A book is a gift you can open again and again. —Garrison Keillor

Of all the things I inherited from my father (a passion for the eighties, a deep appreciation of garlic, the knowledge to pop perfect stovetop popcorn), his most influential gift came as a shock. I never imagined that my large, Hispanic father with scars on each eyebrow and a scrutinizing intense stare would share with me his passion for the 2012 musical comedy, Pitch Perfect.

The girl awoke from her slumber. She opened her eyes only to shut them quickly again. The lights on the ceiling were far too bright. She sat up as her eyes adjusted. She was in what seemed to be a hospital room. The evening sun shined through the open window to her left. She could hear the wind gently blowing the leaves on the trees outside and every now and again a vehicle of some sort would drive by in the distance.

That's it! I'm done! I thought angrily.

I got up from the cold hard wooden floor. My drunken father had just left me here in the living room, lying naked. My mother was out 'enjoying' herself with other men. My Tia was out selling drugs. I know what they do but they have no idea and think I'm just stupid.

It was a crazy day at home. Marilyn was working on her painting in her room. The painting was of her backyard in Spring. She always painted her backyard each season. She loved to paint. It was something she enjoyed. She put the finishing touches to a tree when a knocking on the door occurred. On the other side was a man. An odd man. Who tried to sell her...a set of cloth sheets of yellow? Okay, let's talk about the man.

When I was a little girl, before I even began homeschooling, there was a particular creek that I loved to play in during the summers. At that age, it didn’t take much to keep me entertained or happy; just trying to sneak up on, and then trap, tadpoles and tiny fish in between my hands would keep me occupied and content for hours.

He squinted at his reflection in the harsh glare of the overhead light. The fixture buzzed softly above his head, vibrating the shells of multiple bugs cradled within its plastic dome.
He stood, nude, in the bathroom of Room 12 at the Starlite Motor Inn. Glancing down with a grimace, he lifted and wiggled his toes, detaching them from the sticky yellowed tile beneath his bare feet. The stench of cheap cigarettes hung heavily in the stale air, stinging his eyes and causing them to water.

A dim light from behind Baez brakes the total darkness in his room. The light is directed towards a brown old looking book, that he is holding in his hands while he is lying on his bed. With one hand he reaches to his right to grab the plain white cup of black caff, while not letting his gaze of the book, and spills a little bit of caff on the floor . As he takes a sip he realizes that now would be a good time to take a brake so he can holo Gimmy. Quickly he puts the cup back spilling a little bit more on the floor, and then closes the book and starts pushing the buttons of the holo to see if Gimmy would answer.