Paper-Stacks on a Highrise 4

Ok, so that last statement was somewhat of a lie. I had already given the Organizer's evaluation to the Boss. I was just curious about why she said she didn't want to do the job if it involved paper-stacking. I simply did not understand her reasons. She was so qualified; she was so perfect for the job. Maybe she just wasn't ready to be an Agent. In fact, I didn't even know how long she had worked at the Business. I jotted that question down on the piece of paper in front of me. Also written were other questions I had planned to ask her to clear some things up. She sat humbly in her chair, her head hung down, her eyes gazing at the floor. She didn't look at me. She didn't talk. As I observed her, guilt overwhelmed me. I had been so selfish in calling her back into this Board Room. I didn't have to tell the Boss about her; I wanted to...and I did. My intentions for telling him were as follows: I just wanted my actions of calling her back(*just because I was a wee bit curious) to be justified; and who better to justify my motives/intentions than the Boss himself? It was a perfect plan. But a selfish, evil plan: one that the Boss did not know about. I determined that I would not tell the Boss for I was going to change my outlook and intentions this instant. I am merely going to ask the Organizer questions without my selfish intentions backing it. I gazed at my paper, the questions written in my finest of cursive handwriting, and in blue ink nonetheless. I always thought that blue ink stood out more than black. Blue ink possesses whimsy, much like myself. I skimmed over the questions:
1. You are very qualified to be a paper-stacker; why would you not prefer doing it?
2. Would you be willing to blindly enter the position of Agent X?(i.e. not knowing what your responsibilities would be?
3. If you were to be Agent X, what would you like to do?
4. How long have you worked at the Business? Have you enjoyed your experience at the Business?
I thought my questions were very thought provoking and would get to the point I longed to find out. The silence in the room was awkward; the time passed slowly. "Okay," I finally said, "as I said before, I have some questions to ask you; four questions to be precise. But there's no need to be nervous. Ready?" "I am a little bit nervous, yeah. But I'm ready. Go ahead," she replied, looking up now. "Ok, let's see here." I referred to my paper. "First off, you are very-VERY-qualified to be a paper-stacker. Your skills in that area astounded me! Why would you prefer not doing it?" She sat, her eyes looking up and to the right. She was clearly formulating her answer. It was a tough question indeed. I was most curious to know the answer to this here question. "Well, ummm...." She paused and thought a bit longer. "...If I were to choose between what I am doing now--organizing for the other employees--or stacking papers, even if for the Boss, I would still prefer to organize. It's what I am best at. I may be good at stacking papers, but I am best at organizing," she stated simply after much consideration. "Okay, fair enough. Next question: Would you be willing to blindly enter the position of Agent X--as in not knowing what your responsibilities will be?" I looked up at her. She looked away. I thought she was acting strangely. I had never seen the Organizer act so....guilty of something. I suspected nothing of her though. I waited for her answer. "Well," she spoke up, "I don't know that one would necessarily be "blind" in entering the job of Agent X. I don't think anyone is "blind" when it comes to knowing what the agents do. I mean, c'mon, we all know that they deal with the Boss's papers. Whether it's sorting them, stamping them, hole-punching them, or--in Agent W's case--filing them. It all has to do with papers. I would think after just a little while of dealing with papers, an agent would get tired of that job. It's just too boring and dare I say...simple. I'm not quite sure why the Agents are regarded so highly." She rolled her eyes. I wondered at what she said. How did she know that agents deal with papers? I didn't even know that! Even when I inquired from the Boss, he would not tell me. "If you don't mind my asking, how do you know what the agents do?" "You mean, you don't know? I thought everybody knew. I thought that you knew especially because you are the one doing the interviewing? You mean to say that you never heard Agent W?" She looked at me as though I were the stupidest, most ill-informed person on the Planet. "No. I never worked too closely with Agent W. I was too busy running errands for the employees," I kindly explained. "Oh yeah," she said, "I almost forgot that you are the Gopher." She chuckled a bit. It was a derogatory statement to me, to say the least. I was indeed offended. How dare she! I began to see her in a different light. She wasn't such the nice, shy, and humble person I had once thought. She cannot be Agent X if she is acting like this. I took some quick notes that I would be relaying to the Boss. She continued: "The Boss had given Agent W an ultimatum. Agent W wasn't going to give in though. So, before Agent W was let go, he had time to tell everybody what he did exactly. I guess he figured that if he had to go down, he would go down with a fight, with style nonetheless. Agent W was supposed to file papers; he obviously didn't do a good job--I believe he actually took some papers: some very important papers. SO yeah, that Agent W." She shrugged her shoulders. I couldn't believe her.I sat, thinking about my next move. I didn't even want to finish asking her the questions. It would waste my time, and hers. I preceded to ask her the next question. "Ok, question 3: If you were Agent X, what would you like to do?" "Umm...alot of things. I would want to be Vice President of the company and help make executive decisions. I'd make the Business better, definitely more organized too. I'd rid the company of half of the employees--whom we really don't need anyway...You know, things like that." "So, you would basically like to run the Business?" I inquired. "Yes. Who doesn't?" Her attitude was repulsive. I jotted down a few more notes. "Okay, I think we're done here. You may go." I gestured toward the Doors. "I thought you had 4 questions for me. That was only three," she observed. I looked her deep in the eye, my face hot with anger. "The last question is not going to be a necessary factor in determining whether you will become Agent X. It seems pretty clear to me, although you are quite qualified, that you prefer not to be Agent X. I'll relay that information to the Boss." I tried to say that as objectively as I could without showing my anger and irritation. I looked down at my notes and continued writing. She stayed put. "Excuse me, but I never said I didn't want to be Agent X. I said that wouldn't want to stack papers." She snarled at me. "Well," I said, referring to my notes, "you said that you wouldn't want to stack papers or deal with papers, claiming the job was 'boring and simple'. And since you know that agents work with papers, and said that you didn't want to work with papers, I assumed that you meant you didn't want to be Agent X. That is what you said. I'm sorry if I inferred that you did indeed want to be Agent X," I snarled back. "Well, now that I think about it, stacking papers would be alright since I would be working in close proximity to the Boss. He would make the job worthwhile," She defended herself. But it was too late. I had seen enough. She still sat, waiting for my reply. I remained focused on my notes. "I am done with you. Please leave and resume your duties as the Organizer," I said, gritting my teeth, not looking up at her. She remained stayed. "NOW!" I snapped. She casually rose from her seat, and moseyed to the Doors, and yet again, paused before exiting. "It never would have worked out for me anyway. The Boss would never consider me to be Agent X; we have too much of a past..." her voice trailed off and became inaudible, the creaking of the Door drowning her out. My curiosity perked up for a moment and desired to call her back in to ask about what she could be referring to. But my business-oriented side overrided my curiosity and I left it alone. I decided I would act coy about the whole situation and just tell the Boss my objective observations. We'll see how this goes.

Paper-Stacks on a Highrise 3

At this, I wasn't quite sure what to think...or do. I didn't want to let the Boss down. I had promised to find a qualifying Employee to be the Agent, but the more time I spent with the Boss, I wanted to become the Agent. Each Employee that came into the Board Room was so hopeful, even the usually melancholy ones. Why can't I possess the same great hope just because I can never be Agent X? But early on, I told myself not to hope because I knew that I would just be let down for I could never--EVER--be an agent; I was good only as a Gopher. Indeed I was the best Gopher the Business had ever seen. I did my job quickly and efficiently, with a good attitude. I had always had a good work ethic; mostly because I had always been so organized, even as a young child. As I thought about myself and my qualities, my thoughts shifted back to the task at hand. I must find someone, somewhat like myself, to fill the position of Agent X. The Boss had liked my ability to stack papers; maybe I could find someone who could stack papers as well as I. And I thought I knew the Employee who would be just as organized. I paged the Secretary. "Secretary?" "Yes, Interviewer," she said with much spite and bitterness. "Could you send in the 'Organizer'?" I inquired. "But you still have a few others to interview that are waiting here in The Waiting Room. Can't you just interview them first?" she snapped back. "No. I want to speak with the Organizer. I need to speak with the Organizer," I explained. "Fine then. It will take a few minutes though. I still have to call and then she'll have to come then I will have to send her in and---" "Well then! Get on it!" I interrupted her. She has a tendency to babble on about nothing. She was wasting my time. She was wasting the Boss's time; and I couldn't let her do that. Whilst I sat waiting for the Organizer to come, I jotted down some notes concerning the type of person the Boss would need. They were mostly character traits. I then compared that list the notes I had of the Employees I had already interviewed. No one possessed all of the qualities. I wonder if anybody did. I wonder if the Boss even did. I was repulsed that I had thought that. How could I think bad of the Boss this way? He had enough character to build this Business; I'm sure he still has enough of that character to maintain it. I'm glad I got that straightened out. But I still was surprised that that thought just popped into my head. I had never thought ill of the Boss in any way before; and now I found myself to be almost mad at him. I mean, after all, why would he pick the least qualified person to interview the others? At this I was convinced that he just wanted me to be the Interviewer so that I could never be the Agent. This angered me. I felt hot in the face. But I must regain my composure; the Organizer will be here soon. I sat. I twiddled my thumbs. I strummed my fingers. I grew impatient. I grabbed the intercom, which was inches away from me, and slapped it down upon the table. With an angry and clearly annoyed voice, I said, "When will she be here, Secretary? I have been waiting forever!" "Interviewer, I told you it would take a few minutes. I paged her and she said she was coming as fast as she could. You could interview one of the others while you wait," she suggested politely. "I don't want to do that, I told you. Page her again. She's not coming fast enough!" I commanded. I threw the intercom back in its place. I wallowed in my anger for a few moments. Then I realized how incredibly child-like I was being. I became embarrassed at my behavior. I wish that I hadn't snapped at the Secretary. I wish that I hadn't been angry. I was ashamed. I felt as though I had let the Boss down, without his knowing it. I must straighten my act up...and soon. The doors opened and in walked the Board Room. I smiled. "Sorry it took so long getting here. I'm really sorry," she said, fluttered and nervous. "I would have gotten here sooner but The Maintenance was cleaning the elevator so I had to run up the stairs from the first floor. I'm really sorry." I became red in the face from my embarrassment. I supposed she got the message that I was pretty angry. I must somehow change her impression of me and soon. "Well, it's really okay. I just didn't want to waste the Boss's time, if you know what I mean," I said all cheery-like. "Oh, yes. I know what you mean." I shuffled my papers around, searching for a blank one. "So, I assume that you know I'm interviewing each Employee for the position of Agent X?" I asked, still searching. "Oh, yes. I am aware," she replied humbly. "Ok, so I'm not going to ask you any questions, as I did with the other Employees. I have a mere test for you. Once you finish, you can leave. I will take notes throughout the test, and will documents the results for the Boss to see and evaluate. Sound good enough?" "Oh, yes. That's entirely fine." Her voice cracked from her sudden nervousness. I suppose she wasn't one for tests. I proceeded to throw my papers on the floor beside us. We both looked down at the papers. "Oh!" she piped, surprised at my actions, probably more confused at what her test would be. I explained. "Each pack of papers is stamped either "Suitable", "Unsuitable", or it's not even stamped at all, simply because I haven't interviewed them yet. I want you to stack these papers in three piles as best as you can." I paused, bending over to rustled the pages more. "You may begin." I was secretly timing her. You may think that I was just concerned with how the stacks looked; but I was also looking for a few other things. First, I wanted to know how seriously she would take this job. Basically, I longed to see her attitude about whatever job she was given. So far, so good. Secondly, I wanted to see if she could be trusted. I intentionally told her what the papers were. She would be able to see the names of the Employees who were suitable and not suitable. With that information, she could tell the respective Employees how their standings. If she had integrity, she would not look at the names. She would only look for the stamp. I observed her closely. Not once did she ever glance at the names. She was fast and efficient at stacking likewise. Although she seemed a bit timid, I think she would be most definitely suitable to be Agent X. This made me both joyous and sad. "I am done." She stood to her feet and placed the stacks neatly on the Meeting Table. "Thank you. You may go. Thank you for your time...oh, and for coming quickly." I grinned. She smiled back and proceeded to walk out towards the Doors. She paused, her right hand already grasping the handle. She spoke quietly: "Is this what Agent X will be doing? Because, if it is, I don't want to do it." She walked out. "WHAT?!?!?!?" I thought to myself. Her statement surprised me so. I examined the stacks of papers. Not only were each of the papers in their respective stacks, but they were also alphabetized! The neatest stacks of papers I had ever seen lie before me. I looked at my stop watch: three minutes. Only three minutes. She had done such an excellent job and passed my test, probably more like surpassed my test. And then she had to say that as she exited! What she said ruined it for her; it really did. For the next few following moments, I pretended that I didn't hear her say those words "I don't want to do it". I took my notes and praised her abilities. I wrote down the character traits she possessed. I compared it to the list I had written earlier. She had every single character trait I had listed. She has to become Agent X! It's her fate. It's who she is destined to become. But she said she wouldn't want to stack papers. I didn't even know what Agent X was going to be doing; but she couldn't have that attitude. I was scrutinizing her and judging her just based on her last statement. Then I realized what courage it took to say something like that. I realized how honest that statement was. I admired her for saying something. Maybe she just wasn't ready to become Agent X. I look at her evaluation sheet. I had not included her last statement. To be fair to the Boss, to be fair to her, I wrote my thoughts about what she said. I called for the Boss. "I just interviewed the most suitable Employee in my eyes. You have to come take a look at my notes about her," I informed him. "Okay. I'll be right in." In no time at all, the Boss was sitting next to me. "Here is my evaluation of her. I'm quite impressed with her. He started to read through it; but before he got to the bottom of the page, I interrupted him. "But, Boss, I would like some more time with her if you don't mind. I just thought she would find her interesting." "Oh, yeah, no problem. Take all the time you need. This is interesting. I'll continue looking this over in my Office. Thanks so much!" He smiled big and boyishly scurried out of the Board Room. "Umm..Secretary," I paged over the intercom, "could you send the Organizer in one more time. There's actually a few more things I need to discuss with her. And I'm sorry about snapping at you." "Oh, no problem. I understand the pressures of the job can get to you sometimes. I'll send her right in." How could the Secretary be so understanding? I didn't doubt the sincerity of what she had just said. Why all the sudden was she being nice to me, when she had been so rude to me earlier? I wondered at this. I suppose I still felt bad for snapping at her. The doors opened and the humble figure of the Organizer appeared. "Yes?" she said nervously. "Come, take a seat and relax. I have a few questions I actually wanted to ask you before I sent your evaluation to the Boss."

More Recent Photographs

Some Recent Photographs

Textured Building

This building was so rich in texture.

Toned Building

The building has such warm tones.

Beaten Truck

This truck has so much texture.

I'm Not Over the Fence

The pattern and darkness of the fence I liked very much so.

Leaf

I haven't done much with landscape and plants lately, but I recently went to Washington Park and saw this leaf, which muchly intrigued me.

Paper-Stacks on a Highrise 2

The Secretary walked over to where we sat, her posture correct--maybe over correct--and her lips pursed. I could clearly see her dismay at her having to be the Gopher for once. But it served her right. She was always so rude; but she did her job well: that's why the Boss kept her around. She carefully set the Boss's coffee down on the table in front of him, smiling ever so politely, almost flirtatiously. She then rudely set my tea down, almost slamming it on the table, swishing the contents around closely and almost over the brim. The smile faded from her face. I pondered at that reason she was so particularly rude to me on this day. She almost seemed jealous of my new--yet temporary--position in the Business. Although, she had better clean up her act; I had yet to interview her for the position of Agent X. She should fear that I might not even consider a plausible candidate for the position before even interviewing her. But she really has no reason to fear. I am a fair person. My thoughts were soon interrupted. "Is there anything you wanted, Boss?" the Secretary asked, the smile taking residence on her thin face again. "No. Not at this time. If I need anything, I will call. You may leave now," the Boss responded, clearly an upsetting answer for the Secretary. She attempted to stomp out of the room as best she could in her four-inch high-heels. "Well, now that that's over... Sometimes she's hard to get rid of. She just likes to stick around. It annoys me sometimes. But, she is good at what she does," the Boss said to break the silence as soon as the doors shut and click into place. I took a small sip of my tea, which was absolutely delightful. The Boss looked over and mimicked what I did. He took a few sips of his coffee then asked, "So...who are the top five in this Business, who are also clearly suitable for the position of Agent X?" I took out my notes, pages upon pages of notes, neatly stacked into two piles: the first being those who I find suitable; the second stack was of employees who could not fulfill the requirements(whatever the requirements were). "Well," I said, flipping through the small stack deemed "Suitable", "let me see here." The Boss sat up and leaned forward to get a closer look at the stacks of paper I had. "What's this?" he inquired. "Oh, I just stacked my notes into two piles; one for the "suitable"; one for the "unsuitable". Just so I don't waste your time going through all the people who could not possibly be Agent X," I said, almost embarrassed about my over-organization. "Wow! That's impressive. And the stacks are so neat; so clean and organize and meticulous. I like that. It's a very efficient way to do business: stacking papers. I'll have to remember that one. Hold on a moment," the Boss said, reaching for the intercom to call on the Secretary. "Secretary?" "Yes, Boss? What do you need?" she said, almost too excitedly. "Write down 'paper stacking' on a piece of paper and set it upon my desk. Thank you. Bye." He pushed the intercom aside before the Secretary could even respond. I could imagine her dismay at this. The Boss began again, "Anyway, yeah, that's a great idea. And to think I've kept you as the Gopher for this long! I should have promoted you a while ago. I guess there's no time like the present. You can take the position of whoever becomes Agent X." I was somewhat elated that he offered me a promotion; but it also again reinforced the fact that I could never be Agent X. "Okay. That sounds like a plan," I somewhat excitedly replied. "Well, it seems to be that 'The Locker' can be trusted, and he's funny. I think you might enjoy working with him on that closer level. Secondly, I think that 'The Bellhop' possesses great character traits indeed. Although, 'The Counter' is quite the man. He's trustworthy and has a great charisma. Let's see who else I have here...." I paused to look through the rest of the papers, somewhat thinking twice about some of the candidates I had placed into the "suitable" stack. "You have really done your homework," the Boss encouraged. "Well, it's my job. I didn't want to let you down, Boss," I replied, still searchingly fervently through the stack. I was frantic that I wasn't finding the candidate I was looking for. It seemed to be taking forever and I hated wasting the Boss's time; after all, he was such a busy man; he didn't have time for such trivial matters. I finally found the paper on the bottom of the stack, of course. "Aha! Here it is: the one I was looking for. I'm sorry it took so long to find; I don't mean to waste your time," I apologetically said. "It's no problem, really. I can't really do anything--or rather I do want to do anything--until I have my Agent by my side. Besides, you're so organized; it really didn't take that long. I can't even imagine how long it would have taken if you weren't organized! Continue on," he said, upbeat. "Okay, out of these employees, I believe the best by far has to be 'The People's Man'--our Customer Service Representative. He really has quite the skills and personality to become your next trustworthy agent." I was relieved I had the found the candidate I was searching for; although, then again, I wasn't. I didn't really want to find a good candidate, hoping that perhaps the Boss would consider me. I knew there was no chance that this would possibly happen; but I still possessed an iota of hope. Stupidly so, I might add. "Alright. Good. Thank you so much for telling me these things and for your good advice on which employee is best suited. I don't know what I would do without you. Do you mind if I take your 'Suitable Candidates' notes with me to study them in greater detail. I just might call them back to have a second interview with me. Thank you so much, Gopher. I really do appreciate the work you have put into this," the Boss said, reaching for my notes and rising to his feet. I stood with him. "It's just my job." He exited.

Niel Allen 8

"What's in the bag, child?" Mr Allen asked again, my mind afar off. "Oh, just some books and some knitting stuff," I finally responded. "Yes, your mom told me that you are quite the scholar and book worm." "Yeah, I suppose you could say that." It was somewhat relieving hearing that my mother talked about me. "Your mom also said that you weren't too happy about not going back to school just to stay with an stupid old man. I understand. I wouldn't want to stay with me either," Mr Allen laughed. I wasn't quite sure how I should respond to his saying that. I quite embarrassed me that Mr Allen knew I didn't want to be there. I wonder what else he knew. "By golly, that roast beef is sure taking a long time," Mr Allen broke the ice. "Yeah," I responded, half-heartedly, still feeling quite guilty for the events that had transpired over the past few weeks at my house. "You seem a little down, child. Is everything going okay? Or are you just a little hungry? I bet that's it," Mr Allen's words were comforting. "Yeah, I'm just hungry." "Lemme quick check the meat again to see if it's done yet," Mr Allen said, his stomach growling after he was through talking. "Did you hear that one? Wow! I am a hungry fellow." A few moments passed, Mr Allen prepared some plates and placed the bread onto them. "Did you want anything on your sandwich besides just the roast beef?" Mr Allen inquired. "Nope. Just plain roast beef is absolutely fine." "Good. That's the way I like it too. Does your mom make roast beef a lot at your house?" "Yeah. We have it quite a bit. I love it; the way she makes it so good!" I said, getting excited. "Oh yes. Your mom makes roast beef sandwiches the same way that Ginny and I do: just plain good," Mr Allen said as he pulled the roast beef out of the pan and placed it onto the bread. "Did my mom learn how to cook them from you and Ginny?" I wondered. "Why, yes, she did. She's been cooking them since she was about your age. She's had a lot of practice in the realm of roast beef sandwich making. She's practically a veteran!" I pondered Mr Allen's last statement for quite a while. If my mom had learned how to make roast beef sandwiches from Niel and Ginny, and had been making them since she was my age, then she has known the Allens for quite a long while. "What are you thinking, child?" Mr Allen asked, clearly noticing the look of consternation on my face. "So...my mom has known you for a long time, hasn't she?" I finally spouted out. "We have known each other for quite a while, yes. Hear, Jocelyn, eat up," he finished, cutting himself short. I took the first bite after Mr Allen said Grace. It tasted exactly like my mother's roast beef sandwiches. It reminded me of home. It reminded me of my grieving mother. This saddened me. "This reminds me of home," I told Mr Allen. "Yeah, I'll bet it does. Your home has such warm feelings of love." Mr Allen took another bite and sighed. "Mmmmm. I haven't had this good of a sandwich in a long while," Mr Allen said, his gaze returning to that of Neverland, probably reminiscing about his times with Ginny. I sat, finishing my sandwich, observing Niel Allen's every move. He soon stood to his feet slowly and cleared off the table, returning back to his hard chair in the living room. I was going to ask Mr Allen how he met my mother, but he seemed preoccupied with his thoughts. "Maybe later," I thought, pulling a book from my bag, remaining seated at the small, un-sturdy dining room table. Mr Allen had fallen asleep.

Niel Allen 7

Mom wanted me to take the bag; she pushed me to take it, against my will. It was filled with books and some of my knitting utensils. I think ended up bringing a total of five books with me, which weighed heavy upon my shoulder on my trek over to Niel Allen's cabin. I thought once or twice(maybe even thrice) about abandoning the bag on the crooked trail, winding through the woods. I was just going to let it slide off my shoulder, dropping to the ground, leaving it there for me to retrieve when I left his place. But I simply could not make myself do it. I kept hearing my mom's voice in my head. "C'mon, Jocelyn. You're going to get bored, especially with an attitude like that. Besides, you love to read and since you're not going to be in school anymore....", her voice trailed off. I was so angry that I wouldn't be in school anymore; and she knew that. I resented her decision to make me stay with Niel Allen. Those conversations(more arguments really) were so intense. One in particular stands out among the rest. "Mom, I need to get some paper and some new pencils for school," I mentioned, already thinking about school even though it was mid-August. I just had to be prepared. "Honey," my mom replied, "you're not going to be going back to school this year; your dad and I decided that it would be best for all of us if you went to help Niel Allen, like I have been doing." I could already feel the hotness in my face from my anger. "But, Mommmm....I have to go back to school. You know how much I love it. And I don't want to stay with Mr Allen anyways. He's old. I want to be with my friends. And, I mean, when exactly were you thinking of telling me this?" My voice rose with frustration. "Your father and I were going to tell you this evening, when he was through with work. Jocelyn, honey, just realize it's for the best." "The best for whom?" I piped up. "For you....for Mr Allen....who?" I interrogated, getting increasingly disrespectful. "For ALL of us. You know I am getting much too old to walk to Mr Allen's everyday; and I'm sure Mr Allen would love to have a youthful spirit stay with him...and I believe it would be good for you, too." "School is good for me right now, Mom. I need to learn all I can right now, or I'll end up like--" I cut myself short. "Like me?" my mother replied quietly, hanging her head in shame. "No. That's not what I meant," I defensively said. It was what I had meant though. I did not want to end up like my mother. I wanted to make a name for myself. I wanted to be somebody and not just be subjected to stay in a cramped cabin, hidden in the woods. My mother never understood this though. I was considered a "rebel" for having such desires. I was scolded often for being a bad example to my younger siblings. I was deemed selfish. My parents didn't know a thing though. My mom finally looked up and began, "Jocelyn, I think it would be good for you too. Mr Allen can teach you so much; and you have so much to learn." "That I can learn in school, not at some old man's house," I snapped back. "No; the lessons that Mr Allen would teach you, you cannot learn in school. They are priceless lessons. It would do you darn good, Jocelyn." I said nothing. "We'll continue this later, young lady. Go up to your room, please," she spoke firmly. I stormed up to my room. No one understood me but my friends; and now, I was being cut off from them. Maybe that's what my parents intended to do. They wanted to punish me for being "free-willed". I sat on the window sill, staring blankly up at the sky, sulking. Needless to say, dinner was filled with awkward silence, no one saying a word as we all just poked at our food. No one ate much. Needless to say, the talk after dinner with my dad and mom did not go well. It ended with much shouting and my bedroom door slamming. It was like this for the rest of the week. I was angry and frustrated; my parents were standing their ground. They were not going to give in to my tantrum. I finally realized that I had to accept the situation. I would have to go to Niel Allen's cabin instead of going to school. And I was sure determined to make it the worst experience ever, so that possibly, my parents would see that school would be the best place for me, not the old man's cabin. The first day of school, the younger kids got ready and my mom showed them off. Then she turned to me. "Jocelyn, I know that you're not happy about this; but please, have a good attitude while you're there. Mr Allen is a good man." "That's not what they say about him at school," I pointed out. "Oh? Is that right? Have the other kids met Niel Allen?" "No." "Well, okay then. It's not their place to talk about him then, is it?" she questioned. I knew the answer. "I packed you a bag with some books and your knitting utensils in it. Sometimes Mr Allen doesn't feel like talking, so you kind of have "free time". I think you would get pretty bored." "I don't need a bag, mom," I said, ignoring her best intentions. "Just take it, okay? You'll be glad you did." "Fine," I said, not wanting to argue anymore. "Thank you, dear," she replied in her soft voice. I hated when she did that. Sometimes I would be so angry with her and she would act all nice to me, which made it hard to be mad. Maybe that was her intention of acting nice. Her hand was now out-stretched towards me, holding the bag. I grabbed it, quite violently, realizing it was heavier than I had first thought. My arm dipped down. "Be careful, it's heavy, honey," my mother warned, just a little bit late. "I got it," I insisted, not needing her help or advice. I swung the bag over my shoulder and headed for the door. "A kiss?" my mother asked. It was her custom to always get a kiss from up before we left to go anywhere. I walked out the door, not even looking back. I didn't need to look back. I could imagine the sorrow in her eyes. I could feel her sad eyes beating into the back of my head as I walked down the pathway. I know she was watching me, most likely waving, until she could see me no more; at which point she would open the door and step outside until we had rounded the bend. Then she always yelled, "I love you!" I never turned back. And sure enough, just as I was rounding the bend, I heard her voice, full of love, aching for her rebellious daughter. I still declined to turn back. As soon as I turned that corner, tears came streaming down my face, my throat choked up. I regretted that I didn't kiss her good bye. I regretted that I didn't take her advice. I knew how much she was hurting. I knew how much I hurt her. I turned around to see if she was possibly still there, still waving. It was too late. She had gone inside.

Paper-Stacks on a Highrise

"BEEP BEEP BEEP!!!" I slam my alarm, almost crashing it to the ground. There is no snooze button on my alarm clock; and for good reason. My job is all too important...to me, my employers, and society as a whole. I can afford to waste no time. I hastily get ready and speed to work. My high-heels clank on the concrete walkway. "Thirty-eight...thirty-nine...forty..." I count the steps as my feet touch the rise of the concrete stairs, clanking. My shoes clank a total of fifty-two times, one clank for each step. I pause reflectively before I enter the tinted double-doors. I reflect the importance of my job. I must perform well today; I must. It is imperative that I do. My right arm extends to the metal handle of the right door. The tips of my fingers touch the cold metal, sending chills throughout my body. I firmly grip the handle now, just about to open the surprisingly heavy double glass-paned door. It is a heavy door indeed. I firmly plant my feet on the ground, preparing myself to open the giant. Just as I was about to swing the door open, a shady figure of a man appeared behind me. "Here, let me get that for you, ma'am," the hefty man offered in a bellowing voice. "Oh, sure. Thank you very much," my voice cracked, startled from his sudden appearance. I hastened into the building, kindly thanking the man for his good deed and scurried off. He seemed a bit odd to me. I have never seen his character around this region. No matter though. I am quite sure he has his own business to attend to. And, not to mention, I have my own business to attend to--very important business indeed. I practically ran through the building, trying to reach the elevator before the doors shut. Needless to say, I did end up making it to the elevator in time, only to find it packed with countless others that needed to be in their respective offices by 8 a.m. There was no other choice, in my mind. If I am to make it up to the ninety-ninth floor before 8, I must take the stairs. I stood, momentarily, staring up the flights of stairs I would soon be trekking up. I mustered up my remaining energy, and nearly bolted up the marble staircase. My high-heels again going "clank-clank-clank" all the way up. I exasperatingly halted at the fiftieth floor, pausing quickly to gasp for air. I then continued up the rest of the flights. I ran and ran and ran. Exhausted, I finally reached my destination at the ninety-ninth floor. I stopped, regained my composure, and with poise I continued to the Boss's office, the secretary cutting me short. "Excuse me, ma'am," she said in her high-pitched voice, feigning politeness. "Do you have an appointment with the Boss? Because he's not seeing anybody today without a scheduled appointment," the secretary explained. "No, I do not have an appointment; nor do I need one. I work for the Boss," I politely explained, trying to hide my irritation. "Oh?" she inquired, obviously not believing that I could work for the Boss. She's no more qualified than I am. "I am Agent X," I authoritatively stated. "Oh my. I'm very sorry, Agent X. Go in, go in. The Boss has been waiting for you. You should've said something. Go on ahead. I'm sorry." First of all, I shouldn't have to say something. But as soon I as declare who I am, people bow before me. I told you my job was important. At work, I am known only as Agent X. It wasn't always this way though. It was a few years ago when I started college. I was working my way through college. I needed a good paying job. Thus, I applied at the largest corporation in the city: the Business, as it's called. I was the errand runner; they called me "gopher". I had established myself as a trustworthy gopher so the Boss promoted me. This is when I became known as Agent X. I remember that day like it happened yesterday.
......
My alarm clock sounded; as I did everyday, I slammed my clock: but this time it actually fell to the ground. The rest of my day is usually dependent on how the first 5 seconds of the day goes. Within the first 5 seconds of this particular day, my alarm clock had fallen to the ground and broken into pieces, I jumped out of bed onto these tiny pieces and secured cuts on the bottom of my feet. I then proceeded to stumble over my dresser and chair, almost as if I were drunk. This day is not going to be good. I could only imagine how work would go. I would get there late and The Boss would be infuriated. The Boss and The Employees will send me, as the "gopher", to The Coffee shop. I will have to stand in line and order 500 drinks, which I will then have to wait for and then try to maneuver all of these drinks out of the store and into my compact car, suited only with 2 drink holders, which do a lousy job at actually holding the drinks in their place. I will then speed over to The Business and gather all the drinks, half of which have spilled from the drive over. I then, quickly and efficiently, will have to match the right drink with the right person before The Meeting can start. This is my job, yes; but I am not prepared for it today. Oh what a great day this will be. I realize now that I am still standing in the midst of my room, mid-day dream. I mustn't day dream. I have no time for this! I am already delayed. I fear that my day dream(or rather nightmare) is coming to fruition. I finish getting ready in no time at all; although my hair is especially "kinky" today. I know not why. To solve this dilemma, I pull my red hair back into a simple bun. I look composed and poised outwardly; but inside I was a wreck. Despite my prediction, I made it to work on time. I walked up the stairs to The Doors. I entered in, sure of my fate. I was doomed today; doomed to fail at my relatively easy job as "gopher". The elevator doors swung open and a mob of Employees entered the encasement. I heard whispers behind me in the elevator: there was talk of the firing of Agent W. Agent W worked closest to The Boss and was his most trusted Employee at The Business, even more so than his Secretary. I had a few run-ins with Agent W. He was a lanky fellow, awkward with his hands and feet, and adorned a well-trimmed mustache at all times. None of the other Employees were allowed to have mustaches, male or female alike. The Boss felt that possessing a mustache on one's face meant that he was in fact "hiding" something, covering something up, if you will. Figuratively speaking, of course. The Boss made an exception for Agent W though, regretfully so. There was talk for quite some time about Agent W's departure. A lot of rumors abounded. And I, as the gopher, got to here it from everybody. All of the employees told me their opinions about why Agent W was being let go and such. They would then proceed to tell me why they would be suitable for The Boss's next closest companion, who would be deemed 'Agent X', simply because it comes after 'w'. As soon as The Boss suspects someone of something, he fires them. The Boss has gone through so many agents. I believe that Agent W was one of the longest kept agent though. And no wonder, he was a sweet talker. And The Boss bought into it. Sad story really because the other employees all saw right through him(...could it have been his invisible wardrobe, perhaps? I think not.) The elevator took us all up to the 99th floor of The Building. The doors slid open and the mob exited and found their respective spots at The Meeting Table, all 500 employees, sans one. The Boss waited until we were all seated around the gigantic meeting table, crafted with the hardest oak. The Meeting Room was dead silent, almost piercing to the ears. "As you can see," began The Boss in his bellowing low voice, "one of my Employees is not in attendance at this meeting. And, surprising to all of you, is that one was my closest, most trusted companion in this Business." WAS...the Boss emphasized. "Agent W was a fine man; but he had one minor character flaw: he was dishonest. This lead to my firing of Agent W. As you know, I will pick one of you to become my next agent." The Boss paused, scanning everybody sitting anxiously around the table. "....One of you will become 'Agent X'." Gasps filled the once awkwardly silent room. Which one of us will become Agent X? Everybody began looking around the table, comparing themselves with all of the other employees, thinking that they themselves are more deserving of the spot. As is custom in situations as these, The Boss appoints one employee to interview each employee, seeking information about them and why they think they deserve the job. The Boss usually appoints his next closest companion in the Business. The Boss again scanned the room, now looking into the eyes of each person individually. Each employee's heart was pounding inside of his chest cavity. Each employee filled with nervousness. Each employee anticipating. The Boss took the pen from the inside pocket of his pin-striped suit coat. He walked to the precise middle of the table and removed the centerpiece: a mere pad of notebook paper. He laid the pen down and without hesitation, he spun it. Around and around the pen circled, pointing at each employee around the table. Everybody was quite surprised by the methods that The Boss was using; so unconventional. So...unlike the Boss to leave something as this up to chance. But I suppose he trusted all of us because we were all his employees. Around and around the pen spun; most employees were now at the edge of their seats, hoping it would stop at them. I figured that even if it did stop at me, the Boss would pick somebody else for the temporary job, because, after all, I am just the gopher. Around and around the pen continued to spin. It finally stopped......at me! This was really the first time during the whole meeting that I felt particularly nervous. I am not cut out for this job, I am a mere gopher! The Boss looked up at me and opened his mouth. He paused; probably thinking twice about having me do this job. "Looks like we have ourselves a winner! Gopher, please rise to your feet. Boy, am I sure glad that the pen stopped at you. I was hoping it would." I stood to my feet with a grimace on my face, the cuts on my feet still hurting from my encounter earlier that morning. "Congratulations, Gopher!" The Boss said with delight. The employees clapped. I awkwardly stood, slightly embarrassed by all of this. The Boss determined that the meeting was over and called me to stay back. "Gopher, please stay here. In fact, sit here. " I shuffled to the appointed spot. "You know," the Boss continued, "I would have spun that pen over and over again until it landed at you?" "Really?" I questioned him. "Oh yeah, definitely, " The Boss said as he sat back in his chair and placed his feet on the tabletop. "I have been watching you perform your duties, day in and day out, with the same cheery attitude as always. Even with such a minuscule job as being the gopher, you really take your job seriously. I feel that I can trust you....I can read your energies," the Boss finished, with a mischievous smile. Doubtful I thought. The Boss continued to explain my duties for this job and told me what he expected from me. I promised to perform as he wished. As I rose from my chair, I began to think about the job that the agents do. No one quite knows what they do; in fact, you don't know your job requirements until you have been deemed an agent. I wonder why it is regarded so highly. I want to be agent x. I can make a great Agent X, whatever Agent X is supposed to do. But, all hopes of being Agent X are squashed. I can never be Agent X; simply because of the fact that I am the one who is supposed to interview the employees for the position of Agent X. I cannot interview myself. I cannot be Agent X. But I was sure flattered that The Boss wanted me to do the interviewing. Maybe I could move up from here, if he does indeed trust me as much as he says.
....
I sat in the board room with my pen and notebook handy, ready to write down all of the employees' responses. The first employee walked into the room, quite hesitantly might I add. I went through the list of questions and took notes. The first employee seemed pretty confident and trustworthy; but I'm not quite sure that he would have been qualified for the job of Agent X. I was pleased with the information that the employee had provided me, so I sent him away. The second employee entered. Just as confident as the first. I followed the same procedure; this employee was really no different from the first. Away I sent him. The heavy oak doors opened again, and now entered the third employee. Again, I followed the same procedure. I sent her away, clearly seeing that she was not the one for the job. By the twentieth employee, I had grown bored of my temporary appointed responsibility. I was still quite pleased and flattered that the Boss had chosen me; but it was becoming monotonous. All of the employees who entered were the same: they were all very qualified for their current positions; but none had that extra "zip" that was really quite a requirement for the job of Agent X. I began to get very hopeless. At one point(I believe I was interviewing the 103rd employee) I almost scurried out to the Boss and told him that there was no hope for finding Agent X within our Business. But alas, I could not. The Boss was dependent upon me to do this one task; and if I couldn't accomplishment that task, what need would he have to keep me around, even as the Gopher? This was indeed the only thing that kept me from jumping out the window at some point in all these interviews. Some of the employees were especially boring and lacked all charisma and manners. Others were smooth as chocolate; but were clearly lying about who they were. I had just finished interviewing employee number 327--she used to be a librarian; but now, at the Business, she is the Bookkeeper. She does an excellent job. She even looks the part of a bookkeeper. She nose is up-turned, but not snobbish, which is a plus. She wears reading glasses at the tip of her nose; and has huge eyes. While she was talking, I couldn't help but liken her appearance to that of a bird. An interesting character, yes; but not Agent X. I grow weary. Before I called the next employee into the Office, I slumped down in my chair. I just needed a few minutes to gather myself and my perseverance. While in the midst of this, the door opened. It startled me so. I jumped back up; my posture now corrected. It was the Boss. He had since taken off his suit jacket and rolled up his oxford sleeves. No employee has ever seen him in such a relaxed state of being. I was flabbergasted by the sight of him. He walked all the way to the end of the conference table where I had taken residence. He sat down; his posture bad. "So..." he began, "I imagine you're growing a wee bit weary of this task now, eh?" I didn't want to admit to it; but I couldn't lie to the Boss. "Well, yes. There are a lot of employees, some of which like to talk a lot!" I finally spouted out. "Oh yes, I know. I once had to interview all of them too. I think you were one of the easiest to interview...honestly. Anyway, I thought that since you have been in here seemingly forever, that you should have a break. I was going to send the Gopher to fetch you some coffee; but, ironic thing, you're the gopher. So, I couldn't send you. I sent the secretary instead. She wasn't too happy about that," he chuckled. "But, she needed to come off her high-horse sometime, don't you think? You deal with her everyday.." I couldn't help but laugh. I think that simple reaction to his question gave him an answer. I hadn't never seen the Boss act like this before. He was not intimidating at all; but rather inviting. "So....how's the interviewing been going?" the Boss said after awhile, a slight smile still on his face. "The interviewing has been going alright, I suppose. All of the employees I've interviewed so far are very qualified for their current jobs; but none of them have that extra "zing" that being Agent X requires. But, I still have alot more employees to interview; I'm sure I'll find one by the end of the day. Do you mind my asking what Agent X will be doing? Just so that I can have more insight into what exactly you are looking for?" The Boss sat up and placed his elbows on the table: a sight never seen during a meeting. He seemed so relaxed. It was distracting to me, simply because it was an unseen sight. "Well, Gopher, I'm afraid that if I told you Agent X's job requirements, one of two things would have to happen: First, either you would have to become Agent X yourself; or secondly, I would have to kill you AFTER you find someone to be Agent X," the Boss said, chuckling aloud. "You wouldn't really kill me, would you? You need me around and you know it," I snapped back. "Ooo, sassy." The Boss had a sheepish grin on his face and I saw his slight embarrassment of that fact that he was attracted to me. "...no, I could never kill you," he added, with a newly straight face, getting serious. Just then, as if by divine intervention, the Secretary walked paged the Office. "Boss, I am back from my mission," she said sweetly. The Boss's face had changed: he had resumed his business-like mannerisms. He sat up; and gathered himself to muster up the reply "Thank you. Go ahead and bring the coffee in pronto," his bellowing, intimidating voice echoing throughout The Board Room. The Secretary pushed the heavy oak doors open with her back, each one of her hands holding the coffee cups containing the best coffee in the city. It was from The Coffeeshop.

Niel Allen 6

"This is mighty good tea; thank you, Jocelyn." "Oh, you're welcome, Mr Allen. It would have been such a disappointment if it had tasted bad; after all that trouble that you went through to find it." "Oh, it wasn't too much trouble at all. I just don't know what possessed me to put the tea in that locked cabinet. I even confuse myself sometimes. Well, I'll be, can you hear my stomach growling? How's about a sandwich?" "That would be perfect." "Okay. Is roast beef alright? Ginny made the best roast beef sandwiches. She never told me what the secret ingredient was; she joked that it was love. I'm sure that wasn't far from the truth though." I was quite surprised that Mr Allen enjoyed his tea. It tasted.......old. I just couldn't get past the fact that he said he had tea everyday and couldn't remember where he put it; and not to mention the pure dustiness of the tea box. At least he enjoyed the tea. It did seem like almost everything that came out of his mouth was a past memory of Ginny. I didn't mind though. I loved to hear his stories, especially those of Ginny. He beamed when he spoke of her. "What do you have in the bag, child?"

Niel Allen 5

It unlocked. I wondered what was going through Mr Allen's mind. He said he didn't even remember there being a lock. How could he have guessed the right combination on the first try? "Amazing!" I thought. I also wondered about the significance of those numbers: 4, 16, 6, 5. It didn't make any sense to me. "Wow, Mr Allen! How did you ever guess those numbers?" "Oh, it was just a lucky guess, I suppose. Now how about we try to find that tin box with the tea inside?" "Sounds like a good plan, Mr Allen." Mr allen carefully took out the stacks of plates, stacks of bowls, and tea cups. Nestled behind the tea cups was a small tin-looking box. Although the box was rather dusty, I could see its ornate design. "Oh, by golly, there it is! I have never seen it this dusty. Wow!" Mr Allen proceeded to dust off the box with his bony hand. As he dusted the box off, I realized that it wasn't just any ordinary tin tea box. It looked gold! "Is that gold, Mr Allen?" "Not the whole can, dear. It's merely gold-plated." "Where in the world can you buy something like that? It's quite ornate." "Well, I'm not quite sure where Ginny managed to find the box. She got it for our 50th anniversary," he said as he finished dusting off the box. He handed it to me. On the top of the box were their names were in the neatest of Victorian Era style cursive. The box read: "Niel and Ginny Allen. 50th Wedding Anniversary. April 16, 1865."

Niel Allen 4

At this I was consumed with guilt. Mr Allen's light spirit did make the awkward silence more bearable. I just could not stop thinking about the possibility that his wife might have actually died. If she had, I could understand Mr Allen's sensitivity to my mentioning of and interrogating about his wife. This awkward silence seemed to last awhile; even though it couldn't have been more than a few minutes. "Should I apologize?" I wondered. I'm pretty sure I seriously offended him, out of ignorance. Well, if I am ignorant of the situation at hand, I have no need to apologize. Even after I established the fact that I had no need to apologize, I still highly considered it an option. I should apologize just to be courteous and let him know that I had no intention of upsetting him. "What should I do?" I fought myself for a few more long, awkward minutes of silence. Just as soon as I would consider apologizing, my vocal chords would produce no sound. My mouth remained closed, letting no words escape, even a simple apology. In this awkward silence, I tried to find things to do(besides sitting in silent subjection). I swept my hair out of my face, made sure the buttons on my sweater were indeed buttoned, and straightened my striped skirt. I could bear the silence no longer; I could bear the guilt no longer. I must say something. I mustered up the courage to finally say sorry for inadvertently upsetting Niel Allen. As soon as the first vibration of sound escaped my mouth, Mr Allen interrupted. "I would like some tea now." I was utterly relieved that he finally said something. Mow I was all too eager to attend to his needs, in contrast to my attitude about getting him a cup of tea earlier. I quickly jumped to my feet, then remembered the fragile state of his house. I could have fallen through the floor boards. "How would you like your tea, Mr Allen?" "One teaspoon creamer and one cube of sugar." "Okay. That sounds pretty simple." I walked into the kitchen and searched for the tea. I couldn't find it anywhere. "Mr Allen, where do you keep your tea?" "Oh, I'm sorry, child. I've forgotten you haven't been in this house before...well, not for awhile at least." "What do you mean, Mr Allen?" "Well, when you were much younger, your mom would bring you with her when she came. Oh! how I loved you. You were such a cheerful baby with such a cute laugh. This whole cabin lit up when you and your mom were here...I guess it always has and it still does...but you probably don't remember that, do you?" "No, sir. I don't." "I'm sure your mom has some pictures. You'll have to ask her to see them sometime. Man, you were cute.....For lands' sake, I cannot seem to remember where I put my tea! I have every single day, you'd think I'd be able to remember where I put it," Mr Allen continued, opening every cupboard and drawer, searching intently. Up until this time, I had considered Mr Allen very smart, with a sharp mind. And Mother had always spoken of him as a very intelligent man; but to not recall where he had put his tea, that he supposedly has every day, greatly astounded me. Mother's voice echoed in my head, "You'll understand when you get older," she would have said. Oh! I'm sure I'll understand when I'm older....much older! Mr Allen moved everything off the counter tops; took every cup and plate and bowl our of the cupboard; and after much banging and clanking, he managed to get every pot and pan out of the cabinet. There was still not sight of the tea when he had reached the last cupboard. "This here is where Ginny kept all of her special dishes. She'd bring them out on Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, birthdays, and anniversaries. I doubt the tea would be in here. She never let me in this cupboard for fear I would accidentally break her precious china; but she had every reason to fear. She inherited the china from her great-grandmother who came over from a Russian orphanage. This china was so special to Ginny. I remember one Christmas dinner past. We had just finished eating and I was helping Ginny clear off the table. I picked up my plate and placed my bowl on top of it; somehow, the bowl slid off the plate, crashing to the floor! It shattered into a million different pieces. Ginny didn't say anything, but I could tell she was upset. Every "special" occasion after that, I never got a china bowl, we simply did not have enough. I swore to her that I would try to find a china set like hers and buy the bowl, or the whole set! "That way I could break at least one of everything and still have a replacement," Ginny used to say. We always laughed so much when Ginny was around. Boy, did she ever have a way to make people smile." Mr Allen looked back at the cupboard that kept the precious pieces of china and obviously some very precious memories. "Hmm, that's interesting. I never remember a lock on that cupboard. Ginny was protective of that china, but not that protective. Well, I'll be darned, I cannot think of what the combination could be. For Pete's sake, the old man just wants his tea!" Niel Allen chuckled. He stood there, staring at the lock, as though it would unlock itself the longer he stared at it. The lock looked fairly old and rusted; but definitely not as old and rusted as some of Mr Allen's other belongings. The cabinet had two separate handles and two separate doors which opened from the middle. The rather small simple lock help the 2 handles together. The doors did still open a piece, but not enough to retrieve anything from the cabinet. Mr Allen still stood, staring. He brought he shaky hand up to touch the lock. He stared at the lock a little while longer. He turned the lock over and stared. He let his eye glasses slide to the tip of his nose, bending over to catch a closer glimpse at the lock.Hhis stance now upright, eyeglasses pushed back up on the bridge of his nose, he turned the knob of the lock. He turned it right 4, right 16, left 6, left 5.

Niel Allen 3

"So, I see that you are a great thinker, much like myself," said Mr Allen, catching me off-guard. "I suppose you could say that, yes." My thoughts slipped back to my first impression of Mr Allen: old, decrepit, and grumpy. I do recall him likening me to my mom which angered me. Now he was likening me to himself...that act would have offended me, but now I take it as a compliment. Indeed, Mr Allen is a fine gentleman of a fellow..or at least more so than I thought at first. "I don't think I'm so much a great thinker as I am an observer. After all, this is a new place for me. There's much to look at and see." "....and you are much an arguer. I tried to give you a compliment and you refute it as a non-truth. I have to admit, your mother was never this stubborn. Well, maybe in her youth....but i didn't know her then. When she came to me, she was quite refined." I was flabbergasted! Mr Allen does talk. This was as much as he had said all day. Not to mention he seems like a feisty fellow, too. Little by little, I began to see why mother enjoyed her time here so much. Although his place was less than ideal--much less--when he spoke, all of that vanished away. When he spoke, especially when mentioning my mother, he had a certain light or gleam in his eyes and a lilt in his voice. Mr Allen possessed a charm; a charm that probably helped him score such a fine lady. "Admiring my pictures, are you?" Mr Allen asked. "Why, yes. And who is that lovely lady with you in all of them?" "That is my wife, Ginny...I'll admit, she is pretty cute. Much cuter than all the other hippie chicks in that day...when I met her, that is." Taking a quick glance at the other pictures in the room, I noticed that all of them were old, almost antique-like. This greatly puzzled me; and it showed on my face. "What are you wondering, child?" "Oh, I was just wondering why there aren't any new pictures of you and your wife." Mr Allen opened his mouth as if to say something, looking me straight in the eye. After a few seconds, the twinkle in his eyes rapidly fading, he looked away and closed his mouth. I fear that I have upset the old gentleman once again. I seriously wondered as to why my question upset him so. He seemed to love her alot; he was genuinely happy with her, even just talking about her made his eyes twinkle. So why would a question like that upset him? I mean, after all, he did say she 'is' my wife; why wouldn't there be any new pictures if they are indeed still married? And why would he need my mom(and now me) to come to stay with him if he were married? I was very puzzled. I started to speculate as to why he was upset and why he needed us to stay with him. Maybe his wife Ginny left him and he could never get over her. Maybe they were never legally divorced. Maybe she resides in a nursing home. Or perhaps, worst case scenario, she passed away. The latter two seemed to be more plausible. But, if she, in fact, were now living in a nursing home, why wouldn't there be any new pictures? Maybe Mr Allen keeps them in a different room. I would hate to think and suspect that she died. For now, I will go with the nursing home story. While I was musing about Mr Allen's life story, he never said a word. He stared blankly into "Neverland." The thought of Neverland always reminds me of Peter Pan; which I always seem to associate with being young forever(perhaps I am getting two fairy tales confused). As I studied Mr Allen's face, I could not help but notice some outstanding boyish features, even in his old age. His eyes still help a boyish charm and perhaps friskiness; playfulness, if you will. Mr Allen noticed my staring at him, and turned his head to look at me. "I'm sorry, child. I get lost in my thoughts sometimes..well, alot of the time actually. My deep thoughts and memories just take me away to Neverland. Haha" Mr Allen chuckled.

Niel Allen 2

About a million thoughts were going through my mind in that moment: what are my friends doing or learning at school?; what is my mother doing at home?; why did mother choose me to stay with this old man?; what am I ever going to learn from him? The thought of home never escaped my mind. Oh! how I wanted to go home! There was love at home; I could feel its warmth; but Niel Allen's place lacked that very feeling...it was cold, dark, and definitely loveless. My eye caught glimpse of a photograph on the hard oak oval coffee table. The frame was worn and faded; the glass was scratched--it was an old fixture of a frame yes. It definitely was not pleasing to look at...but the photograph was lovely. It shown Niel Allen, definitely a much younger man, and a beautiful woman...both with beaming smiles on their faces. I looked at the background of the photograph...it was taken right in this cabin; in fact, right around the area that Mr Allen was sitting now. So this place did feel love at one time; it was warm and cozy...but not anymore. I scanned the other pictures in the living room--all of them were of Mr Allen and I suspect his wife. I then looked over at Mr Allen's hand, hoping to see a ring to confirm my suspisions that he indeed was married at one time. His skinny frail finger barely kept the ring from falling off. It looked brand new--shiny and without a scratch. "Amazing," I thought. In all the pictures, the house was well-kept and happiness abounded. I wondered what had taken that joy away. My outlook on Niel Allen had shifted somewhat. I longed to know more about him and his story; but I almost felt rude for asking. Maybe later on today. It's still pretty early.

Niel Allen

At least the sun was shining. This indeed was the only positive thing I could conjure up. I walked the windy, rocky, uneven road to Niel Allen's cabin, hidden deep in the cool forest. The bird's singing irritated me for once. I had always loved the bird's songs, but now, I despised it. How can they sing a joyful song? Do they even know why I'm walking on this secluded pathway to nowhere? "Stupid birds," I thought. They don't have a care in the world. "This is taking FOREVER!" I mumbled to myself. Mom never let on that this stupid road was this long. I would rather still be in school, increasing in knowledge. But no, my mother wanted me to do this. I know I'm not going to gain a thing from doing this. What does she know anyway? I found myself quite resentful of the fact that she had chosen me to do this. I was angry with her, ready to scream. I had already determined that this was going to be horrible. No one could sway my thinking.
....
With hurting feet and a heavy shoulder, I arrived at the cabin. Mother had always spoken of it delightfully, as if it were the quaintest cabin in the world; but I found the opposite to be true. The now mossy handrail had fallen; the steps were slanted and crooked; floor boards of the porch were missing; green plants inundated the shack; the outside walls were less than sturdy; a few bricks from the chimney now lie on the forest floor. I had hoped to peer inside, curious about the condition, but the windows were frosted, almost opaque. I gave a light tap at the door, fearing it might un-attach from the rusty hinges: no answer. I tapped a piece harder this time: no answer. Harder still: no answer. At this, I felt as though I was banging on the door; it creaked open. Was I suppose to just walk in? You never know what grumpy, old people will do to you. "Mr Allen? are you here?....Mr Allen?" I said as I peaked my head inside, my hand on the splintered door, as if to hold it up. "Mr Allen?" I said again, frustration in my voice. I the heard a faint voice. "Yes, dear. Come in." I saw the figure of a decrepit man sitting on a hard chair. "This man is just as decrepit as his house!" I thought to myself, chuckling aloud faintly. Niel Allen noticed the grin on my plump, youthful face. "It's nice to see a smiling face around here...you're just like your mother." If only he knew what I was grinning about..stupid old man. I turned my head his way. "I don't think I'm too much like my mother." I was trying to say that as politely as I could; I was so peeved with my mother that I could not stand to be likened to her. There was a long pause; I wasn't quite sure what I should do. His mouth remain agape, as if to say something at any moment; however, he would let no words escape. He must be deep in thought. Or maybe he realized that I was right. I thought old people were supposed to be smart and know what to say, but apparently they're not all that way. "I think....." he just stopped mid-sentence, mouth still open. This is going to be irritating. And I have to stay with him all day! What a grand time I'll have! My feet were tired from the walk to his cabin, but he had not offered me a seat, not that I would have wanted to sit on his furniture anyway. His whole cabin could cave-in at any moment! I couldn't stand to live in such fear. His pushed his dirty, scratched glasses further up on his wrinkled nose with his skinny index finger. "...you're more like your mother than you care to realize...you're here for a reason." He closed his mouth. How could he make these assumptions about me? He doesn't even know who I am! Deep down inside, I knew he was right though, whether I wanted to admit it or not. He held his hand out in the direction of a tattered, worn couch without even saying a word. I closed the creaky door behind me and tiptoed over to the couch. This couch must be an antique! The couch was in dire need of being re-upholstered. As I sat down, a plume of dust rose up around me. I sneezed and looked up at Mr Allen, expecting him to say "bless you" at any moment. Mr Allen never did. He kept quiet. He didn't say anything for quite some time. He never even formally asked for my name, although I'm sure he knew it. Mr Allen struck me as a very pensive gentleman, even to the point of annoyance. I looked around his tiny cabin. There were pictures everywhere! Some of them too old to even decipher. It was musty in his shack; I felt as though I needed some fresh air. "Do you want a cup of coffee or tea, Mr Allen?" I asked, not because I actually cared, but because I wanted to open the kitchen window. He looked me right in the eye, not saying a word. I raised my eyebrow, waiting for an answer. It's a simple yes-or-no question. Why doesn't he just answer? At times his quietness was intimidating, but as of right now, it was an irritation. I opened my mouth, about to ask him again. "Mr Allen, do you want--" "CHILD! you must learn to silence yourself sometimes. You need to learn to wait for an answer. Not everything has to be answered now," Mr Allen said in a stern voice. I hadn't even been here for 2 hours and I had already upset the man. "Great Going, Jocelyn," I said to myself. He looked away from me, as if displeased by the sight of me. He never answered my question either. This is definitely frustrating. And how dare he put me down like that. I'm a patient person, he's the one that's slow. We both sat there with nothing to say. I had brought some things with me to do, but I felt that any sudden movement or sound would be unnecessary.
....

Untitled 3

Keep Portland Weird

I liked her attitude.

Hungry Hungry Hobos

This is sad.

Smoking A Gun

His body language says it all.

Untitled 2

I was just quickly walking past him but then saw the "symmetry", if you will, of the three dark objects: the pole, the metal stick structure, and the man who is staring off.

Traffic Cone

The texture in the cracks of the street and the beaten and worn traffic cone in the corner draws me into this photograph.

Metal Structure

I love the "hard" texture and angle of the building in the background contrasted with the "soft" curve of the metal structure in the foreground.

Rocky

His name is "Rocky"; he was originally from Chicago and New Orleans, but is now homeless. He approached me with the victim mentality and made it clear from the get-go that he wanted me to give him something(compare this encounter with the encounter I had with Tex.) You can even see the sorrow in his eyes. They say to me, "Please help..." He asked me to take another picture of him because his "first pose and angle was bad."



I did end up giving him a few dollars.

Contemplative Boy

He was so intensely listening to what the other man was saying. I love his facial expression.

Windows

I love the pattern of the repeated windows of the office building.

Fish Bowl

I found this fish bowl, on the window sill of an abandoned corner office space, to be quite intriguing. The reflection of the building across the street is nice also.

Untitled 1

With this picture, I like the patterns and again the contrast. The contrast with the two boys sitting in a peaceful area: one wearing black, the other white. The peaceful area that they claimed can be contrasted to the busy street ahead of them. The patterns I like are the repetition of the handrails and the repetition of the brick walkway pattern.