일 one

일

one

"Sorry but, like, why is your sister so weird?" My best friend asks, her face a mask of concern that makes me uneasy.

"Steph, please." I didn't even bother to look up from the enthralling world of Junior Algebra. I've become used to my friends' opinions of my little sister to the point that I can't even be offended.

"Sorry."

I shrug.

"Does she really like that stuff?"

"Knowing Emily, if she really didn't like it, she wouldn't even be into it." I tap the textbook. "C'mon, focus."

Stephanie shakes her head. "It's hard to concentrate with all that gibberish. Why would you listen to songs in a different language?"

"Dad listens to Spanish songs."

"Dude, your dad is Spanish. I meant, who listens to, to... whatever language that is."

"Korean?"

The "Duh" face again. "Yeah, I mean here in America." She jabs an index at me. "And don't say Korean Americans."

I grin. "Emily and a few million girls like her, of course."

"In Clinton, Connecticut?" Stephanie persists.

This time I have to think about it. Probably not, I decide.  

Stephanie works her phone and 5 Seconds of Summer's epic riffs fill the room, dampening the bass and matching thumps leaking through the vent from all the way in the basement.

"There, good old American music."

"Um, they're Australian." I remind her without looking up from my notes.

She waves her hand. "No one likes a wise ass, Brooke. Damn, I can still hear her dancing,"

I detect a note of awe in her voice.

"That's probably why she's got those killer legs. Right?"

"She also does lacrosse and soccer, you know." I point out.

Stephanie looks incredulous. "We do too and look at these!" She points at her toned thighs. "Flab city!"

I laugh. "Yea right."

"Okay, maybe not, but next to your sister, I'm a cow."

I'm surprised at the surge of pride I feel. At only 14 years of age, Emily Amaya puts the Senior dance squad to shame. "She works hard."

"You sure she's your sister?"

I laugh and add enough sarcasm in my voice. "I've never been asked that before."

Stephanie chuckles. "Seriously. You're tall and willowy, olive skin, dark hair. She is so different than you."

Her remarks give me pause. I can't say I haven't wondered myself. Most siblings I know share some physical traits but not Emily and me. I've always thought that Emily was born with Mom's German Irish traits with the exception of her height. That one I got, much to my basketball coach's delight. My little sister is actually Elvin in her features as well as size. Her hair is practically blonde, though it's gone through a few different bright hues over the past year.

"Is she listening to a new one or is that the same one from before. They all sound the same." 

Stephanie looks like she's about to launch into another rant but her phone chimes and she hurries to it.

"O. M. G. Charlie's asking if we want to meet at the library!"

"To study, right?"

Her smile is decidedly feline. "Of course. I bet you Matt will be there too."

I blink and raise an eyebrow at her.

"Brooke, you are ice, girl." Stephanie rolls her blue eyes. "Can I borrow your yellow top?" She disappears into my closet without waiting for a reply.

I can only blow a stubborn strand of hair off my face and fix my pony tail. Steph will insist on putting me through some new process she's seen on YouTube but she'll have to be satisfied with a bit of my trusty lip balm. I'm not the one hunting for a boy.

We bring our bags more as a prop than anything so Mom won't question our sudden urge to get to the library. After the awkward kiss and agreement to her many different "be careful's", we make our way to the garage through the basement where Emily's music is much louder.

"Cats screeching," Stephanie whispers in a chuckle.

I merely hum in agreement as I grab my jacket. When I look back, Stephanie is no longer right behind me. She stands at the door to Emily's inner sanctum, what was once supposed to be Dad's estrogen-free zone until Emily took it over to convert it into a shrine to her music.

Korean rap floods the foreground of the melody. It's actually good. It'd be better if I somehow understood it, but it most definitely flows to the beat. The words have the feel of physical emotions thrown at my face and combined with the music, the effect is profound enough to give me goose bumps.

"Damn, that's actually pretty good," Stephanie seems to read my mind. "Would she mind if we saw her?"

A warning dies in my throat as I reach for her arm, but she already has the door open.

Emily's body rolls as she slides low into an intricate combination of arms, head, and hip movements under careful scrutiny against the full length mirror. She's graceful, fast, fluid. It suddenly occurs to me that I'm holding my breath.

Sensing us, Emily stops in her tracks. Sweating from head to toe, her eyes stare back at us shocked for one second before they fill with red hot fury.

"Oh my God, Em, you're really good!" Stephanie offers a smile but when she glances back at me, her eyes have that oh shit look I know so well.

Emily ignores her and calmly walks to her desk to pause the song. She seems to take a moment to compose herself and levels her eyes at me as she crosses her arms. Whenever her face looks this stone cold, my insides turn to water.

"You guys can't read or something?" Emily barks.

I shake my head, not knowing what to say.

"It's my fault," Stephanie squeaks. "The song was cool, I just thought I'd take a peek. You know how nosy I can be. You're really good."

The look on Emily's face is enough to stop Stephanie from taking another step.

"I'm really sorry, Em. We were just leaving." I hope the tone of my voice conveys enough of an apology. In response, Emily glares and gestures with her face and hand with an expression that says why are you still here? "C'mon, Steph. We gotta go."

Stephanie starts uttering another apology but she quickly walks out to the garage instead. I'm about to apologize once more but Emily slams the door in my face. I can't be too upset. Five different pieces of paper emphatically deny entrance.

Music begins to play. The bass is so booming and deep, I can feel it in my rib cage. My mind conjures an array of fine insults, but she'd only call me something worse and I've grown tired of such uncomfortable moments.

After a few deep breaths, I slide behind the wheel knowing I'll have to mollify Stephanie.

"Yea... I don't  know. Sorry."

"Well, you weren't the bitch just now," Stephanie growls, clearly wounded. "Is she always such an obnoxious assh-"

I start the engine to cut her off.

"I mean, what was that about? What's the point of doing performance arts if you're not going to perform to an audience?."

"I know, she'll be okay."

When we park, Stephanie is not quick to get out of the car, defying my expectation. Instead, she stares at me as though fearful of voicing her thoughts. "What's the matter?"

"Brooke, is she always that pissed off when someone barges in on her?"

Something in her blue gaze bothers me. "Wouldn't you be?" I throw the question back a bit too quickly.

"Well, probably," Stephanie says after a moment. "But I wouldn't look at them like I wanted to murder them, you know?"

The chill along my neck has nothing to do with the winter air.

"Is she usually like that?"

"She's just crabby. Probably had another bad day. You know?"

Steph seems to accept the feeble excuse. "Oh, okay. Lesson learned then. Next time, I'll try to make an appointment with little miss diva." She shakes her head then looks at me with a beaming smile. "Ready?" She checks her blonde waves before leaping out of the car and kicks the door shut behind her.

The slam brings to my mind the look on Emily's face as she threw her door at me.

Furious.

Indignant.

Betrayed.

"Emily's not often like that," I say to no one as a tear runs down my cheek. A feeling of loss crashes like frigid, gust driven waves over me. "Just all the time." Tears well in my eyes.

Stephanie waves at me from the entrance to the library, but I only move when the smile on her face is replaced by that same mask of concern she had earlier in my room.

...why is your sister so weird...

Continue on Chapter 2

5 Questions on :(:

After reading through some of the emails I've received since hinting at a new novel, I felt I needed to answer some of the questions as quickly as possible. I picked 5 since most others are very personal in nature. So here they are:

1. Where do I get the book? - PA, NY, OH, RI, MA, Spain, Ecuador.

My apologies. :(: is a Live Book which means that you are getting the chapters one at a time as they are written on the blog. Very unconventional, but it does force me to stay committed to the writing. My plan is to publish a new chapter every 2 to 3 weeks. As the story develops, the challenge will be greater to produce cohesion and timeline. It's no different than your favorite weekly shows that make you wait one week for the continuation of the story. It also gives readers an opportunity to make comments on the state of affairs on the page. I don't expect many public comments. :(: lends to more private messages with uplifting and heartbreaking accounts of personal experience with depression or anxiety and in some extremely sad cases, suicide.

2. Why the emojis :(:? - PA, VA, NY, OH, RI, MA, TX, NJ, FL, LA, NC, Spain, Ecuador, Canada.

If you're familiar with this ambigram, you'll recall that it went viral in 2015. The tattoo brought awareness to mental health issues particularly depression among teenagers.
Like all my stories, they have roots in real experiences, and this story is as close to home as it gets, even closer than My Two Flags.

 I thought how do I convey a similar message?
I explored several titles but then I felt that an emoji was not only perfect as something to force a second look, but it also made the story relevant.

3. Is this story related to Gaze and Next Chapter? (Everyone)

Long story short, yes.
The story centers around the Amaya sisters, Brooke and Emily.
Just like these other novels, :(: is told from one of the characters'  point of view in present tense. In this case Brooke at 17, a junior in high school.
Emily is a freshman at 14.
Of course their parents Gwen and Tony Amaya are central to the story and presented me the opportunity of bringing in some old friends like Samantha and the incomparable Lewis back to the page.

4. What's with the Korean on the cover? (Everyone)

Yes, the Korean. So, my daughter Amber, who will be 13 in a few days and join the rank of teenagedom, (Help!) is an avid Kpop fan. I can remember the moment she showed me a BTS video. As soon as I watched them, I thought I'd be the typical dad and make fun of her taste in music and pick the band apart from their Gucci clothes to the make up and the dancing, but it only took one song to make me a fan of their work.

The Korean language doesn't always translate well into English. I have some experience with that as some phrases in Spanish make no sense directly translated, but the translated lyrics in songs like Epiphany, Euphoria, I Need You, Magic Shop, Love Yourself are poignant, relevant, empathetic, and beautiful in every sense. Their message is like a prescription for depression, and it's delivered in incredible performances.

Kpop makes Amber quite unique among her peers and she finds such joy in it, especially when she endures a tough day at school. I myself found a type of salvation in music when I was a teen. So I thought, why not make Kpop a trait for Emily? It's her cross to bear as it evokes tremendous criticism from those whose natural instinct is to attack anything that's different than what they consider the norm.

5. So what does it say on the cover? (Everyone)

This is where I get to have a little bit of fun. To date, there has been several guesses as to the identity of the character on the cover of Gaze.
So far it's been a 50/50 that it's Gwen or Samantha and I've never answered that question. The answer is within the pages.
Following that trend, the answer to this question is within the pages.

I think it's safe to assume that we've either known someone, or we ourselves have been that someone dealing with depression, anxiety, adhd, and other issues that were attributed in the old days to just part of being a teenager.

Today, we are more aware of mental health issues affecting us, but if you take a moment to go over statistics, the one demographic most affected is our school age kids.

These are key years to the development of a person, and mental health issues are so incredibly misunderstood and stigmatized by parents, by educators, and by peers. Add the effect of social media platforms, public opinion, the quest for self-validation, and it's a miracle kids become adults with any degree of sanity.

:(: delves into the lives affected by mental health issues, and is written in the hope of bringing awareness, as well as to merely to forge a connection with anyone going through a similar experience whether peripherally or personally.

Thank you for your questions. I sincerely hope I've piqued your interest and follow where the story goes. As for me, time to write.

© 2020 J.A.Robayo

Cool, start reading!

Intro

소개

intro

Emily ignores the sting in her eyes and the pain through her thighs. If anything, she welcomes the physical pain. It's a welcome distraction from other types.

Bright pink strands of hair shake like frayed flags in the wind as she moves to the beat.

Five... Six... Seven... Eight...

The drop builds up in a staccato of snare drums and sharp tones. Her teeth clench, brow furrows in fierce determination to conquer the upcoming movements.

One,  kick right... Two, side step and pop... Three, front kick, slide out.. Four... 

Windmilling arms create the illusion of a mechanical wheel as her torso bends back, where she holds the count for exactly two beats. When the music explodes out of the speakers to a one note finish, she is on her knee, fist raised, eyes up.

The world goes still, the silence broken only by her ragged breathing. Her honey-colored eyes slowly focus on the reality of the scuffed hardwood floor under her feet. A blemish catches her eye, testament to the violence of her dancing. The sight produces a grin on the heart-shaped visage.

On the mirror, sweat glistens on smooth cheeks flushed with effort. Rivulets meander over the creases of toned shoulders and arms. Matted pink strands sweep over one eye, which glints with triumph.

The overall image is pretty or at least that's what she's been told. Her parents have remarked on her good looks for so long, she no longer believes it. Not when she sees for herself what she really looks like.

Small nagging voices at the corners of her mind command her eyes to the many physical flaws only she seems to be aware of. Faint visions of every mistake nip at her confidence, making her heart pound in her temples. Before the tears set in, Emily quickly cues up another song and stares at her reflection with all the defiance she can muster.

As the music fills her mind, chasing away the nagging doubts, she grins as her muscles scream. 

The beat is her world. 

The verse is her elation.

The bridge is her calm.

The music is her everything. 

음악는 나위 구원자

 She allows the Hangul to float in her mind like a mantra as her lips mouth the words.

음악는 나위 구원자

The phrase always proves true.

Continue on Chapter 1

:(:

Growing up, Brooke Amaya often heard people remark on just how different her little sister is.

Different in every way, from clothes to music and everything in between, none of those differences compare to the ones in their lives as teenagers.

At 17, Brooke is familiar with the ebbs and flows of puberty, hormones, and the typical teenage convoluted bundle of feelings notorious for healing and wounding with equal measure. However, she never felt, or witnessed the destructive emotional maelstrom that takes a hold of Emily when she starts high school.

As her parents and teachers struggle to help Emily's worsening attitude, Brooke finds herself as the only one left to battle the dark emotions that are intent on destroying her little sister, those around them, and possibly even herself.



5 Questions about :(:

intro      chapter 1      chapter 2

Epoch Ch. 5 Love

Your world, your life, is simultaneously fueled and governed by an array of emotions though none stronger than love. Love will motivate both sides of your moral compass. In other words, you humans will do anything for love.

For me, a manuscript, love is a thrilling current that flows through and around barriers.

Good and evil aren’t nearly as complex as this one paramount aspect of the human experience. This part of life spawned millions of beautiful pieces of writing from haiku poems and haunting melodies, to epic novels and timeless series. Yes, we are talking about love.

Love.

Understandably, the term brings to mind walks on the beach, sunsets, flowers, wedding rings, and all the romantic tropes you find in every soap opera.

Love is so much more than the inspiration for a kiss however. It's a commitment, a crazy act of impulsiveness that defies logic. Love comes in so many different forms that new songs and new books are still being written about it.

Love is measured in eternities, not merely years. Love is the strength that keeps a Noah waiting for his Ally against all odds. Love is the blind fury of the push behind the blade that finally ends the feud of the Capulets and the Montagues. Love is the sacrifice of thousands of young men breaking through the Nazi defenses in Normandy. All sacrifices are products of a love so whole it transcend living.

Love is the heat behind the mind-blowing scenes of passion coloring a page with images that make hearts race and bodies burn with desire.

Love is the tip of the emotional iceberg where longing, dreaming, hatred, vengeance, valor, fear, ire, and acceptance wrestle for control of your souls.

Think about what you’ve done for love.

Some of you became creative and courageous enough to lay it all out on a love note, a song, a simple asking the object of your affection for that first date.

Some of you found the strength to break the chains of a vice to find a loving embrace of forgiveness from your children.

Some of you conquered your fears and ran into that church to stop a ceremony in order not to lose your soul mate.

Some of you parked on a dark street to stare at a blackened window where that one person that made your heart stutter slept, just to feel close to them.

Love is binary. Like any coin of value, it has two sides. Its dark side is all consuming, heart wrenching, spiritual agony when it's broken, betrayed or unrequited.

Some of you felt a divine touch  of love when you held a little piece of you and the one you love for the first time. In your arms, that little face evoked such profound emotions no one could’ve prepared you for, and you were never to be the same.

What would life be without love?

And furthermore, what would a story be without it?

5 Years Later

I still believe I was possessed when I wrote Gaze  and Next Chapter.

2020 finds me still in awe of the many predictions I left on the pages all those years ago. Okay, prediction may be a bit strong, but there are several parallels with the outcome of those stories and my life today.

In fact, upon revisiting the prologue in My Two Flags, I was dumbfounded to find myself in the scene of the pages. Every object I described on the page years ago materialized around me. From the book on my shelf to the view through my windows. I swear I might have even heard a distinct British chuckle.

I may have left my works in progress in skeletal stages, patiently awaiting my return to the keyboard. My trusty wave keyboard has been on hold for over five years now.

Gone are the fans I once had.

Gone is the author website. Thank goodness for Amazon!

Fewer are the messages I receive with demands for the next book.

To those of you who find yourselves staring at this words, my most sincere apologies for this absence.

In the book front, I got tired of literary agents advising to turn Lewis into a vampire and give Samantha magic powers to sell the story, and frankly I fail to see the point of writing when we are all easily entertained in social media with all those crazy cat videos and funny memes. What's the point of writing novels these days?

In the life front, I found my career. Like the much beloved Lewis, I have a view of the Thames similar to the view in his London office. Okay, mine is in New London, Connecticut, but I can't deny the symmetry. You could even say we work in similar fields, security, if you recall.

The sweet little girls who inspired Brooke and Emily are now teenagers who no longer regard me as the high quality, laugh-out-loud source of entertainment they once adored. I tell you one dad joke and it's all over.

The incomparable woman who inspired the likes of Gwen and Samantha fought with me through some really thin years and is happily still tolerating yours truly.

Our chocolate Lab, the unsinkable Bailey, is now frail with more gray on her face. Believe it or not, she has been the rock for all of us through more thin than thick.

That leaves me.

The author in me.

The sole responsible party for the creation of seemingly endless pages of joy, grief, love, angst, and laughter (and entire forests worth of rejected manuscripts), completely befuddled to feel my fingers tap the keys turning thoughts into words once again.

Why? Why now?

I think I'd better avoid some Shakesperean demon's possessive persuasions and get it all out of the mind of Javier A. Robayo.

Making her list

My name is Javier and I've been a husband for 16 years.
Some of you may be married less or more time than I, but it's safe to assume that after the bliss of the first few years, that maddening, all-consuming combination of love and youthful lust, fades to the background and life takes over with its routines and mundane commitments. Right? With children in the mix, one or two pets, and full time employment, life really takes a big bite out of the time pie.

Suddenly, there's barely a chance for a peck on the lips on the way to a kid activity. Those long moments of gazing into each other's eyes are replaced with heavy-lidded glances and a murmured good night, grateful to finally call it a day.

I'm the husband that often wonders what happened to the girl that always held my hand, rested her head on my chest, talked to me endlessly. I wonder what happened that I don't even seem to make it to the long list of things she claims must be addressed.

I am ashamed to admit it's taken me quite a while to come to terms with the fact that as life goes on, everything changes.
At this point, some of you may shake your heads and utter a "No, duh!" After all it's just another product of life turning once fiery lovers into the quintessential husband and wife with the American average of two kids and 1.5 pets, locked tight to a routine in the pursuit of a life we still refer to as the American Dream.

So, where is this little diatribe going?

Well, to be fair, us boys develop a hell of a lot slower than girls so this is not surprise to the ladies, and it's as good an excuse as any, at least for me. But it's worth discussing it because out of all the resolutions I tend to make at the end of each year, this time, I'm simply willing to change and with enough work, move up to the same level where my soulmate has been, practically by herself for a long time.

What brought this about? Sheri and our oldest left to visit family in Pennsylvania while our youngest and I stayed behind.

At first I wondered what I would do with all the time I was going to have. I mean, pffft, how hard was this going to be? It's just Amber, our pup Bailey, and (shaking my head) Fifi and Coco, our two intrepid Guinea pigs. I'm off work until the 4th so really, I got this. No problem.


So this is what happened...

I thought my morning would be coffee and a news show, a two to three mile run, some floor exercises, a shower and on with the day.

Wrong. I scrambled to find something Amber would deem worthy of eating for breakfast, coaxed Bailey to go out and eat her breakfast, and make sure the Guineas had water and whatever their necessities were, as Amber taught me. That left me dishes and cups to wash, a kitchen to clean, sweep the rooms to keep Timothy hay from invading other parts of the house, get Amber's clothes from the previous day, make the bed, cajole my kid into taking a shower, dry and untangle her hair, find her something to wear. The morning was gone before I knew it.

In the midst of that whirlwind of activity, as I looked proudly at the spotless kitchen before doing some laundry, I realized that I was only keeping up because I'm off work.

My pretty wife works long days every day and when Saturday finally comes, she's fighting an uphill battle to do all the work I did times 5 days. The weekend slips away from us but thanks to her hard work, we'll have food in the fridge, clean clothes, a clean house with everything in its place. She comes to bed with a grateful smile to hit the pillow and fly into oblivion for a few hours of rest.

There's barely time for a kiss, let alone anything that remotely resembles a date.

Sunday is a short day as we both prepare for another week of work and the cycle goes on and on.

No wonder I don't make her list. Superheroes don't always have time for themselves after all.

I had a few days, just me and Amber, Bailey the dog, and the intrepid Guineas, and after working on the house, I didn't even make my own list.

I realized I've been selfish and deluded into believing that I am entitled to spend time with my wife, but with two kids, a dog and the intrepid Guneas, there's just not a lot time to ourselves.

Well, she's been telling me for a long time and I was too man to see it until I experienced it.
That brought up another point in my brain. There are two of us grown ups and we barely keep up with everything. How are single parents doing it?

Single parents, I salute you.

Husbands, we all tend to be that guy, like I've been. Make sure you put a lot of value into your mates' efforts. You may not find your name anywhere on her list of priorities day in and day out, but trust me, her hard work is a benefit not easily attained. Before choosing loneliness that may lead to bitterness and few other bad turns in the road, jump in and be a help, and accept that sometimes love is not a cuddle session or more, but working together to make life better for your kids, your dog, and maybe your intrepid Guineas.

To us men, nothing says I love you like a good, breath-robbing kiss.

To the ladies, few things convey more love and understanding than a simply "How can I help you, honey?" from us.

Don't let it take years to come to this realization. If you're already there, terrific, hats off to you. If you haven't gotten there, I hope you do.

A marriage doesn't last when you expect your mate to be there because they signed on the dotted line. It lasts when they want to be there with you because they're never left alone to do the work life requires of us.

May your new year be one of revelations, health, prosperity, triumph, and above all, love.

Know that it can be expressed in countless forms, and treasure the stolen moments that find just the two of you without the kids, the dog or even a pair of intrepid Guineas.

Javier Robayo