"New Avengers: Breakout" by Alisa Kwitney

            This review is of the prose novel “New Avengers: Breakout” by Alisa Kwitney, not the graphic novel.

            The book starts off as Natasha Romanova/Black Widow invades the S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier, catching the attention of Agents Clint Barton/Hawkeye and Jessica Drew/Spider-Woman. Upon her capture, Commander Maria Hill and current head of S.H.I.E.L.D. tasks the agents to bring Natasha to the maximum maximum security prison for super villains or other prisoners who can’t be contained in a regular prison, the Raft, off of Ryker’s Island in New York City. Hill gives Clint the nuclear option of hitting the kill on Natasha should she try any resistance. Clint and Jessica meet with S.H.I.E.L.D. liaison Luke Cage, a man with unbreakable skin and super strength, as Jessica’s powers are currently inactive. As they attempt to bring Natasha to her cell, super villain Max Dillon/Electro stages a breakout. Steve Rogers/Captain America, Tony Stark/Iron Man, and Peter Parker/Spider-Man all head to the Raft in an attempt to contain the prisoners. The heroes all fight together, but forty-two super villains and Natasha are able to escape.

            Commander Hill demotes Clint and Jessica, Jessica secretly discovering her powers are not as inactive as she had been made to be believed. Steve is reminded of the assemblage of the original Avengers, the original team having disbanded following Wanda Maximoff/Scarlet Witch’s breakdown, and decides a new team is needed. Commander Hill is not happy with this and does not recognize the New Avengers’ status as a superhero team, but Steve defies her wishes.

            The New Avengers assess the damage caused by the Raft breakout and get a lead on the true mastermind behind the breakout, the super villain Karl Lykos/Sauron, now in the surprisingly tropical region in Antarctica the Savage Land, populated by Mutates (artificial mutants) and dinosaurs and other prehistoric creatures. The team heads to the Savage Land and meets opposition and a few surprises S.H.I.E.L.D. has been attempting to keep secret.

            As far as the novel goes, I rate this as a 6/10. Having read the graphic novel, I had slight disappointment with the adaptation. The rewrite of history of Clint as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and having erased any story with Natasha was an interesting choice, but still I felt it detracted from my enjoyment, having been a fan of the graphic novel, which had no inclusion of Clint and Natasha, and lacked the inclusion of Logan/Wolverine, who was a surprise but welcome addition. During the breakout scene, I felt that some of the villains, such as my favorite super villain Carnage, were perhaps defeated too easily. Some of the story in the Savage Land, to me, felt a little drawn out. As far as accessibility to casual readers of the comics or those who have never picked up a comic in their entire life may have difficulties reading this novel. Several of the super villains have never been presented in any other form of medium such as film, and even before this graphic novel, I had no idea there was a Spider-Woman, whose prominent storyline may seem perhaps hard to accept. Luke Cage had his own Netflix series, but his storyline in the novel has no correspondence to the series, so it may seem alien to inexperience readers. Some of the humor was a little dull or lacking. The slightly unrequited love triangle between Clint, Jessica, and Natasha didn’t detract from the story, but it perhaps just didn’t add too much to it. If you are a fan of the graphic novel, I really can’t exactly recommend it directly, but you may want to pick it up. The changes with Clint and Natasha were interesting, but purists may find offense to it. All-in-all, it wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t stellar either. It was a good effort, though, and I appreciated it enough, but I still feel that the graphic novel was better, but again, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t read the novel, but it was relatively interesting, so I can recommend it to you if you have knowledge of the comics, but if you don’t, this book might not be for you.

Lucky Part Four

    The following is part of a true story.

The next few days passed without much different a routine than the days before the bird entered out life. The only difference was Mom’s calls to Jean. She kept asking how our bird friend was. Jean happily responded that our bird was doing okay. Considering what had happened, the bird’s life was not assured. Sure it was doing fine at the moment, but really its survival was not guaranteed. After all it went through, with the injury, the cold, and the damaged wing, odds were somewhat against our little bird friend. But every day, the little one kept going. It was truly a fighter. Jean managed to get into contact with a Wildlife Rehabilitation Guy who was willing to take our little bird and try to get it back to health and able to fly again, but there were no guarantees that it could ever fly again, or even survive any longer. It was all touch and go. To say this was intense was an understatement. After Jean got the bird to the Wildlife Rehabilitation Guy, we called Jean regularly just to see how our little bird friend was doing. And fortunately, things were going great. The bird was making great progress. Things were looking good.

 

            Finally, on one day, Jean gave us a call, saying the Wildlife Rehabilitation Guy was on his way with our little bird friend. So Mom and I crossed the street to Jean and John’s house to wait for him to come with the bird. The wait was not long. The Wildlife Rehabilitation Guy arrived. He stepped out of the car and got the bird, who was in a large plastic container, of course with breathing holes. We then learned five facts about the bird. First off, it was a yellow speckled sparrow. Next that it was a female. I did not convey this in my narration, but prior to this, we thought it was a little guy. On top of that, it was mature. Considering its size and comfort in Mom’s hand, we figured it was a baby. Fourth was that it had a head injury, which really wasn’t surprising. Finally, we learned it was, in fact, still able to fly. The Wildlife Rehabilitation Guy had brought our bird here because this was her natural habitat, where she grew up and was comfortable, to release her where she belonged. And so, the honors to open up the container was given to Mom, considering she was the one who found her. And so, mom opened up the container. At first, the bird looked confused, like she didn’t know quite what to do. Then, she spread her wings and leapt out of the container. Then she started to flap her wings, and took to the sky. She first alighted in one of Jean’s bushes, then flew off on her own to continue her life in the wild as a free animal. We all clapped as we watched her fly off. Then we shared a few words, especially thanking the Wildlife Rehabilitation Guy, then we all went back to our homes. Although we never actually give her a name, I thought of the only name that would ever fit our little bird friend: Lucky!

Lucky Part Three

   The following is part of a true story.

            So for a while, John, Sandy and I watched the bird. The bird was hopping around the cage. It seemed pretty with it, showing very little sign of damage. If there was conversation, I don’t remember. This was a very unusual, crazy, overwhelming and exciting situation. I even observed, “This is so crazy you just can’t make it up.”

            Finally, Jean and Mom came to the cage. “Do you think we can let it go?” Jean asked.

            After all of the watching, Mom said, “I think so.”

            Having seen the bird going on about the cage, John and I agreed.

            We walked outside with the birdcage. Mom placed it on the ground and opened the cage door. Mom coaxed the bird out of the cage. The bird flapped its wing and began to fly… only for a couple of seconds, literally. It landed in the snow. It began to hop around in the snow, but couldn’t manage to fly again.

            Mom immediately ran into the snow, trying to catch the bird, who was hopping around fast, but confused. It didn’t know where it was or what to do. After several hops, Mom was able to catch the bird, which then laid down into Mom’s Humane Society of the United States gloves, comfortable in the warmth of Mom’s hands.

            Jean held out the birdcage, and we were able to get the bird back into the birdcage after much struggle in trying to separate it from Mom’s gloved hands. It seemed that the bird had injured one of its wings, apparently unable to fly.

            We then assessed the situation. We had bird who couldn’t fly resting in a cage. We then decided that the best thing to do was leave it with Jean and see what would happen. Unfortunately, the bird didn’t seem like it would recover from being separates from its native habitat, being it the cold, and unable to fly. So that night, Mom and I said our goodbyes too the bird, hoping for it to have a peaceful passing away, then walked back across the street, sad, yet happy to have given the bird a little more time to live and that it didn’t freeze to death on our wooden deck. So then Mom went back to her room and I went back to reading my digital comics until we both went off into our sleepy status.

Lucky Part Two

  The following is part of a true story.

            At first, I wasn’t sure what to do, then I said, “I’ll go get Jean.”

            Jean was our neighbor across the street. She has had countless pets over the years, and I figured she’d be able to help, maybe even have a birdcage.

            I ran across the street in the cold night. Fortunately there was no traffic.

            I rang the doorbell. Her husband John answered the door. I launched into the fastest description of the situation as I could, probably messing up words. Essentially, I said, “There’s this bird! It flew into the house! Mom’s got it! Is Jean here?”

            John looked at me a little confused, then called out, “She’s in the potty. Hold on a second.” He walked over towards the bathroom and called out to her, exclaiming the situation as he understood it. Soon enough, Jean came out. “What’s the matter?” she asked.

            I was out of breath at this point, and essentially said, “Bird! Flew in house! Mom’s got!”

            Then the doorbell rang. Mom was at the door with the bird. Jean let my mom and the bird in. “It’s just sitting in your hands,” Jean observed. It was true. The little bird was just contently relaxing in Mom’s hands, just looking around curiously.

            “Aww,” Jean said, then turned to me and said, “I’ve got a birdcage in the attic. Can you help me get it?” she asked.

            I followed her into the house. She led me into the house. I helped her pull down the stairs into the attic and she walked up. She rummaged around a bit then produced the birdcage. “Here, take this,” she called.

            I reached up and took the cage from Jean’s hands, then got out of her way.

            As she walked down, she said to me, “Nice jammies!”

            I looked down. I had been relaxing and reading my digital comics so well and had been in my Avengers Assemble t-shirt and pajama pants. I had put on my heavy coat and boots, at least, but no socks. I had just had no time to dress due to the seriousness of the situation.

            Mom had been wearing jeans and a long sleeve shirt, but she could only barely slide on boots and had no coat, what with holding a bird in her hands and all.

            Once Jean had gotten down, she pointed me back into her living room, where I placed the birdcage down. Mom and Jean put the bird into the cage.

            Their dog Sandy was rather excited. This craziness was going on around her and it seemed to interest her.

            Mom and Jean had gone on to talk, leaving John, Sandy, and myself with the bird.

            “I think she wants to adopt the bird,” I observed.

            “I don’t think so,” John replied, “I think she wants to eat her.”

            Sandy had been very interested the whole time. She had been circling around, staring at the bird. She did seem that she want the bird as dessert, jumping around, slobbering, and trying to run towards the bird.

            “Mm,” I said in agreement.

Lucky Part One

 The following is part of a true story.

Lucky began on a cold January evening. It wasn’t snowing, but it was very cold. Mom was home, not working that day. She was resting in her bedroom. I was in the living room, reading digital comics on my laptop. We were both doing our own thing, essentially ignoring each other, or just minding our own business, to be more polite.

            At some point, we heard an enormous BAM! against the side of the house. I jumped, almost knocking my laptop off my lap. It was so loud and sudden and just so surprising. It came without any warning which, I guess are how things like this work.

            “What did you do?” Mom screamed from the bedroom. I’ve been known to throw and break things.

            For once this wasn’t me. “It wasn’t me! It came from outside!” I called back.

            Mom came out of her bedroom into the living room. Myself, well, I figured it was the deck outside the house. The deck always makes THUMP!s during the winter, the cold reacts with the wood, so I was ready to dismiss it. Mom, on the other hand, wasn’t.

            Mom walked over to the door and opened it. She looked over to the left of the door. “Oh, no!” she cried out.

            I kind of dismissed it. I was still reading my digital comics, after all.

            “Aww! Oh, no!” Mom said sadly.

            I sighed, and said almost dismissively, “What?”

            “It’s a bird. It flew into the side of the house,” Mom said sadly.

            “Yeah, like that’s never happened before,” I said, rolling my eyes. It does happen from time to time, after all.

            “I’ll go clean it up,” Mom said. Mom went to look for a shoebox and gloves. This was a standard thing for us. It happened once or twice a year. Mom had just gotten gloves from her Client that were given as a gift from The Humane Society of the United States, so she grabbed the shoebox and put on the gloves.

            I continued reading my digital comics on my laptop as Mom opened the door. She walked outside. I kept reading until she let out a gasp.

            I sighed and called out, “What?”

            “It’s still alive!” she cried out. She then started giving the baby talk to the bird.

            I just continued reading my digital comics on my laptop.

            “Come here!” Mom called.

            I sighed and rolled my eyes. “I’m reading,” I said, drawing out my words.

            “You’re never going to see this again in your life!” Mom called out again.

            I sighed again irritably and put down my laptop. I walked over to the door. There Mom was, standing with a little bird cupped in her hands. It was a cute little thing. It was looking around, confused. I could almost imagine it saying “Are you my mommy?”

I Wanted a Dog Part Four

 The following is part of an original poem I wrote.

I had never lost a pet before,

And when this happens,

Anyone who has the first loss of a pet,

Knows how I felt.

The devastation had he was gone.

No more googly eyes,

No more slobbering,

No more cuddling,

No one to watch cartoons with.

It would never happen again.

And of course we hear the awful attempts at comfort.

“It was only a dog.”

Well, I have a major counter:

If your kid died,

Would you like it,

If someone said,

“It was only a child.”

Because that’s what a dog is:

Family.

You can’t replace that.

And I wanted what any dog lover wants:

A new dog.

Sure I could never replace my old dog.

You can’t expect that.

There is no replacing any living being.

To expect the same this,

Is just not going to happen.

Even an exact lookalike,

Would never be the same.

No two creatures are alike.

Still, I wanted a new dog.

A new love, a new friend, a new companion.

And time went on, and I wanted a dog.

It was just never convenient for the family.

Still, I wanted a dog.

And I wanted a dog.

And I wanted a dog.

And I got a lizard…

I Wanted a Dog Part Three

  The following is part of an original poem I wrote.

And he loved cartoons.

He knew when they were on.

He barked me awake,

Then we cuddled on the couch and watched them.

He was a doggie alarm clock.

He had to watch his cartoons, crazy as that sounds.

He often watched more of them than I did.

He did have gas problems.

We suffered,

He thought it was wonderful.

And he had a girlfriend,

The big dog across the street.

It was true love.

They would have gotten married if dogs could legally.

The two of them have lots of time together,

When I was in a bad place,

When I was away for a while.

And then there was the seating arrangement.

He’d sit on the couch with me.

I know many dog owners won’t,

But I needed the snuggles.

He would occasionally hop on without me,

Or else try to push me off the couch.

And he was fast.

Let go of that leash,

And he’d be off at a run,

Not responding to me.

All the running he did,

 It was amazing he was never hit by a car.

He was also a coward.

Thunderstorms scared him.

Loud noises scared him,

But who actually likes sudden,

Unexpected loud noises.

My elevated voice scared him.

Most of all,

My cat scared him,

But if you met her,

You’d know why.

And then it happened.

It was all great.

Until it wasn’t.

I Wanted a Dog Part Two

 The following is part of an original poem I wrote. 

As laughs, I made up songs about him.

Sure they were stupid.

Sure performing them in school made me look like an ass.

But I made them up because I loved him.

And I made up the nickname “Booby Dog.”

I honestly have no idea where it came from.

I guess it was like nicknames couples make.

A sign of affection.

And I loved the booby dog.

I went through very hard times and low points.

But I knew that when I got home, he’d be there.

To hug, to kiss, to hold, to pet; he was there.

And we all need that.

A port in the storm. A rock to hold on to, as the waves came crashing.

A sign that at least someone loved me.

And the love of a dog means so much,

A love no human can match.

I’d get off that school bus and I would hear the barking.

His human was home.

No matter how bad the day, I heard those barks.

And I knew I had someone to cuddle with,

Someone to talk to, who would listen to me.

Even if it was filled with googly eyes,

A vacant expression.

But he got me in a way no one had before.

Did he understand what I was saying?

Probably not, but at least he would listen.

And isn’t what we all want anyway?

Someone to talk to, no judgement.

Because judging is something dogs don’t do.

They don’t think you’re stupid or crazy.

You treat them good they’ll treat you good in return.

Now, a bipolar guy like me needs lots of love.

And my dog was in no short supply of love.

Since the moment we met,

The “Mommy, I’ll take good care of him,”

It was true love.

And thinking back,

I didn’t pick him, he picked me.

And I lucked out to have had him.

And my dog danced.

Not just the trot-trot a dog does when their paws are up.

No, my dog did the hula.

And he danced the chicken dance.

Yes, it seems an odd image, but he did it.

I Wanted a Dog Part One

 The following is part of an original poem I wrote.

I had a dog for fifteen years.

He was my bestest buddy in the whole wide world.

We did just about everything together.

When he was a puppy we went of adventures.

We’d walk for miles and for hours.

We’d go uphill, we’d go downhill.

We’d go walking for three hours, sometime four.

His ears would flap in the breeze as he trotted up the street.

Everyone would look at his pathetic face and melt.

For he just looked so ugly he was cute.

He had a prominent under bite.

He had googly eyes.

He was ugly, but the ugly was cute.

He was very friendly.

He loved just about anyone he met.

He loved belly rubs.

If he thought you’d give him one,

He’d flop on his side,

It belly rob position.

He was fun to pet.

He loved it.

He loved to snuggle.

Such great comfort.

Just a warm body.

It felt comforting and reassuring.

Sure his fur was wiry,

But still it felt good.

And his tongue was useful.

He loved to eat.

He was my living dishwasher.

Give him a messy plate,

Come back a minute later,

Nothing would be on that plate.

It made washing dishes very easy.

And he made lots of doggie licks.

Sure it was slimy,

But his saliva was magic.

I know this sounds crazy,

But he cured my acne,

And he healed wounds better than Neosporin.

You’d have had to be licked by him to get that.

And oddly enough,

He loved vegetables.

Give him a plate with veggies,

They’d be gone in twenty seconds.

He even are the Chinese vegetables,

The ones they give in the plates,

When you ordered Chinese food,

                                                                   The ones no one eats. 

"Astonishing X-Men: Gifted" by Peter David

            This is a review of the “Astonishing X-Men: Gifted” prose novel written by Peter David, not the graphic novel of the same title.

            To start off, Scott Summers/Cyclops had reformed the X-Men to establish mutants as a positive force of good to the general public, to “astonish” the world. He recruited Emma Frost, Hank McCoy/Beast, Logan/Wolverine, and Kitty Pryde as his main team and as teachers at Professor Xavier’s School For Gifted Youngsters to educate the new generation of mutants. The team started off at odds, Kitty having a hard time accepting Emma over her criminal past and Logan having a hard time accepting Scott moving on with a romantic relationship with Emma after the death of Jean Grey whom both Scott and Logan loved.

            The team was called off on a mission where they encountered the mysterious Ord, claiming to hail from the Breakworld. But this was a distraction. While the X-Men were busy battling Ord, geneticist Doctor Kavita Rao held a press conference that turned the X-Men’s humanitarian efforts upside down: she revealed that she had developed a cure for the “disease” of being a mutant. In truth, the cure had been developed by Ord’s people.

            Hank was then placed in a difficult situation; his prior attempt to cure his mutation had given him blue fur and a catlike appearance. This new cure could give him a chance at a “normal” life. This put him at odds with Logan, who couldn’t accept Hank’s desire to be a normal human.

            The students of Xavier’s School were also divided, feeling the same conflict as Hank. Students Edward Tancredi and Jay Guthrie started a feud over their shared mutation of flight, Jay wanting to lose his wings and be a musician and Eddie wanting to someday graduate to the rank of X-Man.

            The X-Men feared the government’s reaction to the cure, the potential enforcement of the cure on all mutants rather than using the cure on a peaceful voluntary basis.

            Hank acquired a sample of the cure from Doctor Rao, and during analysis discovered that a former member of the X-Men believed deceased was a guinea pig in creating the cure, causing the X-Men to go on a scouting mission to Benetech, Doctor Rao’s place of employment. While the team was busy, Ord paid a visit to Xavier’s School and cured a student as way of making a statement to the X-Men who now sought to learn more about the cure and put a stop to it.

            As far as accessibility to casual readers, it’s relatively simple enough to pick up on with limited prior knowledge of the X-Men as the primary team have been established in other X-Men media such as the films or cartoons. For fans of the X-Men comics, it’s highly enjoyable as most of the history of the comics has not been rewritten, and for those who are fans of the “Astonishing X-Men: Gifted” graphic novel, it was really an enhancement to the original story and will definitely be enjoyed. On a rating scale of 1 being the worst and 10 being the best, I rank it at a 9. As a fan of the comic, I enjoyed the retelling and the low amount of changes to a story that was already almost perfect was a definite benefit. One of my favorite lines was edited slightly, another cut out, and certain scenes were rewritten in a way that weren’t exactly to my taste, but that said, this was very effectively written, and any fans of the “Astonishing X-Men” storylines written by Joss Whedon would most assuredly find this book entertaining.

"Civil War" by Stuart Moore

            So I just finished reading “Civil War” by Stuart Moore and wanted to give it a review. Note that this is a Marvel comics prose novel and not a book about any real civil war. And when I say prose novel, I mean a novel and not a comic book. This is also actually based on a comic book storyline originally written by Mark Millar. The graphic novel was also the inspiration for the movie “Captain America: Civil War.” This review applies only to the prose novel and not the graphic novel or the movie.

            All right, now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s talk about the book. It begins with a major tragedy. A group of superheroes called the New Warriors had a reality TV show. They did superhero activities and were televised. The ratings were going down the toilet. They discovered a group of super villains in Stamford, Connecticut. They knew they were outclassed, but jumped into it anyway. They seemed to be winning until Namorita cornered Nitro. Nitro’s power was self-detonation, which he enacted, killing himself, the other villains, the New Warriors, and eight-hundred-fifty-nine citizens of Stamford, including a schoolyard full of children.

            At this time, Tony Stark/Iron Man recruited Peter Parker/Spider-Man into the Avengers. In light of the Stamford incident, the United States turned on superheroes, putting every super human to blame rather than just applying it to Nitro, who solely deserved the blame. This led to a brutal attack on Johnny Storm/Human Torch, putting him in a hospital. As things escalated, the United States government considered two options: either make all superhuman activity illegal, or have complete control of superhuman activity. Obviously, the second option was selected after much discussion, and the Superhuman Registration Act passed through the United States government, requiring all superheroes in the United States to register their name, identity, and powers with the Strategic Hazard Intervention Espionage Logistics Directorate (S.H.I.E.L.D.) and submit to being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, including training. The idea was to make superhuman activity regulated to prevent any further tragedy.

            Iron Man came in favor of the SRA and led the task force. However, Steve Rogers/Captain America, did not approve of the SRA. S.H.I.E.L.D. Acting Director Maria Hill called on Captain America to enforce the SRA, which Captain America turned down, then escaped the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier and turned into a fugitive. He recruited a resistance against the SRA.

            Spider-Man sided with Iron Man and took the ultimate step, unmasking as Peter Parker to the world media, fully becoming legitimate.

            The government came to the conclusion that those in defiance of the SRA must be detained, but of course, any normal jail can’t hold superhumans, so Reed Richards/Mister Fantastic of the Fantastic Four suggested a superhuman jail in the other dimensional area the Negative Zone, dubbed Project 42.

            Of course, the two faction inevitably clash, resulting in a casualty that shakes the faith of several combatants and results in changes in sides.

            The rest of the novel prepares for the final battle between the two sides.

            My opinion of this novel is rather favorable. The action was, in my opinion, exciting, the story was, in my opinion, engaging. The characters were used to their true potentials and continuity of the comics was relatively accurate. The changes were acceptable, and the adaptation compared to the graphic novel was a good enhancement. The humor was, in my opinion, executed effectively. There were highs and lows in the emotionality of the novel. As a rating, 1 being the lowest, 10 being the highest, I give the novel a 9. I recommend it to fans of Marvel comics who are relatively familiar to the comics, as there are many characters that have not made appearances in Marvel movies or television shows and some history of characters do not apply to the movies or television shows that may confuse casual readers, but that is not saying the novel is inaccessible to casual readers. All-in-all, I felt it was a well-written novel and worth reading if you are into this kind of story.

Eyebrows Part Six

   The following is part of an original short story I wrote reflecting on memories of my late grandmother:

Another great story revolves around my mom’s freedom tattoo, as my parents had just separated and my father would never have tolerated my mom getting a tattoo. My cousin dared my mom to get a tattoo, a bet that my mom wouldn’t do it. My cousin had several tattoos at the time and has even more now. Well, my mom went through with it. The whole family, except my Grandma, went to the parlor, just to see if it would happen. My mom did go through with it. We then planned to go shopping, but has to go back to the apartment to do something for the tattoo, which I honestly don’t know what. We got there to find my Grandma on the floor in my aunt’s bedroom. She had gotten a new pair of pants and wanted to try them on to see how they looked. As she was short, she climbed onto the bed to see how they looks, but fell and broke her ankle. Something really bad could have happened to her, she could have had another heart attack, who knows what? But, since my mom got the tattoo and we had to go back to the apartment, we found my Grandma in time to prevent anything worse from happening. So, essentially, the tattoo saved my Grandma, possibly even her life.

At one point, my aunt had a cat. She was a very nasty cat who hated just about everyone. Oh, the scratches we all had, my God she shredded us. And on top of that, she was diabetic. Getting her shots always involved streams of blood. And yet, when my Grandma would go into the bathroom, that cat followed he in. Mind you the cat didn’t socialize with my Grandma, who could often walk out with a bloody are. On a side point, not relevant to the story but I feel will enhance the story is that cat chased me and waited for me to pass by it then intent to bite my ankles. It didn’t necessarily mean she wished good things for my Grandma, but she tolerated her.

            When my Grandma was eighty-five, she developed bone cancer. I was sixteen years old. My Grandma was brought to the hospital, and two months later she lost her fight. Strangely, at the time, in my opinion, I cried the day my Grandma was admitted to the hospital, but could find no tears on the day she died, but years later I came to the conclusion that I realized she was already gone and that her suffering was now over and she was now with her siblings and husband, which eventually made me happy.

            At the wake were me, my mother, my aunt, my uncle and my cousins. We thought that something was wrong with my Grandma’s face, and they pondered for hours. After three hours, my Aunt cried out, “Her eyebrows!” It was true. Though my Grandma was made up like she usually was, the mortician had forgotten to draw on her eyebrows. I had to fight not to laugh because my aunt was in hysterics and I would be in adjoining grave if I so much as smiled. This was quickly remedied, but they just could not draw on her eyebrows the way my Grandma did. I could almost hear her ghost screaming at the mortician for this mess-up.

            It can also be noted that she died on a “Puh.”

            Right before my Grandma’s casket was closed, I did the thing I hated most: I gave my Grandma a final kiss on the cheek and whispered, “Goodbye, Grandma. I love you and I’ll miss you forever.”

            I took upon myself to be a pallbearer and help carry my Grandma’s casket to the resting place.

            To this day, I still remember my Grandma for her love of sleazy romance novels and movies, her crazy, changing stories, and, perhaps most of all, her eyebrows.

Eyebrows Part Five

   The following is part of an original short story I wrote reflecting on memories of my late grandmother:

We always had a joke with my Grandma’s birthday. We all know the stupid birthday song that somehow is always sung upon the presenting of the cake. Well, after “How old are you now?” my Grandma would look grumpily at us and say sarcastically “sixteen,” to which we would reply, “plus sixteen, plus sixteen,” that joke, then she would look even grumpier and hesitate before blowing out the candles, maintaining the grumpy look. She just liked to look grumpy a lot.

She also had major allergies and kept a box of tissues next to her at all times. There was a pile of bunched up tissues all on the table, which was really gross.

One of my favorite idiosyncrasies of my Grandma was the chocolate hoarding. My Grandma loved chocolates of any kind. They just always seemed to be disappearing. The wrappers would appear all over my Grandma’s room, but when it was time to come clean, she blamed my Uncle. But why would he eat chocolates and hide them on my Grandma’s bed. We all knew it was her, she just wouldn’t admit it.

I know my Grandma loved her men. Like I said about her romance novels, the less on the better. I caught her ogling many time, but my favorite was her response to Daredevil. So we had Ben Affleck in a tight leather suit. I walked in and looked and asked, “Grandma, do you know what you’re watching?” She then looked at me and said, “No, but he’s a looker!” It was just the way she said it and the smile that was hysterical. I just shrugged it off, and watched the awful movie with her, despite being a Daredevil fan.

We would take my Grandma out to a restaurant a few times. Upon being seated, she would head for the bathroom. She would disappear for twenty minutes doing who knows what, we never could get a straight answer, but I think I’m better off not knowing.

One time when I was young and staying alone with my Grandma, I started acting up, running around, just annoying things. To which she held up her cane and pointed it at me. “Keep it up,” my Grandma threatened. Let me say, she was good with her cane.

As I said, my Grandma did tell me stories, but not in a place you would figure. My Grandma sat in her recliner, which had a little footstool that I would sit on. It was by the screen door, and the weather was always good for those stories. She also had many great, wise sayings. While this sounds like Spider-Man, she had no knowledge of it: “With great ambition comes great opportunity.” This, like Peter Parker, has been my motto in like. I had the ambition to go to college and I graduated from college, and I know my life still has many great things ahead of me. That sentence has defined my life for seven years, even though I just didn’t realize it. After she died, I graduated high school, I went to college, I was inspired to write, I graduated college, I got help with my medical condition, I made so many friends, I’ve done so much, and in a few years, all will pay off  I can’t say I’ve made my Grandma proud, because I know I’ve already done so. My name may be little now, but my Grandma has inspired me to go big and aim for the stars and I know opportunity won’t knock on my door,, I’ll be storming his castle.

Another favorite of mine was “Don’t think of the should haves, the would haves, and the could haves. Think of the shalls, the wills and the cans.” In other words, don’t think of the past, think about what may still come. Live life not dwelling of the mistakes, do what you can do for a better future.

Yes, my Grandma was very wise. She once told me that “with great ambition comes great opportunity.” This took me years to figure out. Sure we had a superhero whose mantra was “With great power comes great responsibility.” My Grandma said she never heard that, and she wasn’t into those kinds of things, so she said it was original. I only understood it the past few years. But what she meant was, “Try as hard as you can and you will get your reward.” Having just graduated from college, it makes sense. I had the ambition and I have so much I can do now. After all, I’ve written this story that you will be reading now. I’m getting out there, and then there’s so much else I can do in my future. Great things are in store for me. And upon learning this and what I can do in my future, I feel that my Grandma was right, and I wish to make her proud, and I know, right now, wherever she is, she is sending her one of her smiles.

Eyebrows Part Four

   The following is part of an original short story I wrote reflecting on memories of my late grandmother:

My Grandma knew when her last birthday was. She absolutely hated having her picture taken. If you were to come near her with a camera, she would scream, cover her face, or clobber you with her cane, or do two or three of those. But on her last birthday, she let me take a few pictures of her. This was absolutely amazing considering her feelings of photography. On a side note, I was actually taking a photography class in high school, but I eventually realized that my dream of being a photographer wasn’t the same thing as actually being a photographer. Unfortunately, the pictures came out awful and my last images of her were terrible. Looking at those images make me feel so bad.

Also on my Grandma’s last birthday, my Grandma’s son, a man I don’t get along with and hardly consider family came to celebrate with her. She hadn’t seen him in years, and this made her birthday special to see her son one last time.

            Later on in my Grandma’s life, she needed companionship. The doctor told my family that a pet could help enhance her life, especially at her age. My cousin had always wanted a dog, so this was a perfect reason to get one. She and that dog bonded instantly in a way we had never seen before. They just loved each other. That dog had many problems, but he loved his grandma. My grandma always sat in a recliner, and that dog would climb to the top of the chair, perch, and lay there, gently on her shoulder, causing her no pain.  They even had a picture together where the dog was sitting gently with my Grandma actually smiling, something she wasn’t known for. It is a beautiful picture, and since both have passed on, it really touches my heart.

The day my Grandma was brought to the hospital for the last time, my day had been awesome. My classes were great, I made many new friends, I had so much fun in school, which is often relatively rare. So I got the news upon getting home from a great day, it was instantly killed of all happiness.

Immediately after her passing, I didn’t want to do school. I avoided classes, my grades slipped, and my emotions went from wanting to do school to not doing school because I just felt so empty. However, my Grandma is the reason I am writing this, and not just because this story is funny and gave me lots of good memories. It was her faith in me. She always believed in me, supported me, and encouraged me. Now, if she hadn’t passed, I would’ve finished photography and been highly disappointed and given a grade out of pity which is what often happened in high school, and I would’ve been aiming at a career that looking back now did not suit me. After dropping photography, I picked up work study at my high school’s library. I replaced books to their shelves, shelf read, and special projects like folding pamphlets. Sound boring? I really wasn’t. I liked my work study so much that I decided to be an Information Management and Technology major at college to lead up to library science. I worked at my college library two years and realized it wasn’t right for me. Then I switched to an English Education major, which I used until after I left and came home, then realized education was also not my thing, which led me to an English/Journalism major, which I have a degree in. It seems odd, unrelated and disjointed, but my Grandma would be proud of how much I’ve grown and that I am writing this story for her about her.

When I was a kid, I suffered a major mental breakdown. My mom was in crying hysterics and called my Grandma, who cried with her.  I obviously don’t know it first hand, but the story has been relayed to me.

Eyebrows Part Three

  The following is part of an original short story I wrote reflecting on memories of my late grandmother:

            My Grandma would take forever to put on her make-up. I mean, she would take five hours to do it.

            I remember my Grandma had a walker. That thing made so much noise. It squeaked, it rolled, it clunked. You could always tell she was coming, just from the noise. It was just “Oh, Grandma’s coming!” But she got all the way to the living room and folded it away, then switched to her cane. And, boy, she was good about her walker. Her walker never got in anyone’s way, amazingly enough.

            My Grandma was very short, like almost everyone in the family, but she was most likely the smallest I know. Now me, I worked genetically different from everyone else in the family and am pretty tall, some people can’t believe I came out of my mom. So, even though she was my Grandma and I looked up to her and all, but she literally looked up to me.

            When I would be seated next to her at the kitchen table reading. We’d be reading right next to each other, and I highly enjoyed reading next to her. Every so often, somehow we’d both look up and ask, “How’s your book?” “Good, how’s your book?” It was just like she knew.

            Then there were the things my Grandma did to upset my Aunt. My Aunt has a statue I call “Naked Lady,” which could not be more accurate to describe the statue. My Grandma hated it. She tried to smash it every time she walked past it. She never managed to destroy the thing, much to her dismay, and it is still there today. And she antiqued. She would accidentally bump into something, and my Aunt would call out, “Careful, Ma, that’s an antique!” My Grandma just smiled, pulled her cane back and slam into the item, and then said, “Now it’s even MORE antique!” then march off into the kitchen. I really don’t know how this setup would just happen every time, but it was always entertaining, just to see the wicked smile.

My Grandma told wonderful stories, and I started to like them. She would talk about all kinds of crazy things, like her deceased siblings and how they were brought up; the cultural stories her mother told her; her troublemaking in school; and her deceased husband and how their romance story was, something that was just like her romance novels and movies, and I thought some of those were a little untrue. But the best part of her stories were that she was so old she couldn’t remember things and each time the stories would change, which I always found amusing. Sometimes the endings would be completely different, so it was always entertaining. It was like the game “Telephone.” It started one way, but as it got passed down more and more, the original message changed at the end. She told it one way to start, but she was old and forgetful, so that the story would change slightly until it as relatively different each time.

Another funny thing about her was food. My cousin went to culinary school and is a very good chef. She makes so many good meals. While my cousin was away at college, my aunt did the cooking. When she’d ate most of the food, my aunt asked, “How it is?” to which my Grandma would reply, “Not bad.” She said that about every time she ate.

And I can’t forget he mysterious bathroom noises. As I said, she spent hours in the bathroom. And there were just the noises. No one knew what they were, they just happened while she was in there. Nothing was broken, nothing was out of place, there were just the booms, crashed and thumps. And when we asked “what was that,” her reply was always “Nothing.” We’d look, and it really did look like nothing had happened.

Eyebrows Part Two

 The following is part of an original short story I wrote reflecting on memories of my late grandmother:

My Grandma always knew how to keep me in check. If I misbehaved around her, she yelled, “Keep that up and I’ll clobber you with my cane!” She wasn’t lying. And she was strong. After about for lessons, I never pissed her off again.

            My Uncle worked at a pizzeria, so he always brought back leftover pizza, which they stored in to fridge and were reheated. So, one fateful day, after eating a few slices, I heard a noise. I turned to My Grandma, who looked at me and said “What?” It took me until it happened to me too that we were having a bad reaction to the pizza. After all, we were both having gas problems. It was not a pleasant day, filled with “What?”

            People always said my Grandma never smiled. I beg to differ. Upon giving her her requested kisses, she gave me a little smile. We also had out dinner table joke. I would make a comment about her age. She turned towards me and gave me a glowering look. I would reach out my arm and she would slap me on the wrist, and wow could that woman hit. Then she gave me a little smile. Everyone says that they have a different relationship with people then they give anyone else. So this means I was near and dear to her heart.

            My Grandma hated games. Her ideas of games included dropping people into the sewers in “Manhole,” and if she saved people from falling, she got upset. And “Frogger.” That poor, poor frog. And the parachuters would plummet to their doom. She had a very different idea of games. Then there was a miraculous day. I was subscribed to a Video Game Magazine, which had a tear-out board game of an upcoming game. To my surprise, she got out scissors and a dice block and we actually played it. I had hardly ever seen her play a board game, let alone this style, but she actually wanted to play. We played a few times, and somehow she always won (and I did not let her win). Each time she gave me a smug look, so I knew she was having fun. This was very unusual for my Grandma to do, which made me feel loved and appreciated.

            She was also notoriously good at falling asleep. She would find a show, turn in on, put the remote down, and five minutes later, be asleep. And what I always found amusing was how she always knew when the remote was about to be taken. She’d just wake up, snatch the remote and say, “I’m watching that!” and look highly offended.

            Some weekends I stayed with her at my Aunt and Uncle’s apartment of weekends where my mom was busy and also just for me to have fun. Granted my Grandma had a strange idea of fun, and while I never really admitted this too much, but I did have fun with my Grandma. Since there were only two bedrooms, my aunt and uncle had one, and my cousin shared hers with my Grandma, and since my cousin was at college, I shared the room with my Grandma. It actually looking back is pretty funny. She had a lamp by her bed which she read for reading. The funniest this was she would fall asleep reading, her book would fall on her face, and twenty minutes later wake up and pick up her book exactly where she left off. I also read my books and eventually we both fell asleep, sometimes with our books on our faced.

            I always loved the noise she made while sleeping. She would breathe in relatively quietly, but when she exhaled, be made the noise, “Puh.” I’ve never heard that noise before or since.

            On the mornings, she would wake up, go to the kitchen, make tea, and have a bowl of cereal. Her favorite was Raison Bran, and she’d wait for me to wake up, and we’d both have tea and cereal.

Eyebrows Part One

The following is part of an original short story I wrote reflecting on memories of my late grandmother:   

     The thing I remember most on the last day I saw my Grandma at her wake before the casket was closed would have probably made her furious.

    My Grandma was a kooky old bat for as long as I could remember, but I loved her anyway; in fact, that was probably why I loved her so much.

Something my Grandma once told me really applies to this reflection when I had serious memory problems: “The mind is not a filing cabinet: you can’t find what you’re looking for by the alphabet.” And so, these stories will be told as the come to me, rather than the order they happened in

            My Grandma lived in an apartment in Yonkers, New York on the thirty-fourth floor. I always hated going there because the elevator was so slow it took about six minutes to reach there, as long as no one else stopped to get on, which happened about seven or eight times each visit, so it took about fifteen minutes to reach her floor. I was five years old when I first visited, and I felt that everyone there was old and smelly, which was pretty much true.

            Upon reaching there, my Grandma would throw open the door and cry out, “Timmy! Come here and give me a kiss!” I hated it for two reasons: by the age of eight, I had started to hate being called “Timmy” and he also hated giving my Grandma a kiss. I thought she had a cold face and that she wore too much perfume, so much so that it almost choked me.

            A visit with my Grandma used to bore me. She always had on old romance movies; My Grandma loved romance. She also was a heavy reader and loved romance books; My mom always bought books for my Grandma based on how little clothes the people on the cover wore, something that really grossed me out. My Grandma would always tell me about her sleazy books, something which made my mom say, “Mom! He’s too young to hear about dirty things like that!”

            I was also bothered by the bathroom. It reeked of my Grandma’s perfume and was covered in baby powder. When I got up, my pants were covered in the white stuff.

            My Grandma was also a heavy tea drinker, something that I hated and she always served it to me. She was also a terrible cook and almost everything she made was charred.

            My Grandma also wore a lot of make-up. Her face was pale, her lips bright red, and the areas around her eyes blue; but she had no eyebrows. She always penciled them on, and I thought she did it very well.

            My Grandma moved into my Aunt’s when I was very young, about seven. Over the years, my Mom would work and she and my Dad got divorced, so she sent me to stay there a lot, and if she were around, she would be out shopping with my Aunt, while my cousin was at college, so that was kind of unwanted. But I learned to appreciate her. Sure I still hated “Timmy, come here and give me a kiss!” as the door opened, but she wasn’t so bad. We spent many good hours together.

            How could we ever forget out six hours watching Stephen King’s “The Langoliers?” We waited, excited, dying to see what could possibly be so bad. And then, there they were… Black furry Pac-Men with teeth. We went for six hours for those? The two of us stared at the screen and each other, after six hours expecting something really scary. So disappointing.