Maki Adams
Ms. Whitaker
English 1
October 4th 2015
“Yes”
Everything was good. At school, I had three “F”s, two “D”s, and an “A”. At home, I had a stepmother, little sister, and a dad who loved me. We had also recently got a new addition to the family, a 1977 Vespa. To my Dad the Vespa had become an obsession; every time we went out, it would be to a hardware shop so that he could get a new part for his new child. These constant trips out were great—the thing about most hardware shops is they usually sell really good candy, so for a couple months, my life revolved around constant snack-runs. I realize now that it was never about the food, I just enjoyed spending time with him.
Life does this great thing in that when you’ve gotten into a nice routine that you like, it starts pelting metaphorical rocks at you until you are left on your back without the strength to get up. I had a nice routine—I never did homework, went for constant snack runs, took guitar lessons, and occasionally I would create a piece of art. Everything was good. But then , as you might have guessed, the metaphorical rocks came flying straight at my face.
On May 23rd, 2014, my Dad picked me up from school. When we got home, neither my stepmum nor sister were there; this would give me some time to read (or well, to do whatever I wanted) as my dad was leaving almost immediately to go mountain biking with his friend. I didn’t think much of this as it was something he did often. After my Dad had been gone for a while, my stepmum and little sister came home. They talked to me for some time (they both have a gift for talking, which could also be perceived as a talking problem, but after living with them for awhile, you learn to listen without actually hearing anything.)
Thankfully, they were interrupted by the doorbell. I thought my Dad was finally home so I ran to get the door and swiftly opened it. The person standing there was not my dad but a police woman dressed in the usual deep green uniform. As soon as my mind had registered what I was seeing, all I could think was: “Why? What did I do?”
I was frozen. After an awkward couple of seconds, she asked me in a sad voice, “Is your Mom home?”
Of course my mother wasn’t home. She lived in New Zealand, but of course that’s not what she meant, so I called for my stepmom and she came. As soon as she had gotten to the door, the police lady started to speak once more. “Does Chris Adams live here?” she questioned.
My stepmom replied, “No, but his friend does.” She was referring to my dad. Chris was my dad’s friend that he had gone mountain biking with.
“Well do you know who the blue scooter belongs to?” the policewoman continued.
“The scooter belongs to my husband.” My step mom’s voice was trembling. The constant droning of the freeway seemed to be louder than before. The sound was growing, and along with it, my fear. The droning of cars was so peaceful though, so it was all I wanted to hear. I didn’t want to hear the conversation that was unfolding in front of me, but that would have been impossible.
“Was there an accident?” She asked it, the one question I didn’t want to hear because I was afraid of the answer. I tried to run away, but I was frozen, unable to move, and the droning of the cars was suddenly gone, leaving only an obnoxious silence.
“Yes.”
224
WOW! Great writer. Powerful story.
There is a locomotive power in this story that makes one tremble. Well done, Maki.
Awesome writing, Maki. Thank you for sharing.
I am so proud of you, Maki. This is so well written, and I wonder if your teacher is prapered for this kind of story. I remember over a year ago when you and Noah sat at the computer working on the first “Yes” story only days after the accident. It takes a lot of guts going back to that moment and writing about it! Very well done. Stor klem fra mamma. x
Thank you Allison for all your printing of papers and signing of sheets and all the rest of it (and showing -on this blog- that it is ok and very good to write about it all!…Big hug
I had to wait for my eyes to clear before commenting. I am deeply moved, in so many ways. Maki, you have carried us with you from the sheltered but shallow snack-run life, through the shattering of innocence to sudden and profound maturity. You are making good choices, but the choice to write may be one of the best. You have much to say and you say it well. Yes!
I spent ten years as a journalist and now read for a living as a pastor. Rarely do I come across storytelling as fine as this. Thank you, Maki, for sharing your gift and your story. More please.
Thank you Maki for sharing your heart with us. Awesome post!
Wow, Maki. Seems to me you are indeed following in a fine tradition of both artist and writer. The abrupt, suspense-leaving ending seems only the close of Chapter 1. We’ll await further chapters as they come. We’re all for you, and your family.
We had a 3 a.m. knock on our door once. 2 police came in..a man and a woman. They also had somber faces. “Are you the parents of Cliff Hardt?” “Yes”, we said with trepidation. “He was killed tonight in a car accident.” Just like that, another 18-year-old’s life came to an abrupt end. The other driver was drunk.
Oh Laurel! How awful! I’m sure you will never forget that moment. I’m so sorry.
This is so raw and beautiful. Your voice so strong and vulnerable. I want more!
I will join the others waiting for more chapters.
Yes, more please. Moving on so many levels. Beautifully written and generously shared. What a lovely family! My prayers continue for you all.
Brilliant, poignant and i love the humour about Ali and Justine talking. The landscape and soundscape of your inner and outerworlds is truly brilliant. It moves me to tears. Thats strong stuff xx
I’m sitting here with Vernon. I just read Maki’s essay to him, as well as the comment following. At moments he wiped away tears. He wanted to make his own comment. I will now take his dictation.
FROM VERNON:
Dear Maki,
I really live you and your skills. This story is a huge skill. And I look forward to reading the rest of it. Keep it coming in. Lots of love, your father, Vernon
Send
thankyou Hyatt for writing down what Vern has said to you ..his reply to Maki ( i am in tears again from this beautiful post) ..it touches my heart that you have been to see my brother , i miss him so much, i wish i could be with you all ..like last halloween, when we all met up at your parents home..and the next day to all go and visit Vern … Vern and Maki have a very special bond…
thankyou , again ..love to you and your family xx
vanessa xx
I’m glad to see Mark already commented on here as I knew he would love this. I agree with everyone else that this is such great writing. (And I laughed out loud when you said “you learn to listen without actually hearing anything”.)
Oh Maki, this is truly a beautifully expressed writing….
Your perspective in the way you have delivered it exposes your heart- lets us all in….
Oh…these lovely responses you have received- express the desire to hear more of what it is you have to say. We are loving how you say it…..
You have painted a masterpiece with language-
tears stream and you have our hearts……
and so…..
We all are standing there on the front row- applauding !
Maki and Allison,
So wonderful for Maki to express his inner most feelings like this. It is great and we are looking forward to more. You are showing how grown up you are and accepting this that has happened to your Dad and your family. Saw a pix of you holding Justine that was so eat.
Just keep on praying for your Dad and your family.
Becky
Maki……
I know your grandparents, Anne an Hayatt. While they’ve mentioned you a few times, along with tales of life in California (I live in Wyoming mountains) I didn’t realize you were THAT exceptional. What a writer you are !!!! I’m approx. 60 years older than you and find myself ih envy of your “style” and sensibility about the reader.
AMAZING . More, please. Inspire me further.