Hiya!

Age: Teens
Name: call me Khepri
Gender: Female
Location: Southwestern USA

This is my dA page: http://khepri-em-hotep.deviantart.com/

I feel that in order to best understand why a person thinks/says/writes what they do (and the way that they do so), one of the most important things is...

RANDOM FACTS!

1. I love music, in case that wasn't horrifically obvious. Mostly, I prefer rock, pop (though I hate to admit it), alternative, metal, dance and electronica, though I can stand everything else for extended periods of time. 97.9 KUPD, MIX 96.9, and 93.3 KDKB are some of my favorite standard radio stations, and on Sirius, my favorites are Buzzsaw and Alt Nation. Support your local bands!

2. I enjoy watching TV in my free time: Scrubs, The Daily Show, The Colbert Report, Invader Zim, Danny Phantom, Futurama, The Simpsons, Family Guy, etc

3. Love is a many splendid thing, love lifts us up where we belong, all you need is love! You'd think that people would've had enough of silly love songs; well, what's wrong with that? I'd like to know...

4. Reading and writing pleasures in life. To give them up means to give up all chances of obtaining or maintaining intelligence; to do so at all gives the entire human race a little hope for the future, and gives me the hope that maybe we can stop destroying the planet before I have nothing to rule over when I grow old.

5. I stay up all night long and accomplish very little, but manage to get up at 8am and actually do stuff.

6. I'm not religious, but I celebrate the earth as a Pagan would, to put it simply.

7. Zutara = Love. Music is too, but Zutara is good for my soul.

8. I love the books Twilight, New Moon and Eclipse by Stephenie Meyer. And I love Edward. So shoot me.

9. I play the guitar and write songs, some of which I record in my mini recording studio at home. :D Tis magical, really.

10. Tri17 is my Beta-Reader for my story "Impossible", the most popular of my stories so far. Thank you for your support!

Conversations with Strangers:
Sushi with an Old Lady

"Is it good?" she asks, eyes rimmed with fake eyelashes widening at my california roll. I chew thoughtfully, then put a finger in the air as I finish chewing. It takes a moment, but the woman is patient and just gives me a smile. The skin around her eyes crinkles, and I think briefly of what happens to my fingers and toes when I've been in a bath for a while. This woman has been through lots, I can see that much, and I want to know her story. I nod, and pick up the top of the container I bought only a meter away at the asian bar toward my gate at the airport terminal in Seattle.

She wore, I noticed almost immediately, a pair of shapeless grey/blue denim pants, a matching jacket over a pastel (and presumably embroidered, though I cannot see it fully) tank, and standard white old lady Keds.

"What is that?" she asks, squinting at the container. I realize that she may not be able to see it, so I pick some rice out of my braces with my tongue, and put the container down.

"California Roll. If you'd like to try one, feel free, its too much food for me." A bland offer, but one made anyway, if only to be kind.

"Oh, I'm not begging." She looks as if I've accused her of murder, though I meant no such thing. I feel the awkwardness settle between us like smog, but she only leans over the metal ledge beside the empty chair I sat across from. She smiled at me, and continues on by telling me how she had been scheduled for a flight that was an hour late, and had to get a different connecting flight to where we were in Washington, then she was off to Ontario.

"Canada?"

"California."

"Oh. I didn't know there was an Ontario in California. I thought you meant Canada." I wanted her to be a world traveler, I realized. I would find out later from my Dad that there was also an Ontario in Oregon, the place where I had stayed for the previous two weeks. He told me the town was a tiny, run-down 'shithole'.

"I'm very hungry, I think I'll get myself something," she said thoughtfully. I continue eating, watching her out of the corner of my eye. It takes her at least 5 minutes to pull out her wallet and a ten spot, then put it back. Then, of course, she has to find a roll she wants. She asks the attendant something beyond my hearing range, and he points her to the spot where I found my California rolls. I smile to myself, continuing to eat, maybe taking a few sips of my Mango Tango Odwalla smoothie thing that I had paid something around 5 for. I watched the woman pay for her food, then turn around to smile at me. I didn't notice anything about her teeth, or even if she had any at all. I placed her age at maybe 70, judging by the surplus of skin on her face, presumably to make up for the lack of much hair. What hair she did have was reasonably short and fairly blonde, but not white. Those fake eyelashes were now beginning to bother me, but the woman is sweet and has interesting character, so I let the thought fall from my shoulder like a dead demon. "Do you mind if I sit with you?" she asks, throwing her free hand to gesture to the chair across from me. I had already cleared that side of the table, having seen this coming.

"Of course I don't mind. Please," I respond, signaling in much the same way to said chair.

"Thank you very much." I frown sympathetically when she catches her leg on the side of the table, then again on the chair, and she plops onto it with an 'oof'.

"Certainly hard to maneuver, hm?" I am, of course, referring to the chair. She nods, and looks at her food. It seems to me like a lot of food for a little old lady. "What did you get?"

"Salmon roll. Do you work in Phoenix?" The question catches me off guard. She thinks I'm much older than I am. The thought makes my self-esteem swell a little, and I laugh lightheartedly.

"No, I go to school, high school, in Northern Arizona. A boarding school, International Baccalaureate."

"Do you like it there?" That question is familiar, so I nod.

"I love it. It's small, I think 120 students this year, but very closely knit." She nods, taking an awkward bite of her salmon roll. Half of it falls off her fork and onto another roll, and part of the other half ends up in her mouth.

"Is this a co-ed school?" I can see through the question.

"Yes, but the dorms are separate. They even have a security guard who comes at night, and goes around the dorms. You know, just to make sure everyone stays in their dorms when it gets late." I smile sweetly. Old ladies shouldn't know what goes on after dark at schools like my own.

"Of course. What do you plan to do after high school?"

"I plan on going to Reed College in Oregon."

"I've heard of that."

"Probably go to med school after that."

"I've been through medical school. I'm a school psychiatrist, that's why I've been asking so many questions." The thought crossed my mind that perhaps she was examining me. For what, I couldn't imagine, but it seemed like a cool enough thought. My psyche examined by a complete stranger. It seemed remotely disturbing, in a sense. "My son is going through medical school. He used to be a life guard in California, and one day he saved three lives," to this my jaw dropped. This was the story I wanted to hear from her, and for a moment I wished my own grandmother were this cool, "and he said that it was amazing, saving lives, so he switched his major and went into med school." Her eyes glazed over for a moment in memoria, and she seemed very proud of him. Rightfully so, it seemed.

"That's amazing."

"What do you plan on doing?" I want to hear more about her, of course, but I can't ignore her question.

"I want to be a pharmacologist, just a standard 9 to 5 job until I can save up to do what I really want. I don't know what that is yet, but I'll find out before too long." I shrug. The rest of the conversation I cannot remember, aside from the fact that I had long since finished my own sushi and Odwalla, and she was only half done. When things got silent, I stood, rubbed my happy sushi-stuffed stomach and told her I was definitely full by now, and tossed my trash in the bin. I thanked her for her company, and reached my hand toward her to shake hands with the woman, but I don't think she noticed it. She smiled to me, "Take care."

A Man and His Son

“Sorry, but that’s my seat,” I said with an apologetic half-smile, pointing to seat 3A, the window seat of the tiny, rickety airplane. The man stood after fumbling his son onto his hip with one arm so that he could pull them both up by his other arm. He scooted out of the way, and I quickly jumped into my seat, shoving the Green Day backpack under the chair. The boy was sleeping, thankfully for the both of us there in aisle 3. I had to lower my voice on the phone with my Mom and Dad, respectfully, to let them know that I was alright and had boarded the plane, ready to take off whenever the loudspeaker declared it so. When I was done, I stuck the phone in my back pocket and looked out the window. The man to my left said something, but it passed by me unheard.

“I’m sorry?”

“Is his foot bothering you?” He nodded to where his son’s bare toes connected with the outside of my jean-covered leg. I waved the thought away with my left hand.

“No, no, of course not. No worries.” The same phrase I had used far too many times in the preceding weeks. No worries. I sounded like a hippie, but really, I didn’t mind it. After all, I had been the one meditating on the floor of the gate to keep from having a breakdown. My flight from Redmond to Portland ended up two hours late, and I had had to run, sprint down the wing of the airport, hearing my name called over the intercom, along with the words “give up your seat for someone else”. I didn’t like the sound of that, so I ran faster. Later, of course, my Dad would remind me that I ran like a chicken. Of course, the moment wouldn’t have been perfect without my having passed my original gate and into a large room with lots of people, then back to the gate I had missed in my fluster. Oops.

“What’s his name?” I asked, meaning the man’s son. I had guessed Michael. It was the vibe they put off, I suppose.

“Joseph.” Bible-child. Perhaps the father’s name was Michael, then. I wouldn’t end up asking. After all, what good is a stranger if you know their name?

“Is this his first time flying?” The child’s eyelids, I noticed, were almost translucent. The blue vessels were bright in contrast to his red cheeks and white little nose. I wanted to pinch him, if only to see what he would do.

“Yes. Well, sort of.”

“How do you mean?”

“Today, our connecting flight, was his first flight.” I nodded, and looked at the child’s toes.

“He’s adorable.”

“He wasn’t that way earlier. He was cranky and cried on the first flight."

“Really? That many flights in one day? Wow. Well, I guess that’s not such a big deal. I’ll have been on three by the time the day is done. Going through it with a child though, I can’t imagine that.”

“Only two flights were with him though. The first one was solo.” He had peaked my curiosity, but I didn’t want to ask anything too personal. I didn’t want him thinking I was some kind of stalker, though in the end it probably ended up with him feeling that way. “What are you going to Seattle for?”

“Ugh, well, it’s a long story.” I then proceeded to explain that my first flight had been delayed by two hours, so I switched my flight plan to go through Seattle from Portland rather than the original- direct from Portland to Phoenix. This way, I explained, I would still get home tonight, even if it was going to be towards 8pm.

The rest of the flight was silent. I watched the clouds go by, occasionally peeking at the slumbering child in my neighbor’s arms. I wanted to hold him. When we landed, he stirred, sat up and squirmed, squealing unhappily. He kicked my leg once, twice, three times, then flipped over onto his belly, head toward me. Bravely, I reached toward his head and ruffled his wispy blonde hair. His father didn’t seem to notice, to my luck. Really, though, it’s quite impossible not to want to hug such tiny human beings.

“I have a strange request.” He looked at me like, yes, you would, wouldn’t you? I smiled sheepishly. “I’m a firm believer in Karma,” I said, but the speech I had gone over in my head failed me, “and destiny and all that, and I was thinking earlier,” I leaned down to my bag, pulling out of the side of it a tiny stuffed animal monkey with beanie arms and legs, and a fairly oversized head, “that if I came across someone who could use this more that I could, I would give it to them.” It was around now that I started feeling like a dilweed. I lowered my voice. “So, I guess what I’m trying to say is that when your son wakes up, can you give this to him for me? ‘Cause if I don’t do this, than I’ll feel like absolute crap later. Please?” He smiled half-heartedly at me, nodded once, and took the monkey. It rested on his son’s leg for a moment. “And, uh, just for the record, I feel like a complete doofus right now.” He laughed, and his son blinked at me. At least he didn’t kick my leg again. His father stuffed the monkey in his carry-on bag.

I waved to the child while we walked to the terminal from the airplane, and he smiled at me over his father’s shoulder.

Our parting words were, “Take care.” and “You, too.”

I don’t miss the monkey much, but I do wonder if the father kept it for him or just gave/threw it away.