Paperback Writer
The Little Things Give You Away
The Little Things Give You Away
My story. There’s so many places to start. I could tell about my father leaving my mom and I when I was five, only after I had to witness him abusing my mom and myself after one of his binges. He punched a hole in the wall just before he left. That hole was covered by a picture that hung in the hall until I was eleven and we left the house, were evicted from the house because my then step father took the money my mother gave him to pay the bills and decided to spend it on his mistress.
Yes, I could start there, but I won’t. No, in order to get to where I am, who I am, it all starts in August, 2005.
I had just turned fourteen, just entered high school. I was happy, excited. I’d finally made it, I was in high school and everything was going according to plan. I’d survive these four years, go to college on a scholarship, become a writer. Everything would be perfect. Sadly, it didn’t work out that way.
The year before there was another hurricane set to hit us directly, Ivan. We were all scared, the media made it look horrible. It’d land as a category five and it’d take away everything. It’d be the apocalypse so to speak for everyone and people listened. We were in traffic for days, literally. My family evacuated to Little Rock, Arkansas and we waited and waited for news.
Absolutely nothing happened. It was such a disappointment and a relief at the same time. That feeling stayed above everyone’s heads like a dark cloud, continuing on to next hurricane season. That’s when we heard of Hurricane Katrina.
I barely remember any news footage of it. It wasn’t as hyped up as Ivan. I guess it was because people all felt that one missed us, so would this one. That’s another reason not many had left. They thought it would just vanish.
Less than twenty four hours before Katrina hit my mother’s friend called her telling her we had to leave. My mom said that we were fine, we’d stick it out, we had food and water. She eventually convinced her to let us leave, along with my nervous grandmother calling every other minute about it.
We packed up quickly, couldn’t have spent longer than an hour. We packed up the way we always did every evacuation, grabbed our school uniform, our homework and birth certificates. Took a change of clothes for a week and maybe a picture or two that we deemed more important than the rest and tossed them into a bag.
After I packed up I took one final look around my room. I always do that when we leave for an evacuation. The curse of an overactive mind, I may be an optimist at heart but I will always have at least one bad thought of “what if”. I stopped my melancholy thoughts after hearing my mother shout for me to leave again. I grabbed my bag and sat in the back seat of my grandmothers van, beside my sister. Her father, my ex step-father came out and hugged us goodbye. Him and his cousin opted to stay behind.
I looked at him, for some reason I felt the urge to memorize his face. He looked at me and smiled, making some reassuring joke about seeing us in a few days and then he shut the door. I remember sighing and looking at our house, trying to take in everything about it. I turned my head and looked out the back window, just staring at it until it faded into a blur behind us.
I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t know what it was at the time. I just felt like this would be the last time I’d see this place like it was. That thought scared the hell out of me and I stared out of the window, looking at the familiar houses and landscape I was accustomed to for the entirety of my fourteen years.
The evacuation took us all of about a day and a half. I listened to bits and pieces of the radio. One of the moments I realized this was turning out to be a living nightmare was when one radio station reported that the djs at my favourite radio station were stranded on the top of the building.
I couldn’t listen any longer, shoving in my beat up Dookie album to drown out the madness around me.
When we got to the hotel in Houston there was a report on the radio as soon as I turned off my discman. They said it was the worst natural disaster in American History. They reported some of the casualties and mentioned some of the destruction. I just couldn’t take it anymore. I finally let my defenses fall and just cried, cried harder than I ever had in my life. I knew that was it. This was the end of my childhood, my whole life was taken away. What if I could never see my friends again? Never get to my favourite restaurant? Never go back to the school I’d wanted to go to since I could understand that sort of thing?
My mom got out of the car and came to my side, holding me in a hug and trying to calm me down. My sister, who was five at the time, rubbed my arm. I looked at her and smiled at her, hoping she wouldn’t cry too.
I managed to calm myself down enough to go inside the hotel. On the television in the foyer was CNN broadcasting live images of the damage. I sat on the floor in front of the screen and cried again. I knew these places, some were a block or so away from my grandparents house. Seeing it made it sink in even more, my grandfather was still behind. Would he make it? I pushed that thought out of my head and I felt another arm on my shoulder, this time my grandmother. After an hour, I stopped. That was one of the last times I cried about the hurricane.
We didn’t get word on my stepfather and his cousin for almost a month. They survived, my stepfather telling the entire story to us. His story was more shocking than any blockbuster I’d ever seen.
My grandfather survived as well. He ended up in some military base. We knew he was alive only on watching his rescue on CNN.
It took me eight months to go back and visit. I felt so sick at what I saw I’m still amazed I didn’t throw up. Eight months and it looked just as horrible as it was before. The houses were dark, water lines marking just how high the water was. Markings spray painted on the homes indicating if a dead body was found or if an animal had been spotted there. The markings still remain after almost three years.
I live here now, back in my small town. Everyday I step out my door I see the remnants of the hurricanes destruction. The markings are still there. Houses still remain abandoned. Some lots hold down torched or demolished remains. The local park is a sea of white FEMA trailers. My old house is empty, windows broken down, door no longer there. The local theatre is empty, a shell of a building that I remember going to see some of my favourite films in as a child.
I’m still here though. We’re still here. I see and hear so many people talk about it ruining their lives. It did, but it also strengthened me as a person. It made me appreciate everything that much more. I’m the happiest person you can meet. I’ll smile and laugh and joke and cheer others up. I’m still me. I’m still here. No, I can’t take back what happened to me, to my town, to my state. But I can make something good come out of it. One day, I hope I will.
The only other time I cried after Katrina was upon hearing the song “The Little Things Give You Away” by Linkin Park. That song, it’s emotion and depth and everything captured all that has happened to me and placed it to music. So I’ll leave you with this.
All you've ever wanted
Was someone to truly look up to you
And six feet underwater I do
Hope decays, generations disappear
Washed away, as a nation simply stares
Don't want to reach for me do you?
I mean nothing to you
The little things give you away
But now there will be no mistaking
The levees are breaking
My story. There’s so many places to start. I could tell about my father leaving my mom and I when I was five, only after I had to witness him abusing my mom and myself after one of his binges. He punched a hole in the wall just before he left. That hole was covered by a picture that hung in the hall until I was eleven and we left the house, were evicted from the house because my then step father took the money my mother gave him to pay the bills and decided to spend it on his mistress.
Yes, I could start there, but I won’t. No, in order to get to where I am, who I am, it all starts in August, 2005.
I had just turned fourteen, just entered high school. I was happy, excited. I’d finally made it, I was in high school and everything was going according to plan. I’d survive these four years, go to college on a scholarship, become a writer. Everything would be perfect. Sadly, it didn’t work out that way.
The year before there was another hurricane set to hit us directly, Ivan. We were all scared, the media made it look horrible. It’d land as a category five and it’d take away everything. It’d be the apocalypse so to speak for everyone and people listened. We were in traffic for days, literally. My family evacuated to Little Rock, Arkansas and we waited and waited for news.
Absolutely nothing happened. It was such a disappointment and a relief at the same time. That feeling stayed above everyone’s heads like a dark cloud, continuing on to next hurricane season. That’s when we heard of Hurricane Katrina.
I barely remember any news footage of it. It wasn’t as hyped up as Ivan. I guess it was because people all felt that one missed us, so would this one. That’s another reason not many had left. They thought it would just vanish.
Less than twenty four hours before Katrina hit my mother’s friend called her telling her we had to leave. My mom said that we were fine, we’d stick it out, we had food and water. She eventually convinced her to let us leave, along with my nervous grandmother calling every other minute about it.
We packed up quickly, couldn’t have spent longer than an hour. We packed up the way we always did every evacuation, grabbed our school uniform, our homework and birth certificates. Took a change of clothes for a week and maybe a picture or two that we deemed more important than the rest and tossed them into a bag.
After I packed up I took one final look around my room. I always do that when we leave for an evacuation. The curse of an overactive mind, I may be an optimist at heart but I will always have at least one bad thought of “what if”. I stopped my melancholy thoughts after hearing my mother shout for me to leave again. I grabbed my bag and sat in the back seat of my grandmothers van, beside my sister. Her father, my ex step-father came out and hugged us goodbye. Him and his cousin opted to stay behind.
I looked at him, for some reason I felt the urge to memorize his face. He looked at me and smiled, making some reassuring joke about seeing us in a few days and then he shut the door. I remember sighing and looking at our house, trying to take in everything about it. I turned my head and looked out the back window, just staring at it until it faded into a blur behind us.
I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t know what it was at the time. I just felt like this would be the last time I’d see this place like it was. That thought scared the hell out of me and I stared out of the window, looking at the familiar houses and landscape I was accustomed to for the entirety of my fourteen years.
The evacuation took us all of about a day and a half. I listened to bits and pieces of the radio. One of the moments I realized this was turning out to be a living nightmare was when one radio station reported that the djs at my favourite radio station were stranded on the top of the building.
I couldn’t listen any longer, shoving in my beat up Dookie album to drown out the madness around me.
When we got to the hotel in Houston there was a report on the radio as soon as I turned off my discman. They said it was the worst natural disaster in American History. They reported some of the casualties and mentioned some of the destruction. I just couldn’t take it anymore. I finally let my defenses fall and just cried, cried harder than I ever had in my life. I knew that was it. This was the end of my childhood, my whole life was taken away. What if I could never see my friends again? Never get to my favourite restaurant? Never go back to the school I’d wanted to go to since I could understand that sort of thing?
My mom got out of the car and came to my side, holding me in a hug and trying to calm me down. My sister, who was five at the time, rubbed my arm. I looked at her and smiled at her, hoping she wouldn’t cry too.
I managed to calm myself down enough to go inside the hotel. On the television in the foyer was CNN broadcasting live images of the damage. I sat on the floor in front of the screen and cried again. I knew these places, some were a block or so away from my grandparents house. Seeing it made it sink in even more, my grandfather was still behind. Would he make it? I pushed that thought out of my head and I felt another arm on my shoulder, this time my grandmother. After an hour, I stopped. That was one of the last times I cried about the hurricane.
We didn’t get word on my stepfather and his cousin for almost a month. They survived, my stepfather telling the entire story to us. His story was more shocking than any blockbuster I’d ever seen.
My grandfather survived as well. He ended up in some military base. We knew he was alive only on watching his rescue on CNN.
It took me eight months to go back and visit. I felt so sick at what I saw I’m still amazed I didn’t throw up. Eight months and it looked just as horrible as it was before. The houses were dark, water lines marking just how high the water was. Markings spray painted on the homes indicating if a dead body was found or if an animal had been spotted there. The markings still remain after almost three years.
I live here now, back in my small town. Everyday I step out my door I see the remnants of the hurricanes destruction. The markings are still there. Houses still remain abandoned. Some lots hold down torched or demolished remains. The local park is a sea of white FEMA trailers. My old house is empty, windows broken down, door no longer there. The local theatre is empty, a shell of a building that I remember going to see some of my favourite films in as a child.
I’m still here though. We’re still here. I see and hear so many people talk about it ruining their lives. It did, but it also strengthened me as a person. It made me appreciate everything that much more. I’m the happiest person you can meet. I’ll smile and laugh and joke and cheer others up. I’m still me. I’m still here. No, I can’t take back what happened to me, to my town, to my state. But I can make something good come out of it. One day, I hope I will.
The only other time I cried after Katrina was upon hearing the song “The Little Things Give You Away” by Linkin Park. That song, it’s emotion and depth and everything captured all that has happened to me and placed it to music. So I’ll leave you with this.
All you've ever wanted
Was someone to truly look up to you
And six feet underwater I do
Hope decays, generations disappear
Washed away, as a nation simply stares
Don't want to reach for me do you?
I mean nothing to you
The little things give you away
But now there will be no mistaking
The levees are breaking