stuck my hand out for him to shake it, which he did.

“I’m LJ.” He smiled.