Rocket Man

                I am, admittedly, a storyteller.  Of all the things I have in this world, stories are the ones I talk about.  Stories can be about anything-from a harrowing near-death experience to a laughing-my-ass-off moment.  Every story is valuable to me.  They are what I show to other people.  When I’m trying to get closer to someone I tell them stories for a long time before we really start talking.  I suppose it’s how I handle being nervous.  If I tell a story that will make someone laugh, it’ll boost my confidence a bit.  I’ll be more comfortable talking.

                I want to live stories.  In all of my attempts at writing, I try to incorporate a story that is very close to me.  In fact, sometimes, I really am living a story.

                I had a crush on a girl for 18 months-yes, you read that right, 18 months.  I finally started to make a move to get closer, and, well, it didn’t end the way I had hoped.  At all.  Not even remotely.  I mourned for over a month, and it really got me down.  But I was at work one day, pushing around carts, and a girl, who it felt like I recognized but didn’t really know, walked up wearing a Kroger uniform.  Her first words to me? “You’re free.” Now that is symbolic.  But I wouldn’t have been working there had my mother not known somebody who knew somebody.  And I wouldn’t have had the courage to walk up to this girl later that day and start a conversation had my sister never introduced me to my new favorite show, Doctor Who (this girl had a TARDIS bumper sticker).  That is my favorite story, and I hope it gets better from here.