Junior High--The Beginning

It should be required of all junior high-ers to sign a contract stating that they will never again speak of junior high once junior high is through. These are the awkward years. I keep a large shoe box full of notes from sixth through ninth grade. I wish, more than you know, I had copies of all the notes I wrote to girlfriends. I may have to make some phone calls to get those because I’m sure they are gems.

As I went back through and read them for reference I noticed a common theme. “Who should I like?” With eighth grade seemed to come the helpless girl phase. Girls were just running around trying to find boys to like because, what’s life without someone to daydream about? “Who should I like? I have no one to like!"

Introducing, the first time Breanne actually had a ‘boyfriend.’ Mark. It lasted an entire week. A week filled with awkward hallway hugs, notes in each other’s lockers, and never actually seeing each other outside of school. I ended it. Well, technically my friend Marcy ended it. She wrote Mark a note telling him that I was breaking up with him.

I know.

I was actually madly in love with a boy named Alan. (These fake names, right?) He was one of the few boys in my grade taller than me, as always. Which I think had a lot to do with my affection for him because I don’t remember a time I actually talked to him. We weren’t friends. But he knew I liked him. OH. He knew. And he was mortified by it. I was still awkward and overly obsessive. Again, not much has changed.

And then came Kirk. He was a ninth grader. Can you believe it?! A ninth grader. He was my ‘boyfriend’ for a couple months. (Eighth and ninth grade were in the same school). Insert more awkward hallway hugs and notes in lockers. And MSN Messenger. Yep. This was the start of something good. (To be sung in the tune of the High School Musical song).

I was obsessed with MSN Messenger. Everyday after school I would log on. I had a few key people I would chat with. Kirk was one of them. He also had bleached tips (like fifth grade, Tyler) and we had weight training together. This was one of the few classes eighth and ninth graders shared. I could bench a solid ninety pounds, once. But in my defense, that’s about how much I weighed at the time.

MSN was our primary form of communication. We chatted for as long as my mom would let me before having to log off. Kirk was the first boy I wanted to ‘fix.’ You know how girls are always wanting to fix boys?

We dated over my fourteenth birthday--my first co-ed birthday party. It was in a park and it was perfect. I wore my favorite Abercrombie shirt. Kirk couldn’t come to my party because I’m pretty sure my dad would have killed him. So before the party, I went to the movie ‘with my BFF Hannah.’ We met Kirk and his friend there. We held hands. HELD HANDS! My dad picked us up after and noticed the two boys walking away. Needless to say he wasn’t too happy about us going to movies with boys.

Kirk gave me a stuffed panda bear for my birthday. And something else but I can’t remember what. We had a song. Ocean Avenue by Yellowcard. I don’t even know. And holding hands was as far as it ever went with us. Although, one person thought a lot more was going on. We were at my friend Mary’s house with a big group of people watching a scary movie. The Ring, if I recall correctly. Kirk and I were sitting on the couch with Mary and a few other people. We had a blanket because we were holding hands and didn’t want anyyyyyyone to know. Duh.

Mary had a stepmother who was a little off her rocker. She came over to me and asked quietly,

“Are you cold?”

“No, I’m okay!”

“I can turn the heat up if you’re cold.”

“No, I’m fine, thanks though!”

(Clearly not picking up what she was putting down.)

“Okay,” she says, “then stop feeling up."

It took me about three minutes to process what she had just said to me. And five more minutes to realize what ‘feeling up’ meant. I was barely fourteen! I had never even kissed a boy, let alone felt one up. I was mortified. I took the blanket off and slowly slid away from Kirk. He was so upset. And I couldn’t very well explain to him what Mary’s stepmom had just accused me of. No way was I ever telling him.

I’m not sure the timeline of this relationship, but somewhere towards the end I found out Kirk was cheating on me with a ninth grader from a different school. Portia. Portia! Of course he cheats on me with a Portia! I was devastated to say the least. (Portia is actually her real name. I’d protect it, but it’s just too good.)

(Ninth grade coming soon.)

Dear Vogue

Recently I wrote a letter to Vogue (and some other magazines) inquiring how one should go about getting a job. It's pretty humorous. Thought you'd all enjoy. 

Disclaimer: All of the below information is completely true and not exaggerated in any way. I'm telling you this because exaggeration is my forte, but I went with the truth this time.


Anna Wintour

Editor-in-chief

Vogue

4 Times Sq C1b

New York, NY 10036

Your Excellency,

I am inquiring as to how one should go about getting a writing job at your beloved Vogue Magazine. Assuming this gets to you (I googled your address, so I can’t be sure), I appreciate the time you’ve taken to read this. (If this letter ends up in the hands of a random New Yorker, hello. Also, why are you opening mail that isn’t yours? That’s a felony.)

Because we aren’t having this conversation in person and you can’t answer my above inquiry right away, here are a few reasons you should consider hiring me.

In the second grade, our teacher matched us with fifth grade “tutors” who were to help us write a story. By that time, I was already an accomplished writer (as you can imagine) so I took offense to my teacher’s assumption that I needed a tutor. Nevertheless, I wrote that paper on my own, and I wrote it good. My tutor was happy to get out of her assignment and I was immensely proud of my hand written, one page paper. (Double spaced, font size approximately 24pt.)

When we were asked to read our papers aloud to our class with our tutors present, I gladly volunteered. The first line of my paper went something like this:

“When I was born, I had to spend a week in an incubator because I took my first breath when only my head was out.”

Now, technically, I did take my first breath when only my head was out (as do most babies). What I failed to mention was, my head wasn’t completely out so that breath I so bravely took also contained “fluids” (let’s not think too much about those “fluids”). As a result I got pneumonia which put me in an incubator in the ICU for a week. At least that’s what my mom explained to me years later when I was in junior high still believing that taking your first breath when only your head is out results in a one week incubator stay. (I’m not too bright when it comes to science. Or math. Or geography. Or history.) (Good thing I can write, huh?))

Still not convinced? Fine.

In the sixth grade we were asked to write a letter to the President (Bush) addressing his (possibly fabricated by my teacher) desire to make us go to school on Saturdays. I took this assignment to heart. I wrote that letter to Mr. President, and I wrote it good. (The repetition, I know.) The letter contained phrases like, “You aren’t even in school so how could you even know what it’s like?” followed by, “It’s not fair!” and, “Some of us have to go to church on Sunday mornings so Saturdays are our only day to sleep in.”

I felt very confident about my letter. So confident, in fact, I spent the majority of my time daydreaming about how my teacher would actually send that letter to the President. He would be so touched by it that he would banish the thought of ever having school on Saturdays and there would be a holiday in my honor! Oh the magnificence of that letter!

And then my teacher gave it back, without praise. Oh the infuriation of my sixth grade self. She had circled almost every sentence in my paper and wrote things like “opinion” and “assumption” in the margins. What, we’re no longer allowed to write opinions and assumptions in angry letters to the President? She had crushed all my dreams with a single red pen.

If you’re still on the fence about hiring me, here are a few more reasons that may help sway your decision:

-I trust Wikipedia.

-I love Harry Potter.

-I once wrote three paragraphs about doughnuts.

-I often quote Mean Girls.

-I’m a great stand in for mannequins should you ever run out. (Double-threat guy!)

-I once played Cher in a “music through the ages” performance opposite a girl dressed as Sonny.

Okay, we’re getting off topic.

I grew up wanting to be a lot of things (see: singer, dancer, wakeboarder, stylist, designer, actress, model, mother, etc.); writer was not among them. I realized my love for writing when I started growing up. Unfortunately it was after I stopped going to college (I was a late bloomer). I don’t have a bachelor’s degree in, well, anything. I have an associates degree but it’s pretty worthless because it’s in “University Studies.”

While I believe college is so wonderful, I believe that great writers cannot be taught. It’s an ability that few have and most don’t. I feel I’m among the able few (#humblebrag) and I’m confident you’ll agree. (Yes, I did just use a hashtag in a letter).

I can’t promise you that I’m as fresh, candid, and audacious in person, but I also can’t not promise you. (That’s a double negative. What a way to end a letter, right?)

Faithfully yours,

Breanne Nicole Rutledge

Illusion

The Great Gatsby film opens tonight. The last time I wrote about a film opening it was the last Harry Potter film and I was heartbroken. This time it’s a little different.

I first read The Great Gatsby in my high school English class. We analyzed every single line in that book. And I fell in love with it. I’ve read it a few times since but the last time I read it I gained a whole new perspective on it. In my English class we picked it apart and discussed every theme possible. My memory is hazy but I don’t recall discussing the theme that I’ve come to know as the most important theme of the book. (I’m sure we did though).

Illusion and expectation.

Jay Gatsby fell in love with Daisy and then he had to leave. For five years he was gone. I can fabricate an elaborate illusion of someone in less than five minutes. Imagine the illusion you could come up with in five years. This quote is more incredible than I have words for.

“…I saw that the expression of bewilderment had come back into Gatsby’s face, as though a faint doubt had occurred to him as to the quality of his present happiness. Almost five years! There must have been moments even that afternoon when Daisy tumbled short of his dreams—not through her own fault, but because of the colossal vitality of his illusion. It had gone beyond her, beyond everything. He had thrown himself into it with creative passion, adding to it all the time, decking it out with every bright feather that drifted his way. No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart.”

Ironically, this is what we have all done with the film. The moment we found out Leo was cast as Gatsby our imaginations started flowing. We have made this film up to be the most incredible thing to happen in Hollywood history, and we haven’t even seen it yet. Every new trailer that came out blew up quicker than the rumor that I stuffed my bra in eighth grade (we’ll discuss this later). I’m the worst offender of them all when it comes to this film. And I’ll pay for it tonight as I sit in the theater, seat J13, and watch as this film, adapted from one of the most incredible novels ever written, tumbles short of my dreams.

I'll love the film. I have no doubt that I will love it. But no one can recreate a novel perfectly. They can recreate it well, yes. But novels are of our own. We create the characters and the places in our minds. And when a movie comes and shatters the images we had in our minds, we feel disappointed. This is how Jay Gatsby felt. So I guess tonight, we will all be a little bit Jay Gatsby. Because “no amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart.”

Listen to Over The Love by Florence + The Machine (written for the film).

Notes and Books.

Do you ever miss writing in a notebook? Like taking notes in class. Writing “Notes” in big letters at the top of the page in ‘cute’ handwriting and your name, date, and period in the right hand corner. There’s just something special about putting pen to paper. Even if it is biology notes.

I’m going back to school in that fall (WHAT?) and I mostly excited to buy notebooks. Which is hilarious because I buy notebooks regularly now without having a need for them. But I always find something to write in them.

I have my journal, where I put my soul to paper. I have a notebook I keep in my purse with all of my lists. (“My ‘To Do’ list, my ‘Goals’ list, my ‘Contingency’ list, my ‘Observations,’ my ‘Notions,’ which, of course are very different because observations require a topic sentence and notions do not. Normal stuff.” John Tucker Must Die reference, sorryy if you didn’t get it.) I have a notebook for work. I have a notebook for doodles. And I have dozens of notebooks that haven’t been assigned a task yet. I love notebooks.

I’m also very picky with my notebooks. I prefer notebooks with no lines, which are hard to come by. I usually end up with sketchbooks. If I do buy a notebook with lines, they must be lines fairly close together because my handwriting is microscopic. Seriously, future generations won’t be able to read my journal (which is fine because no one wants to read my journal anyway).

I also have a specific type of pen and I don’t stray. I only like the classic number 2 pencils (preferably a whole bouquet of them). I love binders and folders and planners and highlighters and I would buy all of them regularly if I had need.

But I don’t.

Not because I’m not in school. Even in school I don’t need them because I have this. This computer that I’m typing on now. It has built in notebooks and folders and planners and highlighters. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a wonderful thing to have all of this at your fingertips. But sometimes I miss organizing my desk or my locker with all my binders and books and pens.

There’s something I can’t get behind. Book tablets. The Nook or the Kindle or whatever one you choose. I choose none. Holding a book in my hands is something I’ll never let go of. Holding a book in my hands is part of the reason I love reading. Turning the pages...It’s exhilarating.

But books are a dying medium. People don’t buy books anymore, especially at bookstores. They just tap a few buttons on a screen and they have any book they want. It’s a great tool to have. But there’s nothing exhilarating about it.

And soon all of the bookstores in the country will close. And that will be a terrible day. There’s nothing I enjoy more than browsing a bookstore. I’d love to start my own bookstore someday. It would be beautiful and clean and aesthetic and quiet and perfect.

Heartbeat.

In Home Alone 2, there's a scene where Kevin talks to the Bird Lady in the park. I never realized how deep their conversation was until I read it. Children are so wise sometimes. 

Bird Lady: The man I loved fell out of love with me. That broke my heart. When the chance to be loved came along again, I ran away from it. I stopped trusting people. 

Kevin McCallister: No offense, but that seems like sort of a dumb thing to do. 
Bird Lady: I was afraid of getting my heart broken again. Sometimes you can trust a person, and then, when things are down, they forget about you. 
Kevin McCallister: Maybe they're just too busy. Maybe they don't forget about you, but they forget to remember you. People don't mean to forget. My grandfather says if my head wasn't screwed on, I'd leave it on the school bus. 
Bird Lady: I'm just afraid if I do trust someone, I'll get my heart broken. 
Kevin McCallister: I understand. I had a nice pair of rollerblades. I was afraid to wreck them, so I kept them in a box. Do you know what happened? I outgrew them. I never wore them outside. Only in my room a few times. 
Bird Lady: A person's heart and feelings are very different than skates. 
Kevin McCallister: They're kind of the same thing. If you won't use your heart, who cares if it gets broken? If you just keep it to yourself, maybe it'll be like my rollerblades. When you do decide to try it, it won't be any good. You should take a chance. Got nothing to lose. 
Bird Lady: Little truth in there somewhere. 
Kevin McCallister: I think so. Your heart might still be broken, but it isn't gone. If it was gone, you wouldn't be so nice. 

Have you ever watched your heart beat on an ultrasound screen? It's a trip. I got an echo-cardiogram a couple weeks ago. I felt so small lying there, staring at the only thing keeping me alive beat on a black and white screen. I watched every beat. I could feel every beat. It's a beautiful feeling, being completely aware of your heartbeat.

What if every person had a specific number of heartbeats until it was used up? If you knew you only had so many heartbeats before it stopped and your time on this earth was finished, would you do things differently? When I think of all the things I've wanted to do and haven't, the reason is always fear. Fear of rejection, failure, harm, finances, heartache, etc. It's always fear. So I've been trying to change that. When a situation presents itself the first thing I ask myself is, "Is the reason I'm not doing this because I'm afraid?" If the answer is yes, I make myself do it.

I'm learning to love every part of my life. The good times and the bad times and the in between times. What would my life be worth if everything was good all of the time? The bad times build your character. Heartache comes in so many different ways and it's easy to wish that you'd never felt it. But what would love be without heartache? I wouldn't trade any of the relationships I've had even though they've all ended in heartache on one side, the other, or both. If I didn't know the feeling of heartache then I could never truly love. 

--2 Nephi 2:13 
And if ye shall say there is no law, ye shall also say there is no sin. If ye shall say there is no sin, ye shall also say there is no righteousness. And if there be no righteousness there be no happiness. And if there be no righteousness nor happiness there be no punishment nor misery. And if these things are not there is no God. And if there is no God we are not, neither the earth; for there could have been no creation of things, neither to act nor to be acted upon; wherefore, all things must have vanished away.

Life is a gift. Love is a gift. Don't waste your ability to love because you're afraid to get hurt. We should be grateful for the ability to feel pain. It means we are alive. Our hearts are still beating. Don't waste anymore heartbeats.

"If you won't use your heart, who cares if it gets broken? If you just keep it to yourself, maybe it'll be like my rollerblades. When you do decide to try it, it won't be any good. You should take a chance. Got nothing to lose."