Post by marsh on Oct 9, 2011 19:24:16 GMT -5
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://lh4.ggpht.com/-LWSqSNpIToc/TYZTxT60WjI/AAAAAAAAAUg/kX0kRj5ZB6k/BlackWood.jpg); width: 437px; padding-top: 30; padding-bottom: 30;] THE MOSES AVERY ACKLEY EDITION  EIGHTEEN, SENIOR, TRANSFER, ANDREW GARFIELD "HELLO THERE. I'M SO GLAD YOU MADE IT HERE TODAY, BUT I'VE SEEM TO FORGOTTEN WHAT YOUR NAME WAS, IT WAS PAT... OR SOMETHING, RIGHT? NO, WELL, WHY DON'T YOU TELL ME IT THEN? FIRST, MIDDLE AND LAST, PLEASE. OH, AND PLEASE DO TELL ME ANY SCRUMPTIOUS NICKNAMES." The name's Moses, like that man from the Bible. My parents, for whatever crazy reason of theirs, kind of have a fetish for biblical names. I guess I could say that my full name is Moses Avery Ackley; 'least, that's why my birth certificate tells me (as well as my mother when I'm in a rut). "I HAVE TO SAY, THAT'S QUITE A NAME YOU GOT THERE. I DON'T THINK I'VE HEARD IT BEFORE. TELL ME, HAVE YOU ALWAYS LIVED IN PORTLAND OR HAVE YOU COME FROM SOMEWHERE ELSE?" I was born in Versailles, Kentucky, but I don't think I've stayed in one place for more than five years, and we've only recently moved here. My father is a racehorse trainer, and he often travels the country for larger stakes races. I've probably lived in the cabin of a gooseneck trailer more than I have an actual home with a real foundation. I'm excited to be here though; Mom says that we'll be here for at least three years, should my father like his new clients. This is my second go with a real school, and I've been excited thus far. "OH, I DIDN'T MEAN TO MAKE YOU FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE. HERE, LET'S LIGHTEN UP THE TOPIC A LITTLE BIT. OUT OF ALL OF THE WORDS IN THE WORLD, WHICH FIVE DESCRIBE YOU BEST AND WHY?" Homebody: I am a big family type of guy. I don't like to leave my comfort zone for extended periods of time, and I become extremely anxious if I haven't talked to one of my siblings or my parents in over 24 hours. Don't get me wrong--I love getting out and involving myself with adolescent shenanigans as much as the next guy, but I am dependent on contact with my loved ones. For that one reason, my phone is like my safety blanket. It must always be in my reach. Garrulous: My mind must always be stimulated, and it is best stimulated by verbal interaction. I often talk to myself, and I don't think my teachers care too much for it; however, I'd much rather hold up a conversation with another person. Sometimes I like to think that I don't like to hear my own voice, but I talk to keep the silence from strangling me. It makes me sound as though I have much more inner conflict than I really do. Melodramatic: One could say that I've always had a knack for exaggerating things. I've often been told that I could always go out for acting, but I don't quite soak up character bleed well. I enjoy putting on a show, and what better way is there to act out an ant bite, than pretending that you were struck by a stingray? A lot of my friends enjoy it, but Ruth--one of the nuisances--says that I'm going to drive the entire state of Oregon to drowning itself in the Pacific Ocean. Bullheaded: I'm much like a mule. I'm a stubborn person by nature. If I get an idea, it stays. There isn't any swaying when it comes to my opinions or beliefs or anything else of the sort. It's a bad trait that I try to make good of (I mean, at least I won't be crossing my boundaries anytime soon). I have a tendency to ignore it when people tell me "no," and I think that's the worst part about this whole trait of mine. Optimistic: I don't even consider the bad things that could happen--they simply do not exist to me. Pessimistic people (Debbie Downers, I think they're called) make me want to impale myself with a blunt instrument. I know that they can't help it sometimes, but is it really hard to be happy? Goddamn. I'm usually a tolerant person, but I cannot stand for anyone to constantly consider the worst. If I have to snap at them for it, I will. "I'M NOT GOING TO LIE. YOU SEEM LIKE QUITE THE CATCH. I'M SURE YOU'RE ALWAYS BUSY, HUH? DO YOU LIKE WATCHING TELEVISION OR KNITTING? WHY DON'T YOU TELL US A LITTLE BIT ABOUT YOURSELF?" I follow in my father's footsteps when it comes to many of my interests. Every free weekend that he's got is often spent playing tennis with me, whether it's in an abandoned stable yard or a camp site's courts. Along with sharing my avid love for the sport with him, I find horse racing simply breathtaking. I spend a lot of time with my father and his clients, so it's almost impossible for me to harbor any ill feelings toward those animals--they're magnificent. If I have any extraordinary strengths at all, it lies with working with the horses on the track, even if I am just grooming them right now. Pardon the cliche, but there is something about racing that gets to me. I don't know if it's the excitement of the gates swinging open, watching those that claim to be horse-savvy gambling their savings away, or the sweet smell of victory (which many confuse for the stench of sweat) in the winner's circle. I seem to have my ear buds surgically implanted into my ears; I cannot go a day without music. I'm not the biggest fan of any of the "top 40" stuff they play on the radios though. I absolutely love groggy days. Everything about the mistiness and rain and crisp weather makes me so excited. The coolest months are obviously my favorites, and it's wonderful to spend them nursing a glass of apple cider and watching musicals. Oh, did I mention? I absolutely love musicals and watching plays; it's incredibly enthralling. I feel so quaint to even admit these things to you, but you're wanting the truth! I guess I should mention that I cannot stand for any sort of negative vibes. I understand that we all have off days, and I don't mean to come off as brusque, but I do not understand depression at all. Those with it seem so destructive, and I can't help but become irritable with them. I am extremely scared of space and the idea that anything even exists outside of this continent. It's not just the idea of extraterrestrial life that bothers me, but the idea that we live somewhere with no boundaries or corners or anything of the sort. I cannot stand the idea of drinking, and I refuse to ever smoke or do any sort of drug. Stoners piss me off, and I don't mind calling them out for being the idiots they are. I sound like a terrible person, but I don't care much for those that are ignorant beyond their years. "YOU SOUND PRETTY FEARLESS, BUT THERE HAS TO BE SOMETHING YOU'RE AFRAID OF. ANY JUICY SECRETS?" I hate to admit it, but I've hit my mother before. It was once, and I'm aware that that does not justify the crime committed, but it scares me incredibly so to think that I did that. It was just... I was sixteen and I had my first drinks and I couldn't control myself. I refuse to admit it to anyone, so please keep it quiet. I swear to God, I'm never touching alcohol again. The idea of losing control of my thoughts or body, even in the slightest, scares the living shit out of me. I guess you could say it's one reason I'll never touch any other sort of illegal substance. "DON'T TAKE THIS THE WRONG WAY, BUT ARE YOU GAY? I MEAN, IT WASN'T SOMETHING YOU SAID OR ANYTHING. I'M JUST A CURIOUS OLD BADGER. UM. WHAT DO YOU FIND ATTRACTIVE? IS THAT BETTER? I GUESS YOU DON'T HAVE TO ANSWER IF YOU DON'T WANT TO." I'm a flamboyant faggot, as my older brother likes to call me. It's alright with me--I prefer it to being anyone that has to associate his or herself sexually with the female anatomy. I like the sweeter guys; the guys that will deny it when you call them adorable or gorgeous. It just makes it even more adorable. I'm pretty open when it comes to who I date, so far as they look pretty clean-cut. I want to date someone that can come over for dinner and not worry my parents in the slightest. I really think that those hipster boys are the sweetest things, so long as their ears aren't stretched to the size of dinner plates and their arms are free of tattoos. Baristas also sound wonderful, if only because I'd be dating someone that would be able to feed my love for warm drinks. "ALRIGHT, ENOUGH WITH THE HEAVY STUFF. LET'S TALK ABOUT... MUSIC. I THINK YOU MENTIONED SOMETHING ABOUT POP OR HIP HOP EARLIER. WHAT KIND OF MUSIC DO YOU LIKE? RAP, COUNTRY, JAZZ? WHAT ARE YOUR TOP FIVE MOST PLAYED SONGS ON ITUNES?" I absolutely love the indie/folk genre. Arcade Fire and Passion Pit are among my favorite bands. My top five tracks in iTunes are See the World by Gomez; Little Secrets by Passion Pit; Sprawl II by Arcade Fire; Ghost Under Rocks by Ra Ra Riot; and Mykonos by Fleet Foxes. There are 1,147 songs on my iPod by 412 artists, and I pride myself in the fact that you may have never heard of 80% of them before. "LISTENING TO MUSIC LIKE THAT? YOU'RE SURE TO BE A STAR IN THE NEAR FUTURE. YOU SEEM LIKE A WELL-ROUNDED YOUNG PERSON, MY DEAR. WHERE DO YOU FIND YOURSELF TO BE IN FIVE YEARS FROM NOW?" As I've said before, I want to follow my father into the horse racing industry. I don't so much want to be a trainer, as much as I want to breed. I love to see the colts and fillies wobbling around on their spindly legs every March, and it's exhilarating to watch prices of yearlings climb in the auctions. I would really just love to work anywhere near the racetrack, but it's the number one thing on my bucket list to have bred a horse that wins the Breeders' Cup Classic. "IF IT MEANS ANYTHING, I'LL BE ROOTING FOR YOU WHEN THE TIME COMES. I'M SURE YOUR PARENTS WILL TOO. SPEAKING OF YOUR PARENTS, WHY DON'T YOU TELL US THEIR NAMES AND WHAT YOU THINK OF THEM! DO YOU HAVE ANY SIBLINGS, PETS, OTHER RELATIVES?" My mother, Elizabeth, has worked from "home" ever since I was six and we moved back to the United States from Great Britain (my father had been training there for some time, and luckily for us, 90% of my family lives over there). I honestly have no idea as to what she does, but I feel like it's got something to do with website design. John Mark is my father and role model. He's trained horses for thirty-odd years and the sweetest man in existence. There is no better person, I promise you. You know how I mentioned that my parents have an affinity for biblical names? I feel like they've had one kid for each person in it. I have two younger sisters; Ruth is twelve and a royal pain in my ass. We love each other, no worries, but she makes me contemplate homicide at some times (usually the worst times, too). Then there's nine-year-old Eden. I love her to death. My older brother, Jonah, is twenty-five and one of my best friends. He moved to Rhode Island when I was thirteen, but he's never there much. He's a part of his church's mission team and he seems to be on a new side of the world every month. We email each other as much as possible. I guess I should mention that I also own two French Bulldogs that go by the names of Derby and Butler. They've traveled with us since we got them from a breeder in Illinois two years ago. They may be obnoxiously loud snorters, but they're fabulous companions if you need something to snuggle with. "OH, I SEE. WELL, WE'RE RUNNING OUT OF TIME. WHY DON'T WE WRAP THIS UP WITH YOUR STORY? HOW DID YOU END UP IN PORTLAND, OREGON?" I'd been born in Versailles, Kentucky, on January 12 of 1993. I know that I'll be graduating high school by the time I'm nineteen, but the homeschooling curriculum is slow. Anyhow, I've moved from place to place all my life. I've lived in at least twelve different states, all thanks to my father's job. I lived in Great Britain for about four years of my life, with my mother and my grandparents (my family is of English descent, which would explain my accent). My family life has always been swell. Everyone gets along, save for squalls between siblings. I think that being cramped into the living quarters of a trailer kind of forces you to act kindly to your family members. I mean, I shared a bed with Jonah and Ruth until I was eight. My parents are nowhere near smothering, but they aren't too distant either. My father tries to get out of work and see us as much as possible, but it's hard since we're in actual schools now. My sisters usually go over to stay with friends after school, since my mom is working in an actual office now. (I envy them--they can just say that they're the new kids in town and that their daddy knows lots of horses and they've basically got friends in an instant.) I am designated to take care of them on certain afternoons, but I spend a majority of my afternoons reading in the den or listening to banter in the Jockey Room at Portland Meadows. My life isn't really all too exciting. I don't care too much for travelling, seeing as I've done a lifetime worth of it already. Seeing as I moved here recently, I haven't really gotten what I call friends. I eat alone during my lunch period, and I don't have anyone to copy homework answers off of. Sure, I share mindless chatter with kids who must pity me in class, but I'm not really seeing any prospective friends yet. I haven't really looked hard enough yet, I don't think. I'm sure I'll find friends, but it's taking more time than I'd like. Being labeled as a "Transfer" fucking sucks, but I bet I can kiss some asses and get some sort of positive status in this school. ROLEPLAY EXAMPLE Thursday afternoons of every week were spent loitering in the frozen food section of Dallas, Texas', very own Target. Ezra was humming along to ZZ Top's TV Dinners (because, really, what better song to sing in front of a display of Stouffer's?) whilst pushing his cart along, grabbing whatever microwavable concoctions that appealed to him along the way. Every now and again, he'd get bumped into by an escaped child. There was nothing he could do but mutter obscenities under his breath and twist his face into some emotion much less attractive. Really, did he have to put up with the plethora of screaming minors and the white trash like this on a daily basis? Yeah, he did. It didn't make him enjoy his Thursdays anymore than he already did, however. He already spent six hours of his day in an office twenty-three minutes (yes, he timed it) away and slaved at work like no tomorrow. Because, yeah, solitaire and minesweep are too difficult for words. Really, in between the occasional meeting and the four or five phone calls that he got daily, Ezra often questioned why he had his office. Perhaps it was because it seemed more professional--and that's just what you had to be in the horse racing business: professional. Ezra was in the produce area now, and he glanced at the leafy greens incredulously. Most veggies he bought always ended up shoved back behind a case of Samuel Adam's and had started to grow extra limbs by the time his bi-yearly fridge-cleaning day came round. He had to admit it: being a bachelor sucked. It sucked even more so that he was a gay bachelor; he would never (oh, how do they say it?) have a woman to get in the kitchen and make him a good ol' sandwich. But of course, that's why God blessed this green--er, brown. Hello, Texas--earth with brands like Lean Cuisine and Hot Pocket. When he felt his cart had been stocked efficiently with more Keebler elves than a single person could count, Ezra made his way over to the meat section. He was going to attempt to grill out at least once within the next week, because every self-respecting Texan man should do that. And he was just that. Of course, this meant choosing a quality steak, which also meant being savvy in the cooking department. And that meant that he'd just stare at a package of T-bone steaks and look deep in thought, because yeah (and let's prepare for an innuendo here), he was a professional meat man. Not. MARSH, A FEW YEARS (BUT KINDA RUSTY), CAUTION!, ADMIN EDIT |
