In a Week

The cell phone was cold against my heated skin. Her voice came crackling through. I walked with a heavy step across the parking lot, book bag weighting down on my shoulders. Her breathing skipped. “Harley?” I asked while I pulled the keys from my pocket. Some friends called my name as I slung the door opened and threw my book bag over to the passenger’s seat. I ignored them, still hoping to get a response. I climbed into the rusty van and slammed the door shut.
“Lacey—“ she said, breaking into a sob.
“What about Lacey?” I asked, face flushing.
“She’s dead,” she said softly.
My jaw hung open. A tear rolled down my check, and my phone slipped to the floor. I broke out into a deep sob and a group of senior repeats laughed from across the parking lot.

I drove home, music blaring, speeding. Tears hit my lap one after another. I could see her smile, feel her hug, and despite the music, I could hear her faint laugh. I flew past cars, pulling myself together before I returned to the all-too-cheery house hold I lived in.
I speed into the driveway, parked my car half in the grass and half in the drive way, and ran inside with my book bag barely hanging on my shoulder.
“Laurie?” my brother called after me.
I threw my things on the floor next to the door and ran for the kitchen, knowing I was about to break down again.
“Did you know that girl—“
My tears escaped. He looked at me apologetically. My neighbor stepped past my clueless mother to hug me. The kitchen fell silent as cried, standing in the corner, trying to avoid eye contact.
“What happened?” my mother asked in her mother-preacher tone.
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Died in her sleep.”
I ran out of the kitchen crying. I escaped back out into the night air and I stood, starring at the stars through my tears.



I showered early. Threw on my kaki pants, a dark maroon shirt, and black shoes. I dried my hair. The house was warm. I sat stiffly on the couch and waited.
A knock on the door brought my mind back into reality.
I opened the door. Harley stood there, staring at her feet. Her hair was slightly wet. Grey sweater.
I hugged her tightly. I moved back and shut the door. She sat in the chair. I walked into the kitchen to grab a water bottle.
“How are you?” Harley asked out of habit.
I shrugged. “You?”
She said nothing.



The funeral home smelled of tissue and perfume. Red faces walked the hall. Numb bodies roamed the halls. We resorted to the back of the chapel. Step one done. Tears hit again and I felt my face join the redness of other’s.
We slowly and daringly walked to the casket, afraid of how death would look.
She laid silently. Peacefully. A scarf kept her cold neck warm. She was as beautiful in her death as she was in life.



We returned to my house after the service. After the tears. After our brains finally accepted her unexpected death.
My mother walked through the door. She looked tired.
“Hi,” Harley and I mumbled.
“Laurie?” Mom asked quietly. “Can I talk to you?”
She walked into her room. I followed automatically, not aware of her current state of being.
“Look,” she started, looking me in the eyes. “I didn’t want to have to tell you this, but—“ She stopped. A tear formed in the corner of her eye. “Matt passed away this morning.”
I fell back into uncontrollable tears.



The ride to Birmingham was excruciatingly long. We drove out to the same funeral home my grandfather was buried at. The parking lot was full.
My mom, my brother, and I stood patiently in line, talking to other church members that were there to honor Matt.
Two hours later, his casket was visible. The noise faded to silence as I neared. My body felt as if it was being controlled by someone else. My own soul had fell to numbness.
The three of us cried together over him. He was a youth director, a mentor, a friend.
We were forced out by the crowd that was trying to reach him. We stood outside of the car, crying like babies in the winter’s night.
And it was all within a week.

The Worst Part About Dying (poem)

The worst part about dying is not the
sadness or grief that suffocates your soul,

but rather the life that continues on,
leaving no time for death to sink in.

It's having to live on even after you watch
your friend covered by dirt and flowers
resting forever in a bed marked by a painted rock.

The worst part about dying is knowing that
your life will continue without them to laugh at you
or to help you along the beaten path.

The worst part about dying is living,
because they had to live to die,
and we have to live even though they said goodbye.

The Worst Part About Dying

The worst part about people dying is living: finding out someone you loved has passed away, then having to go to work or go to school and be productive. Life can't stop. It doesn't have a pause button to push and let it sink in. So, we cry while we drive or cry at night or cry whenever it hits us. Recently, I have had two people close to me pass away. My grandfather back in June, and a dear friend of mine just this week. And it feels the same: random, unexpected. Our lives keep moving, while we have to move and try to deal with the news at the same time. So, everyone dealing with hard times, take a break to relax. Take time for yourself to let things soak in. And may the dead live in our hearts until our last days.

Blooper #54564851846515434217842156

From now on, when life starts catching up, I'm going to think back to Jan. 1, 2010. A day that some people spent in their PJs, a day some people spent hungover or still partying, a day some people spent challenging themselves. My day was the latter. It was a day that I expanded. Not my mind, but expanded my stomach and waist. An attractive thought to many, I'm sure. It was the day Harley and I, with help from Samantha, finally achieved our overall, life goal. And, neither of us had to break up with our boyfriends like originally planned. We conquered. Destroyed. Dominated. Ultimately, we ate! The three of us went, purchased, and ate a TCBY deep dish cookies and creme pie. All while being watched with laughter from the employees. I went with the "take it slow" strategy. A strategy not chosen by my team as they dove face-first into the pie. After about fifteen short minutes, about half of the pie was eaten and, boy, my teammates were slowing down quickly. They took a water break, leaving me still eating. They had stomachaches. Temporarily for the time being, that is. I continued to eat. Taking it slow and steady. Finally, we got down to the last few bites. Harley. Sam. Me. Sam. Me. Last bite. I took it, ending the day with success. We did it. We ate the entire pie. And, the employees were still laughing as we celebrated our success by laying our heads down on the table.

So, when life hands ME lemons, I'm going to throw them back and demand pie. Because I know I can handle it.

I'm sitting in my living room typing to the beat of Frank Sinatra. The TV occasionally gets a word in between songs and Sam, my wonderful, smart, young cousin sits on the couch texting her boyfriend. The only think that goes through my head other than song lyrics and mental images provided by Gage Matthews about certain people *cough* is the thought of a new year. This past year has been so... Eventful. Up and down just like every other year of my short life. But this past year was different for some reason. I didn't just gain worldly knowledge, but I gained a lot of information and knowledge and awareness of myself. Who I am and who I can become. I've been tested by teachers, and stretched by friends. I look back at the past year and can only think about two events. Well, three. One being Third Block. Two being my trip to Tampa (see the note “June 7. 9 P.M. Eastern Standard Time” for further information on that.) The third and most important thing I think about when I reflect back is losing the most amazing man I've ever known: Coach Ray Woodard. He was "Coach" to the world, but to me he was "G-dad." A grandfather loved by many. Every month on the sixteenth I think about what he has taught me over the years. It wasn't until we lost him that I finally realized what he meant. I think that is how most everybody is, though. I never realized that it was him who taught me patience. He taught me to listen. To hear. Oddly enough, he taught me the importance of words. And for a poet, that's a pretty big thing. I spent what felt like years of my life in a hospital room with him during his last months. Sat in a chair, afraid to even near him. I let my fear of hospitals stand in the way of me being able to tell him for one last time that I love him. I wanted everyday to just whisper in his ear and let him know how much he means to me. How I'll never forget him. How he'll live on forever through his sport and, hopefully, my words. I never got to thank him for the sixteen years of love and care. Everyday I wish I could go back in time and let him know. But I am glad I told him one thing:

"Be free."

A quote commonly used when we (Sam and I) would let go of his wheelchair when we would enter his living room. It was his freedom to freely go about his business without having to be pushed around by some girl. When he was struggling through his last days, at some point, I had the strength to stand next to him. I looked into his eyes (which is not common for me) and gave him the best hug I could as a goodbye and I whispered just loud enough for him to hear. "Be free, Grandad, be free." It was the hardest sentence I've ever had to form. And it's the hardest sentence I've ever had to type.

I still don't think this note has actually voiced what I've actually wanted to say. If it has, then I'd be surprised.

So, here's to a new year. A strong year. A year where I will say what I want to say to the person I want to say it to no matter what kind of bed they are in. Water or hospital. (Pardon that... Best joke I could think of to lighten the mood)

Crayon Jesus

In Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 follows Montag, the owner of one of the last Bibles known to man kind. During a conversation with Faber, his trusted side kick, the readers discover that Jesus has been mad into the Billy Mays of the future. Faber says, "I often wonder if God recognized His own son the way we've dressed him up, or is it dressed him down?" This is us, and that is our Jesus. With all the things like The Blaze and 3:20 held through Hillcrest students, it's like this house of the Lord is used to go and socialize with your friend you haven't seen since second block. Christians have lost the Jesus part of church. The Jesus part of Christmas. The Jesus part of life. It's like everyone is handing their kids a Jesus coloring book and a box of crayons and saying, "Color in the lines, son, color in the lines!" What is happening when they color inside those lines? They are putting this marketed figured of Jesus in their minds. The white and blue robes, the brown hair, the smile. You can't color Jesus on a piece of paper. It isn't possible. Because Jesus isn't colorable. His lines are ever-changing, so that he can guide us through our lives. How I imagine my Jesus is different than the way everyone else imagines Him. My Jesus can't be colored by anyone, not even me. Because my Jesus lives within my heart and soul, and He shows himself in different ways everyday.

The New and IMPROVED Breaking Dawn

dedicated to Harley Englebert for one last time.


Part One
I woke up and immediately felt larger than I should have. I clapped and the lights came flickering on.
“What are you doing,” Bocaj asked me half asleep.
“Look,” I said pointing to my stomach, “I have the belly of a pregnant lady! No! I have the belly of eight pregnant women!”
Bocaj looked at me with a smile. “It’s okay,” he reassured me.
“How is this okay?”
“It’s the way it works with us,” he said. I looked at him confused. “Aliens…”
I rolled my eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean, honey? That I get pregnant without actually doing anything to get pregnant? We haven’t had,” I stopped talking when I realized the kids were in the next room. “You know- We haven’t done anything since last spring.”
He looked depressed. “I know this, babe. Alien babies develop before you sleep with someone. In order to keep the baby, we have to have sex.”
I looked at him and laughed. “You really just want in my pants, don’t you?”
“You’re my wife, I don’t have to use lousy lines like that,” he said as a mater of fact.
“Oh, yeah,” I remembered. I sighed.
“This thing,” he said gesturing towards my stomach, “will go away in a few hours unless you want to keep the little thing. That’s when we have sex.”
“Don’t we have enough kids as it is?” I asked concerned.
“We don’t have any kids,” he stressed.
When I heard the sadness in his voice, I knew what I had, and wanted to do.
“Let’s have sex, then,” I told him.
He looked at me, eyes smiling. “Seriously?”
“Yes,” I said, “I want to have your baby.”
His smile grew wider. “You know I love your kids, right?”
I nodded. “Of course, Honey. Why?”
His smile stayed. “I’m just go glad this one is mine!”

Part Two: “WE INTURUPT YOUR PROGRAM TO BRING YOU A SPECIAL REPORT FROM STEPHENIE MEYERS”
Dear Twilight fans and haters, do allow me to say this: Laurie Laurie Laurie’s New and IMPROVED Twilight Saga really is an improvement from my Twilight Saga. While I am thankful for the success that Twilight has had, I am sad at the fact that I was not lucky enough to have the creative mind to create a Twilight of this extreme. Oh, how I wish that I had the idea or aliens and robots. My own Twilight has created movies that are only good for watching onced or twiced, as they say in Alabama. I feel that The New and IMPROVED Twilight Saga would have called for better movies, which would have been more entertaining than my own. Thank you for listening to me. –Stephenie Meyer


Part Three
I could hear the nurse taking to the doctor intensely in the corner.
“That isn’t the belly of a pregnant woman. She has to have at least seven or eight kids in that thing,” the nurse said scared.
“The tell her to push,” the doctor ordered.
The nurse came towards me. “Push,” she demanded.
I pushed and my body fell numb.
Before the night was over, I have eight babies surrounding me.
I pulled Bocaj towards me by his shirt. “What the hell did you knock me up for? Eight times!”
He looked offended. “I don’t control the number. Now, be happy.”
“Names?” the nurse asked us.
I pointed towards the one directly to the right of me. “Sneezy,” I told the nurse. She looked at me like I was crazy. I went around the circle of babies, pointing as I named them. “Sleepy, Dopey, Doc, Happy, Bashful, and Grumpy,” I said.
“What about her?” the nurse asked, pointing with the pencil to the child in my arms.
“Alcey Anglins,” I said.
Before the nurse wrote down the name, a little voice rose into the room.
“Seriously? That isn’t a name.”
I looked at Bocaj and then to the baby. “Did you just—“
“Yes. Name me something cool. Nothing like Alcey. Not Renesmee. Something like Normea Alice.”
I smiled. “That’ll be fine, I told the nurse.”
“Thank you,” Normea said.
I looked at Bocaj. “It’s normal,” he told me.
Some nurses took the babies out of the room.
“They are going to fight with the others,” I told Bocaj concerned.
He looked at me, contemplating the possibilities of injuring the babies. “I’ll have to start with alienizing them first. They’ll be in some pain, but not much. It’ll have to set in for about ten minutes each, then I can reverse it. Humanizing is a tricky process, but I’ve done it many times before, and I can do it again.”
I cried, pulling him in the hospital bed with me. “Thank you.”
“And I’ve been thinking,” he eased in.
“Yes?”
“If the babies are going to be full human,” he stated.
“So, this has been thought about for five minutes?” I joked.
“Yes,” he laughed. “I want to humanize myself. That way we can be a normal family.”
“What about the other kids?”
He sighed. “I can alienize them, then humanize them if needed.”
I pondered the idea. “You are way too good for me,” I cried joyfully.

“Honey, how do you work this thing?” Bocaj yelled through the house.
“Work what?” I asked from the babies’ room.
“This thing,” he called. “This yellow stick looking thing with grass-ish stuff hanging from the end!”
I laughed. “Honey, that’s the broom,” I informed him. “You have seen me use it before. When I sweep the floor to get the crumbs and things up.”
“Oh, yeah!” He called. “Let me try this again!”
I laughed while I continued to help with the babies.
The doorbell rang and I ran downstairs to answer it. I glanced over to Bocaj as I walked towards the door and watched him trying to find the ‘on button.’
I answered the door and laughed when I saw who it was.
“Fredward?!”
He held a suitcase forward and shrugged. “We were evicted,” he said. Behind him, Gralf looked down at his shoes ashamed.
I looked at Bocaj. He shrugged, giving permission for Fredward and Gralf to come in,
“Come, come,” I told them, taking Fredward’s bag.
“I thought I would try coming here. I mean, the kids are here and I miss them.” He turned to Bocaj. “I hope that is okay.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Bocaj said from the kitchen.
“Wonderful!” Fredward exclaimed flamboyantly.
“There is an extra room on the fourth floor that y’all can stay in for now,” I told them.
“Fourth?!” Fredward and Gralf exclaimed in unison.
I laughed. “Guys, we have twenty kids living here. Of course it takes four floors to raise them.” I looked at Bocaj. “That’s why we bought this mansion anyway.”
Bocaj smirked at the word mansion.
Gralf looked amazed. “Twenty?”
Bocaj put the broom down and joined us in the crowded living room. “Yeah! Twelve from this guy,” he said, pointing to Fredward, “and eight of my own.”
Fredward looked down at his shoes. Gralf looked at him as if he forgot that Fredward had kids before he meet him.
Fredward looked at me concerned. “Can we talk?”
“Sure,” Bocaj answered for me.
“Alone,” he said strongly, gesturing towards the kitchen.
He started to walk towards the kitchen. I looked at Bocaj and assured him that it was okay.
We got into the kitchen and I jumped on the counter next to the seat so I would be sitting at his height.
“I’m sure if I want my kids in a house full of half alien kids,” he said forcefully.
“We humanized them, Fredward,” I told him firmly.
He sighed. “So, my kids are going to die before me?” I didn’t say anything. “I’ll live longer than them.” I nodded, understanding now what he meant. “How would that look?”
“Confused?”
“Humanize me, please,” he asked as a statement.
I stopped talking before I even started. “Does Gralf know?”
He looked at me in disappointment.
“No,” I said. “How can he not know? Listen, Fredward, if you don’t tell him—“
He stopped me. “I’ve tried to. It would be too late now. We’ve had such a good life.”
“You have to.” I jumped down from the counter and gave him a hug. “It’s the right thing to do.”
We walked back into the kitchen to find Gralf and Bocaj looking awkwardly across the living room at each other.
“We have to go to the store, guys,” I told them.
“Okay, let’s go,” Fredward and Bocaj jumped at the same time.
“I just need one for you,” I joked. “But all of you is fine, too.”
“Come on,” Bocaj said relentlessly.
“Emma Jane,” I called. “You’re in charge until we get back from the store. Normea is coming with us.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she yelled back from the top of the stairs. “Oh, hey, Dad.”
“Hey, honey. How are you?” He asked with a smile.
“Good,” she responded before going back upstairs.
We all pilled into the car and drove in silence to the nearest store.
“Okay,” I turned to Bocaj when he stopped the car in the parking lot. “There is a thing called a buggie that you have to put with hands. When you find the food you want, you pick it up off of the shelf and put it into the buggie. Get it?”
Fredward laughed when Bocaj tried to respond. “I got it,” he said.
“Let’s go,” Gralf said cheerfully from the backseat.
We all walked towards the front of the store in an awkward line. Fredward held Normea in his arms as if she were his on child. I could tell that it was bothering Bocaj, but he held his anger back and let Fredward continue.
“Buggie,” I pointed to Bocaj.
He and Fredward went for the same buggie at the same time. Before I knew it, Fredward and Bocaj both had buggies and were running frantically around the store trying to get groceries. Gralf and I stood in humiliation.
“What are they doing,” Gralf asked me, leading me to a bench outside the store.
I followed his lead. “I think one of them is trying to push a better buggie.”
“I can’t believe he still feels like he needs to show off in front of your husband,” Gralf said sympathetically.
I nodded in agreement. “I think it’s more for the kids.”
“Even when they aren’t around, right?” Gralf joked.
I hit him playfully.
“Ready,” Bocaj’s voice came suddenly.
“Yep, yep,” Fredward said. “Norm and I did it all ourselves,” he gestured to his full buggie.”
I stood up and walked up to Fredward and took Normea back from him. I stood inches from his face and pointed my index finger right in his face.
“You do not call my daughter ‘Norm.’ She will not be affiliated with the Loc Ness Monster’s second cousin,” I said demandingly.
Fredward’s eyes went black. He squirmed and I heard something inside of him start to tick. He crouched down and took Normea from my arms. I jumped back.
“No!” I yelled.
He held Normea’s leg to his mouth and the sound of metal rubbing against metal filled the air.
He placed Normea on the ground and the second he was away from her, I ran to him. Bocaj took Normea to the car and I stayed standing outside hanging on Fredward’s back. I ripped the back of Fredward’s shirt and took the plate out of his neck.
“Take this,” I said, grabbing two wires and switching them. He spazed out.
I jumped off his back and ran to the car leaving Fredward, Gralf and two full buggies standing in the front of the store.
I got to the car and found Bocaj standing motionless and pale next to the open driver’s side door.
“Honey,” I asked scared.
He didn’t answer.
“Oh, God,” I said, pushing him to the other side of the car. I took the keys from the door and hopped into the driver’s seat.
I speed out of the parking lot and went to the hospital quickly.
I called my mother and told her to quickly go to the house and help Emma Jane help with taking care of the kids.


The hospital room was dark and gloom when I woke up. I rolled over and looked at the clock on the wall. 3:42. Bocaj coughed roughly from his bed. I stumbled from the chair and walked towards him, taking his hand that he held out to me.
“I love you,” he said calmly and quietly.
He reached his other hand towards me and rubbed my check. I leaned in and kissed him softly. He patted my head and then handed me a folded, torn piece of paper.
The monitor stopped beeping and the room fell silent.
A nurse ran into the room followed by a doctor and a few more nurses. The checked all the machines and the room quickly became chaotic and loud.
I continued to stand next to him, still holding his hand. His fingers turned cold.
I opened the piece of paper and immediately noticed the highlighted phrase,


“Thus with a kiss I die.”