Travis Thrasher's Blog, page 18

Masterpiece Ministries

            A wise man once said the following: “Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”            This could easily sum up my summer, and what I might have missed if I’d not stopped for a brief moment.             My Tyndale colleague Timothy Botts asked me this past spring if I’d be interested in attending the Masterpiece Arts Camp this summer. It sounded intriguing and I said yes. I imagined being able to share some publishing wisdom with students, then having some time to write and enjoy nature. I really didn’t know what I was getting myself into.             A week before the camp, I regretted saying yes. I was in the middle of writing three books this summer. Life was moving very, very fast. Too fast, in fact. I arrived in Kentucky still not knowing what the week would entail.             I can honestly say this now: my week at Masterpiece Camp was one of the best weeks of my life. Yes, I forgot to bring a towel or bed linens or even shampoo (because somehow I forgot what the word camp meant). But no matter.             It was on the first evening after the students arrived when I realized what an exceptional place this was. It was a camp for kids with artistic interests. Not only that, these were talented, bright kids. Music and visual arts and animation and drama and writing were all celebrated. But they were celebrated for the right reasons. God was at the center of this celebration. And honestly—this took my breath away.             It still does, in fact.             I was transported back to a time when I was a teenager in the 80’s who discovered he loved to write. My parents encouraged me, but that was about it. I had no other fellow artists to share my passion with. My writing was my silent, unseen best friend. I kept at it, but I really wish I could have met others I could really relate with.             The Botts and the Rogers founded Masterpiece Arts Camp because they knew kids like me. They were once kids like this, too. They had been to sports camps or Christian camps that still left us artistic sorts feeling a bit left out. At Masterpiece, creativity is paramount. Out-of-the-box thinking is pushed. But everything is done in a safe and fun way.             There were too many remarkable moments to share in a simple article like this. There were incredible lives that I got to meet. Amazing stories brought into camp. Astounding talents shared. Yes, I know—I’m using a lot of adjectives here, but I’m being honest.             Masterpiece is a special place. Period.             I really love how the week is built to not only encourage and motivate you, but to also challenge you. Both mentally and spiritually. By Friday, I was the guy around camp shedding lots of tears. In part because I realized the unique nature of this camp. But also because God was speaking to me in the Kentucky wilderness.             I mention the famous Ferris Buehler quote at the beginning for this reason. I always thought Ferris was cool and somebody I would have loved to hang around with. Well you know what? I hung around with a bunch of Ferris Buehlers this summer at Masterpiece. Students and adults that were cool and that I’m proud to know.             If you know a teen or are one who loves the arts, you have to check out Masterpiece. It might truly impact your life. It certainly impacted mine. 

Writer's Block

            There is no such thing as writer’s block. There is only procrastination and fear and perfectionism and pure laziness. That’s all.            If you want to write, there is no magical, mythical block holding you back.            Perhaps you keep putting it off because of all the more important things in your life. Perhaps you can’t develop a routine or you can’t get into a steady rhythm. That’s not writer’s block. That’s just not even bothering.            So maybe you are afraid of what others will think. Afraid it’s going to be terrible and worse than that, you’ll devote hours and days and weeks and month to this terrible thing. Maybe you’ll get too personal, and share private things, and maybe it’ll get read by those closest to you, and maybe they’ll call for the funny farm to pick you up.            Maybe you have this grand vision in your head but it suddenly gets very bland and stale when it gets put onto the page. Join the club of every single writer who has ever put words onto the page.            Maybe the problem is you started writing and realized it’s work. There’s nothing inspired about it anymore. The fun is gone. The honeymoon is over. You’re in the middle of a work and it’s just sagging and fading away. So you stop. Because it’s—it’s hard. And you wanted this to be exciting and easy.            Writer’s block is a myth. It’s another fun thing to discuss and blog about and explore all while you’re not writing.            Maybe the bank is calling you repeatedly because you haven’t paid your mortgage in the last couple of months. And yeah, maybe you keep telling them the check is in the mail and you’re a writer but they just don’t quite get it because you can’t pay them now. Maybe that is just stressing you out too much and ruining your concentration.            Perhaps the project you spent the last two years talking about and the last couple of months toying over suddenly got ripped out from underneath your typing fingertips. And yeah, perhaps you know that’s just part of the process, and that it could happen, and that it’s not personal, and yada yada. But at the end of the day, it hurts like hell, but nevermind. Keep writing.            Maybe this project wasn’t your idea to begin with, but it’s an amazing opportunity. Maybe those other potential projects had to get put on hold for this one.            Maybes and perhaps’ all don’t mean a thing if you want to write. If you have to write. If you say you’re a writer. If those are the case . . . then you write. 

Words

                 Sometimes I wish I could sum up my emotions in colors. Then again, I’m a bit color blind.            Sometimes I wish I could take all of this inside and wrap it around a song. Then again, I don’t know how to play any instruments. And I really shouldn’t sing any solos.            I have enough energy to run a marathon. Yet I get out of breath walking up the stairs.            I want to dance the night away. But nobody wants to dance with a sweaty mess anyway.            I want to strap on a football helmet and hit somebody. But I’d probably be knocked unconscious.            I want to see a crowd waving in front of me. But that’s just the screen of my iMac taunting me.            My world is one of words. I’m in the confines of a story. My journey is on some kind of page. Electronic or physical. That is my medium. That is my mode.            Sometimes I wonder why God blessed me with the ability to work with words when all I want to do is weave through melodies? I want to grow thick and large and become a method actor. I want to spend hours perfecting the background vocals on a perfect song. I want to show the midnight stars and the falling moons and the spinning sun.            Yet here I am. Locked in words.            Sometimes I wish I was better equipped.            Sometimes I wish I read more.            Sometimes I simply wish these stories didn’t fill my heart and head and mind.            Sometimes I wish I could be free.            I wade through the swamp figuring out a way to find them. I deliver them all wet and muddy to the reader. Sometimes they make sense in their messy glory. Sometimes they stay there and dry out in the hot sun.            I would love to take these feelings and not fit them into words. I’d like to put the feelings into a picture or a sound or an action.            But no.            This is my world. The A through Z. The sentences and the paragraphs and the lines and the punctuation. Following in massive footsteps. Barely having a clue what I’m doing.            The fingers type away and the mind wanders and the soul aches for this breaking bashful bloke to get rid of it all somehow. To scoop it up and put it down and get it out. To get rid of it and to finally feel free.            But even when there are no more words, more come at midnight. Even more come in the morning.            A dam fills and the words need to come. The fingers need to type. The stories need to be told.                        A curse. Ten thousand verses. For better or for worse. My soul and my heartache. My doctor and my nurse. All these things summed up in these simple fragile things. These words. These endless words filling me and fulfilling me.            So I am stuck. So I continue to write. So I continue to work with all of these endless, eternal words.            I always feel so not worthy. Yet it’s the only worthy thing I’m capable of doing.  

The Long and Winding Road of Songs

The following lyrics are from songs that have accompanied and meant something to me during my six years of writing fulltime. . . 
After the storm 
had passed, I wondered how long
 the break in the clouds would last.
With your back to the wall, you've got one place to fall. Sometimes it's all
better unknown.
Turn the light out, say goodnight. No thinking for a little while.Let's not try to figure out everything at once. It's hard to keep track of you falling through the sky.
We're half awake in a fake empire.We're half awake in a fake empire.
How come I end up where I started?How come I end up where I went wrong?Won't take my eyes off the ball again.You reel me out then you cut the string.
Rolling out of my bed, I still can't find the truth I've been searching for.Going back instead, I shut my eyes. Dream who I could be once more.
Heaven help take me back 
to the dream
 that life has been just once. Answer my prayer. Take away all the fear 
and let me fall asleep. Let me fall asleep. Fall asleep. You know
 you have to let it go. Don't cry. So hard to say goodbye.
Was a long and dark December.From the rooftops I remember.There was snow.White snow.
I used to rule the world.Seas would rise when I gave the word.Now in the morning I sleep alone.Sweep the streets I used to own.
So come over, just be patient, and don't worry.And don't worry.
Lights and Music are on my mind.Be my baby one more time.
So shine on me. My Lord. My Lord. 
I was on the wrong page of the wrong book. With the wrong rendition of the wrong hook. Made the wrong move, every wrong night .With the wrong tune played till it sounded right yeah.
It kicks like a sleep twitch.
A bruised full moon play fights with the stars,This place is our prison, it's cells are the bars.So take me to town, I want to dance with the city,Show me something ugly and show me something pretty.
Damn this place, makes a boy out of me,The ring meets my face by the count of three.
You will keep forever, I'll bury you like treasure.
Things are not always, things are not always how they seem.They don't turn out always, don't quite turn out always how we think.
Missing person at the window.
Acres.Visible horizon.Right where it starts it ends.When did we start the end?
Acres.Visible illusion.Where it starts it ends.Love like a sunset.
Only love, only love can leave such a mark. But only love, only love can heal such a scar.
I tied myself with wire to let the horses roam free.Playing with the fire until the fire played with me.
So go and dance yourself clean. Go and dance yourself clean, yeah. You're throwing marks into pieces. Baby, they're arguments, the pieces.
Sometimes I can't believe it. I'm movin' past the feeling.Sometimes I can't believe it.I'm movin' past the feeling again.
I used to write.I used to write letters.I used to sign my name.I used to sleep at night, before the flashing light settled deep in my brain.But by the time we met,  by the time we met the times had already changed.
So far, I'm out to sea.Everyone's calling.Every step alone.
Keep quiet, I hear you.Keep quiet, I hear you.
Wait! I'm in the wrong house.I'm in the wrong room.Some place in someone else's shoes.
I want to turn back.I want to shut down.I'll blow away if I breathe out.
I'm still the same. But you're not going to take me down again. I'm feeling old .That doesn't mean you can break my soul.
I still owe money to the money to the money I owe.I never thought about love when I thought about home.
Sing yourself on down the street.Sing yourself right off your feet.Sing yourself away from victory
and from defeat.
Heaven, heaven.Heaven, heaven.Heaven, heaven.Can you feel it?Can you feel it?Heaven, heaven.
And does it help that you finally found yourself?And does it help that you crawled out of your shell?
The tightrope that I'm walking just sways and ties.The devil, as he's talking, with those angel's eyes.And I just wanna be there when the lightning strikes.And the saints go marching in.
And sing slow it down,Through chaos as it swirls,It's us against the world.
Just keep following the heartlines on your hand.
In the mornings I was anxious.It's better just to stay in bed.Didn't want to fail myself again.
Waiting for a roar.Looking at the mutating skyline.The city is my church.It wraps me in the sparkling twilight.
When I feel like a drop in the ocean
but there's no one else at sea. And my body's bent and broken, let the Lord shine a light on me.
Someday you might find your hero.Some say you might lose your mind.
Keep on chasing down that rainbow.You'll never know what you might find.
My light burns low and I know it’s running out.They say stay brave but I know it will return.
Oh heaven, oh heaven.I wait with good intentions.But the day it always lasts too long.Then I'm gone.
Yet again, we're the only ones. No surprise, this is often how it's done. Lately it's about all I can take. I will move, mend and mold this break. 
I know it's nothing more than flutes.But something in my heart is loose.There's never been a better day.
You can see the road ahead in your dream. And the engine's more a sigh than a scream.And your ghosts look more like angels from there. And the coast comes like a raft of warm air.
If this is all you ever asked for
then this is all you'll get.
You are a shiver.The gold and the silver.My heart is a church bell ringing.
And I know your love has won it all.You took the fall to embrace my sorrows.
What can I bring to your fire?Shall I sing while the roof is coming down?Can I hold you while the flames grow higher?Shall I brave the heat and come close with you now?
Everything that kills me makes me feel alive.
You call me out upon the waters.The great unknown where feet may fail.And there I find You in the mystery.In oceans deep my faith will stand.
But I'll never be anything you ever want me to be.
A little more.Every day.Falls apart and slips away.I don't mind.I'm okay.Nothing ever stays the same, well.While we can.Remember when.Always running even then.Stay with me.Hold me near.While I'm still here.
I don't need any help to be breakable, believe me.
Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders.Let me walk upon the waters.Wherever You would call me.Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander.And my faith will be made stronger.In the presence of my Savior

2186

            So this is your love. Oh what to do.            You hear the hum. The distant noise. The steady throb. The tip tap. The high hat. So you close your eyes.             You don’t get it. Don’t understand. Don’t even try to know.            Each day something gets beaten down and destroyed. You lose a little bit of it. You scratch and you claw and you grit and you clench and you just hear the utter hush. But you keep going. That’s all you know to do.            You see strands and make connections. You try not to duplicate. You try not to repeat. Nothing works that well anyway but if it did you’d toss it out and watch it float down the river. Then you’d start walking again hearing the sounds of your steps and trying to shuffle them in a different way.             There is tone and style and voice and tense. In the shadows of the places nobody else ever sees or knows these things mean everything. But you keep it to yourself. Everybody only wants to study the success.             The beauty is in the unknown, the running to a place you have no idea exists. You want to hide there and want to study it. You want to live and breathe and see and then leave. You always leave. You always move on and let go.             It’s an opened door. It’s also a cracked window. A failed fence falling in. A roofleak.             These ridiculous, random moments are ones you don’t want to relive. But they remain part of the journey. And the journey is, yes. And the journey is, of course. The journey is, absolutely.             No need to repeat the obvious things right before your eyes.             You stand at the familiar cliff and you breathe in and out. You can’t decide whether you're Butch Cassidy or the Sundance Kid but the reality is both will be jumping off in just a matter of seconds.             You’re on the run but they haven’t caught up yet.             You’re still creating stories while they haven’t captured you.             Your heart and soul are still free.             And so it goes. You blink and see yourself as a bladerunner. You blink and have 30 days in November to live. You blink and are Chris Buckley on the road headed back to North Carolina with strangers at your side. Just another night and just another random set of voices urging you on.             Will it matter a voice asks but you already know the answer.             Will it last a voice asks but you already know the truth.             There are chunks inside that are real and that mean something. They will last.             You no longer wonder if you have a week or a month or a year left. You’ve left that up on the cliff above you. You’re now drifting downstream toward another destination. Laughing and shaking your head.             Another story.             Dark or light. Sweet or sour.             Or maybe all of them.             This is your love. The thing you’ve always seemed halfway good at. The thing that’s kept you grounded and lost. The thing that’s fascinated and frustrated.             The gift you’ve been given. For 2,186 days.             MAKE THEM COUNT the voice says.             MAKE THEM MATTER it continues.             Somedays, you know you do.             Somedays.             And there will be more. Hopefully many more.                        

Dancing In The Dark

            This day dawns with a number dangling over my head. I brush it away like cobwebs in a dark cave. There is far too much brightness in this room to refuse to move onward. The time might be ticking away but I can still try to outrun it.             I inhale and feel light. I sigh not out of desperation but out of relief.             The blank page no longer scares me. It offers so many opportunities.             The lonely stage no longer threatens me. Now I know where to stuff my fears.             Sometimes the bones creak and sometimes the muscles crush. Sometimes the everything that’s in front of me threatens to fall and scatter around like a burning building. But I keep going, keep moving, keep aspiring, keep creating.             These limitations can only make me stronger. These lights out can only make me burn brighter in the darkness. The still of midnight only makes me want to make some noise.             I refuse to go quiet in the night.             I was quiet in my younger days. The darkness filled me and followed me around and I tried to make sense of it.             I still can see shadows and can still hear the sound of silence. But I can skip over those things because I know more and I’m smarter and I’m faster and I still can dance.             So I dance and I make noise and my heart swells.             There is no number that can define my soul and my spirit. There is no age that’s stamped onto love and passion.              I have only begun to build the bridges. I have only started to sing the choruses. The verses and the melodies are all there, simmering and smoldering inside.             Don’t define me, world. Don’t box me in, life.             Let me continue to live out verse after verse and put a few of them down into song.             We are as young as we believe, but we know so much more, too. So much more, with so much more to share. 

The Beat Goes On

We find songs to serve as the soundtrack in a filmStories to fill the four-minute-spectrum of a songMovies to inspire the pages of a bookThe world turns around and aroundThe same old and same old done a hundred new and brilliant waysThe same beat twisted and funked outThe same scenario turned on its sideThe same beat told to an entirely different beatThe beat of the drum beats and goes onThe songs tell storiesThe stories sum up picturesThe pictures swell with musicAnd it goes around and aroundThis pop world and this pop mirrorPopcorn you put in a microwave and heat up for a couple of minutesThe next fix and the next mood and the next itThe next moving thing to fill some deep holeSo much out there So many holes to fillSo much brilliant, bold, brash, beautiful stuffThe stuff stories are made ofThe stuff songs are sung aboutThe stuff films are full ofAnd the drum machine goes on and onThe next selectionThe next track in the next lifeThe next summary and the next thingOn and onEnter and exploreExit at willExit whenever you want toPop pop popThe keys of a keyboardThe beat of a drumThe spin of a projectorGoing on and onOn and onLove and loss and fortune and famine and seek and swim and all those old familiar storiesTold again and againFrom the beginning to the endWith just new voicesNew facesNew stylesAnd new formatsOn and onAnd on and onSo it goes

Lifted

My left and my right.

My step after step.
My laugh and my cry.
My day and my night.
Sometimes rules don’t apply anymore. Like adding one plus one. It doesn’t equal two. It doesn’t begin to equal anything like two.
One plus one is an infinite number. Infinite possibilities. Infinite surprises. Infinite energy.
Three years ago, two moons shone on your mother and me. We thought we’d be forever eclipsed by our first falling star, your older sister Kylie. But suddenly, there you both were. 
Suddenly, you were in our arms. Just like that.
Suddenly, grace and joy were crying and smiling and ready to take us on another adventure.
Three years ago, I changed. Things had started with Kylie, but they ended with the two of you.
For so long it had been about me. For me. Around me. But not anymore.
Suddenly, I was outnumbered. Outmaneuvered. Out-everything.
But one thing I’ve never been out of since then has been love for all you girls.
Three years ago, I was lifted. God knew what I needed and wanted. So he gave me more. A lot more. He propped me up and said Okay, here you go. Here’s two for you two.
Three years ago, I went to bed and then awoke to the sight of the most glorious sunshines I’ve ever seen. 
Mackenzie Grace and Brianna Joy.
It’s funny how the names have summed both of them up.
It’s funny how three years can blink, just like that.
God has continued to have to lift me up these past three years. I’ve drifted and He has lifted. I’ve plummeted and He’s lifted. I’ve waded and He’s lifted.
Not only that. All of you have lifted your mother and me.

There have been one hundred thousand glorious moments these past three years. A little smile. A gaze. A touch. A laugh. A hug. Moving moments. 
There have been the other realities. Restlessness and confusion and anger and frustration and temper tantrums and tears and meltdowns. And that's just talking about Mommy and Daddy. 
Never have I ever felt such exhaustion. 
But look at me, Daddy! 
Never have I felt so out of control. 
Hold me, Mommy. 
Never have I been this anxious. 
Keekee Grace. 
Never have I been so angry. 
Banna Joy. 
Never have I felt so lifted, time and time again. By you two. By your sister. By your mother. By our Heavenly father. 
I awaken to a dream. Being able to do what I always wanted to do for a living. And being able to have the family I always wanted to do it for. 
Sometimes the darkness keeps knocking, keeps me up at night, keeps me restless and wondering. 
But then sometimes two graceful, joyful voices come waking us up. 
Happy birthday, Mackenzie and Brianna. Today, like many days, you lift my spirits. Now if you'll only sleep through the night. 

Snowflakes & Fireflies

                Echoes stream in the sky. Falling stars. Warm snowflakes. Mirrored fireflies.            The story stands and waves and you see it from afar, wondering if it will come closer, wondering if it will be brave enough to take your hand.            You wait. Anxious. Wondering. Curious. Watching.            Then it whispers. Then it approaches. Then it smiles. Then it greets you.            This sweet tale knows everything about you, yet you still have so much to discover about it. But you’re willing to learn. Willing to wait. Willing to be patient. Willing to will it to life.            You want to hide it away, yet you also want to share it with the world. This discovering, so bright and so beautiful and so full of potential. If only you can do it justice.            If only you can share its true voice.            If only you can spell out its real name.            If only you can sum up the way it sounds.            If only you can be the single soul to tell it.            Unique and precious and prized and yours for this single moment. You take it by the hand and then wrap your fingers around it. You let it know you’ll never let go. Ever.            Whatever the outcome will be, you’re never letting go.

But Not Tonight

            I haven’t felt so alive in years. In fact, I’m not sure if I’ve ever felt this alive.            Sure, maybe it has something to do with the fact that I’m seventeen. Or the fact that this might actually be the last night I ever spend in Asheville, North Carolina. Maybe the reality of moving to Chicago next week has already hit me. Maybe I’m simply loving life because I’m finally leaving Madison High School. A place where I’ve been treated like a leper.             Yeah. Maybe it’s all that.             Or maybe it’s just because I’m in the living room of a beautiful girl I met twenty-four hours ago, and it’s completely obvious that she’s totally into me.             I’m delirious, of course. I think I’m channeling my best friend’s bravado, the kind he’s had ever since I met him in sixth grade. When you’re naturally athletic (I’m not), and can tan as easily as breathing in the summer air, and as confident as Rob Lowe in St. Elmo’s Fire, then yeah, I guess meeting girls and getting their phone numbers is nothing. But this is me. This is the guy who took forever to admit he loved her.              And yeah, look what that got me.             “I’m glad you guys came over.”            Diane is the sort of girl guys notice when she walks past. I did. At the theater when James and I were hanging out wasting time. James noticed her first, but she seemed to notice me second. James then told me to get her number, and I thought to myself, why not? I’m moving next week what’s the worst that can happen?             It’s a Saturday night and this is definitely not the worst thing that could happen.             “I’m glad your parents aren’t here,” I tell her.             “My father is pretty strict.”            I don’t hear the comment because I don’t care. The new Trav doesn’t care. The new Trav is going to change. He’s not going to be shy and he’s not going to worry and he’s not going to get all touchy-feely-worrying and wondering about everything.             I swallow and feel my heart beating.             Yeah, right.             “He’d kill me if he knew I invited boys over.”            The way Diane says “boys” makes me wonder who she’s talking about. Not really, ‘cause I know it’s me, but the way she says it sounds like she’s talking about a ten-year-old. Look, I’m a junior in high school and she’s a sophomore. I’ve almost graduated.             I’m the mature one here.             I hear laughter coming from the kitchen. James is talking to Diane’s friend, Sam, and I know that if he has fifteen minutes or so, he might end up hooking up. I might need an hour and a showing of Top Gun. Also, I’ll probably need to add some Madonna slow songs. And also might need to drug her with some kind of magical potion.             “You want to go outside on the deck?” she asks.             I nod but suddenly feel like Travis again. I feel weird. I feel stupid for being here and wonder what in the world I’m doing. Maybe I’ll just tell her the truth about my situation, and why in a moment of insanity I actually asked for her phone number last night.             Well, my father got a new job for a publishing company in Chicago.             I could tell her this so maybe she’d understand.             So we’re moving next week and I’m driving up there with my Mom so I have nothing to lost being here.             It’s not quite romantic and it’s not really promising but maybe she’ll dig the whole “Here today, gone tomorrow” thing.             I was going to Madison High School where about 98% of the people hated me there.             Yeah, she would understand my plight since she goes to a cool Asheville high school.             I had a girlfriend but I just broke up with her since I know exactly what moving means.             Okay, maybe I won’t share this. I won’t because I’m still feeling a little bad and a lot burned by that whole thing. I just want to forget. I didn’t want to say goodbye AGAIN because saying goodbye is a little like watching someone die. It’s the same thing. The same thing over and over again.             This is going to be my ninth school I’ll be going too. My ninth school in eleven grades. I mean, that’s not cool. Nothing about that is cool.             I’m going to Madison because I got expelled from Ben Lippen High School.             Oh, yeah, I’m definitely not telling Diane this. She’ll think I’m crazy for sneaking in the girl’s dorm at a boarding school. And she won’t understand it. She won’t know everything that happened, before and after.             My father still wants to kill me for that. Thankfully, he’s busy with his new job up north.             “Are you always this quiet?” Diane asks me.             The moon peeks in through the tree branches above us. The October air is cool but it hasn’t gotten super cold yet.             “No. Not always.”            I’m still that same shy kid I’ve always been. So much better when I’m staring at an empty page rather than a really cute girl.              I want to change and need to change and better change when I move to Chicago.             “You can come closer,” she says.             Well, Diane certainly isn’t shy. The look she gives me isn’t shy, and the way she invites me over isn’t shy either.             I start to sweat and then think of what she said about her father. I bet James is in the kitchen making out with Diane’s friend.             “I think you’re cute.”            Normally, if a girl told me this, I’d feel good and smile and be like “yeah”. But right now, I just want to be a turtle and pull my head back in its shell.             “You’re cute when you’re nervous,” Diane says as she takes my hand and pulls me near to her.             I can do this. I can be someone else. I can be the confident man and can take her in my arms and can kiss her and can act like this is some awesome, epic John Hughes film.             I can but I don’t really want to.             “What are you afraid of?” she asks.             “I’m moving next week.”            Uh, hello, why’d you tell her that?             She doesn’t react right away. Her smile is still all over her face.             “I’m sorry to hear that.”            “Yeah.”            She’s close. Too close, in fact. I might be shivering a bit. But maybe just because it’s kinda chilly outside.             “Then I’ll miss you,” she says up close. Very, very up close to me.             And I’m about to say something, or about to think about saying something, and then Diane kisses me on the cheek. It’s sweet and friendly and very safe. But it’s also pretty amazing.             “You know---” I start to say.             I stop talking when I see headlights on the trees above us.             Then I stop thinking when I hear Diane curse.             “My parents.”            Suddenly, this night has gone from incredible to insane. Diane doesn’t even hesitate on the deck. She rushes in and yells something to James and Sam. Then I see James coming out with a big grin and his confident Harrison Ford charisma while Diane is pushing him forward.             “You guys have to go,” she says.             I look around and wonder what she’s talking about. We’re on a deck. A deck that’s a couple of stories tall.             “Yeah,” she says to me, as if she can already read my mind.             How can girls always read my mind? With my luck I’m going to end up living in a household full of females that all look at me and know exactly what I’m thinking.             “Just jump off the side. You can do it. If you jump over there it won’t be too bad.”            James laughs and climbs over the side of the deck she’s talking about. I still just want to kiss Diane back and tell her how I feel. It’s not really that I know how I feel, but I do know I think she’s cute and I love the way she makes me feel and I love being here. In fact, there’s pretty much nothing about this night I don’t like. Except parents. And that’s a given. I’ve never liked parents. Including my own.             “Come on, go,” Diane says.             I hear someone calling out her name in the house and then I start to go crazy. So I move and I kiss Diane on the lips, then tell her goodbye right before hopping over the wooden rail and then dropping down and letting go.             I nearly topple to my death. But I regain my balance and then see a figure in the darkness.             “Come on,” James whispers to me.             I follow him down the steep side of the mountain. We move for about five minutes until reaching a street, Then the two of us are walking, wiping the sweat off our foreheads, laughing and seeing each other under the full light of the moon.                         “That was close,” James says.                         I laugh and nod and agree. I’m not sure quite what to say because the words in my mouth are the ones I wanted to say to Diane.             “That was crazy, huh?” he says.             James has a deep southern drawl that I’ve always loved. It’s strange because I’ve known this guy since sixth grade and that’s probably the longest I’ve ever known anybody. Especially a good friend like him.             And next week I’m going to be moving.             “Wonder what Diane’s telling her parents,” I say.             I’m still breathing heavy since I’m so out of shape. James isn’t because he will never, ever be out of shape.             “Her friend was pretty hot,” he says.             I can say more but don’t. Somehow, I know that I’m never going to see Diane again. Or if I do, it’s not going to be the same.             Nothing will ever, ever, be like this past year.             As we walk on a road as if it belongs to both of us, I picture that final day at Ben Lippen. I remember calling my parents and telling them to pick me up. And, oh yeah, I’ve been expelled. Not suspended. Not kicked out for a week or so but done. One and done. That phone call wasn’t so great, and waiting for them surely wasn’t great.             But then I had to see her. And she had to tell me goodbye.             It was seriously like some John Hughes film. All it needed was some New Order song over it as she walked out in the cold afternoon while I sat on the stone wall. This beautiful girl I never deserved and then promptly rejected. This lovely young lady who still had the dignity to tell me goodbye.             The words . . . I don’t remember them. There wasn’t anything important or awe-inspiring spoken. But the fact that she came out to see me while I waited for my parents to come pick me up said enough. It said that there could have been something else. It said that she felt bad for me. It said that she wished me well. She did. She had hopes for Travis even though Travis surely had no hopes whatsoever.             One day I want to put this into some kind of cool series.             Yeah, that’s what I thought. But now, as I’m walking down this street, I’m struck with the fact that something has changed. Something big is about to happen.             I am different.             Not only that, I am free.             There is something that I haven’t known for a long time. I haven’t ever known, to be honest. It’s this thing called FREEDOM.             I’m suddenly filled with new life.             I can see the stars in the sky and suddenly, I feel the tears in my eyes.             They’re lighting my way tonight.             I want to grab James and tell him I love him.             I want to thank him for being by my side for this long.             I want to thank him for being the best goalie a defensive player could ever have.             I want to tell him how much I’ve appreciated him telling me about girls. Even though I still don’t know what to do with all that info.             The moon shines in sky and it reminds me of so many other nights. Nights when we sat around laughing. The ninth grade camping trip. The few times we snuck out of the dorms and didn’t get caught.             I breathe in and feel completely new and alive.             I think of Diane. Then I think of the girl I told goodbye to at Madison. And the one I said goodbye to at Ben Lippen.             Maybe the move will be a good thing, I tell myself.             Maybe I’ll find someone and it will all be worth while.                         Maybe my whole life will change and these days will seem like some long lost song on an album from the 80s. Maybe it will even be a B-side.             But it will always mean something. Always.             “You okay?” James asks.             I nod and smile.             “Yeah.”            I wish he knew. I wish I could sum up the words to thank him. To express to him how I’m feeling. But to be honest, I still don’t know. I don’t know for sure.             I can’t tell you how many nights I’ve wondered and waited and feared tomorrow. How many times I’ve wondered how I was going to get through the coming day.             But not tonight.             All those times when I’ve questioned God and wondered about my faith and my family and my friends.             But not tonight.             Those times when I’ve felt like a failure and those times when I’ve realized I’ve made so many bad mistakes.             But not tonight, Travis.             We walk down a street with the future so bright and so beautiful. Not knowing necessarily where we will go, but knowing we’ll get there soon enough.