The Reason I...

[Gabriel James]

The Reason I'm Starting this Journal...

They say that the first step to fixing a problem is admitting you have one. I've been admitting I have a problem for quite a while now, but haven't seen much of an improvement in myself. So I decided to visit a counselor, even if just once. I'm on a teacher's salary, and can't afford the constant attention from a stranger that I would probably benefit from.

She suggested writing, using a journal to try and figure myself out; that writing about even the most arbitrary of topics would help me learn about myself; that writing stuff down would somehow make me dig deeper and realize where my depression and alcoholism stem from. And seeing as how I haven't been able to write a song for months now, I figure, why the hell not try.

[Gabriel James]

The Reason I am a Boxer...

When I was 8 years old I started attending an all-boys Catholic prep school near Newark, Deleware. Being a new kid is hard, pretty much anywhere. What was more difficult for me, was the fact that all the boys at St. Brodrick’s had been classmates since Pre-k. It is hard to immerse yourself into a group that had already been well established for 4 years - even when that group consisted of 8 and 9 year olds.

My brother’s had attended St. Brodrick’s as well, and my parents made it seem like I had a lot to live up to – especially when I wasn't accepted as a Kindergartner, 1st Grader, or even a 2nd Grader. When I finally got in, my parents were elated. I received my brother’s old uniforms – khaki pants, white button down shirts, and a navy blue blazer that was much too big for my tiny frame (Mom said I’d grow into it).

Across the playground from St. Brodrick’s was St. Marie’s – an equivalent all girl’s school that was taught mostly by nuns. Classes were held completely separate, but at recess the boys and girl’s shared the same blacktop. Here, I much preferred singing songs and playing hopscotch or jump rope with the girls than wrestling and kicking around rocks with the boys. The other boys occasionally joined in on the ‘girls side’ to draw monsters with their sidewalk chalk or show off their own jump rope skills. But they all tended to end up back on the boys side – throwing footballs and rolling in the dirt. I much preferred keeping my over-sized jacket clean.

Most of the boys seemed nice enough at first. Nobody really bothered with me, which was fine. A couple of bigger kids made fun of me at recess for the way that my clothes didn't fit, and how I was shorter than some of the kindergartners, and how I hung out with the girls from St. Marie’s instead of them. I let it go. It wasn't anything I hadn't heard from my brothers, anyway. They’d shove me around a bit, too. But again, Noah had a way of tossing me around at home too. It wasn't anything I wasn't used to, or couldn't handle.

Things changed on the day that George Harrison (you just don’t forget some names) punched me in the face for “stealing his girlfriend”. George Harrison reminded me of the Pillsbury Dough Boy. He wasn't particularly tall, but he certainly made up for that in weight and strength. He was on the wrestling team, and didn't let people forget it. Now, I didn't even know who he thought his girlfriend was that day, because I don’t think she (whoever it was supposed to be) was aware of the arrangement. At least none of the girls from St. Marie’s that I talked to on the playground had claimed that Georgie was their boyfriend. I ended up with a bloody nose and a black eye, as well as some scrapes and bruises from when he pushed me to the ground.

Two weeks later, when Georgie was allowed back on the playground for recess, he shoved me again. This time, into wall, where two of his friends held me while he kicked me in the gut and yelled at me to ‘man up’. I threw up an ended up with two bruised ribs. He punched me again after school for tattling on him.

When I went home with my second black eye, my dad was anything but sympathetic. He asked why I let these kids walk all over me. He asked me why I couldn't man up and stand up for myself. He asked me why I couldn't just be like all the other boys. What he didn't understand was that it was hard to keep up with them when you were 4 inches shorter than the next shortest kid in you class. How was a hobbit like me supposed to stand up to a behemoth like George Harrison? He told Noah to toughen me up, and I proceeded to be smacked on the back of the head every time I stepped near my overly aggressive 20 year old brother. He shoved me into the couch, and tripped me up when I walked into the kitchen – extra than what he used to.

I put up with it, though. I didn't see a point in fighting back.

When George Harrison moved on from me to a new target – Vinnie something (I can’t remember his last name) – I felt awful. Like somehow I caused George to go and beat on Vinnie. I made me so angry that George was just rampaging through the playground, pushing around anyone who was smaller than him. Seeing him push Vinnie into the mud made me want to do something. So I went up, and pushed him as well. He didn't budge. I ended up in the mud alongside Vinnie, and my mom yelled at me for ruining a good pair of pants.

It was then I decided I needed to do something to help myself, since my parents seemed to only care about my pants and my ‘manhood’. I took the money that my mother gave me to pay my tutor, and instead of going to tutoring, I went to a gym in downtown Newark for boxing lessons. I had found the flyer for the gym while I was waiting at the YMCA for the tutor, and told him that I would no longer be needing his services. I think he was ok with having a couple extra free hours.

So I took my tutoring money, and went to the gym to try and sign up. It turned out the classes were supposed to be for adults, and you needed to provide your own equipment. I didn't even have enough money to cover a class like I thought I might. Sad and dejected, I sat around and watched the class for that day, seeing as I had nowhere else to go. The gym owner came up to me after his class and asked me some questions. I told him why I wanted to take classes and that I was upset I couldn't afford it. I The instructor took pity on me, and gave me a discounted rate, and even bought me gloves. As the only kid in the class, he made sure I always had a lighter bag to punch, or a lower target to work with. I got a lot of anger out in those classes. The instructor made it clear that I wasn't to ever provoke a fight, and he wasn't teaching me so I could get my revenge, but so I could defend myself. That man was a better role model to me than anyone in my own household.

Just before the summer started George decided to start picking on me again – something about wanting to be a girl because I signed up for the summer theater camp at St. Marie’s. I told him to back off and leave me alone, and enraged by my attitude and back talk, he took a swing at me. Much quicker than Georgie could ever be, I ducked away from his fist, and threw a quick but firm uppercut to his jaw. Knocked him out. I was suspended for 3 days. Georgie never messed with me again. My dad seemed weirdly proud of me, but angry I had gotten suspended. Apparently I was allowed to fight back but not that hard. My mom was upset that I had ‘turned to violence’. Both were enraged that I was suspended. I kept up with the lessons, until I was recruited for Hammel, though. Just in case. My parents still don’t know that’s what I was using the tutoring money for.

[Gabriel James]

The Reason I won't write with blue ink...

One time my brother slipped a blue pen into my backpack and had rigged the ink cartridge to break after clicking it a couple times. It broke while I was crewing on the end of it. My teeth were blue for three days and I now I can smell blue ink and it makes me nauseous. 

[Gabriel James]

The Reason I Wrote 'Don't You'...

Don't You is one of the first songs I wrote that I still preform to this day. Whenever I experience high levels of any emotion, I'm destine to write a song. When I first met Mikayla (my first girlfriend), I fell hard. I fell before I even realized my feet weren't on the ground. I started writing this song after only hanging out with her a few times. It wasn't a love song at first. At first, the song was more of an anthem about meeting someone who, for the first time in a long time, made me feel positive about myself and life in general. It transformed over time as I realized how I really felt.

I sang it to her at a coffee shop open house as a way to ask her to be my girlfriend. She accepted. And while the song will always belong to her in my heart, I realize that it is more of an anthem to my ability to fall for complete strangers. While my relationship with Mikayla was long lasting and happy (until the very end), I have not been as lucky as time has gone on. These 'sparks' that keep happening aren't always going to set off more.

That's when I added the second verse. A series of 'Goodbyes' as soon as I said 'Hello'. Whenever I had a good time with a girl after my breakup with Mikayla, while I was hopeful they'd want to get to know me better, I was still ok if I never talked to them again. I was protecting my feelings. Maybe it was better to avoid the heartbreak. But I still always longed to tell them what I really thought of them.

I love the song though, and I can't help but hum it to myself whenever I meet someone new. It's been a while since I've had the feeling that usually accompanies this song. Part of me is ok with that though. It's probably time to stop chasing sparks and really try to build a fire.

Say, wasn't that a funny day?
Gee you had a funny way, a way about you
A kind of glow of something new

Sure, I'll admit that I'm the same
Another sucker for a game kids like to play
And the rules they like to use

Don't you want the way I feel?
Don't you want the way I feel?
Don't you want the way I feel for you?

The sun telling me the night is done
Well I refuse to let it stop our fun
Close your eyes, we'll make it dark again

And kiss, there's a thought so how 'bout this?
Let's pretend that both our lips are made of candy
After all we need sweets every now and then

Don't you want the way I feel?
Don't you want the way I feel?
Don't you want the way I feel for you?

Well here we are two strangers in a very different place
Who knows what will happen to us next?
Here we are with nothing but this little spark
It's too cold outside to lay this fire to rest

Go, how so very apropos
A goodbye just as soon as I said hello
Well, alright, I'll see you later

It's true, it's just a fantasy for two
But what's the difference if it all could have been true?
I guess this is better

Don't you want the way I feel?
Don't you want the way I feel?
Don't you want the way I feel for you?

Oh, don't you want the way I feel?
Don't you want the way I feel?
Don't you want the way I feel for you?

Don't you want the way that I feel for you?

[Gabriel James]

The reason I am a musician..

If my parents could go back in time, they'd probably make sure I never would have touched an instrument. It isn't that they are against music in general, or even against learning an instrument. In fact, they made both of my brothers take violin lessons while they were in high school so they had something "artsy" to put on their resumes. I believe they would have done the same to me if the obsession hadn't hit so early on, and I believe if my grandparents weren't around to feed my interest, my parents would have nipped my dreams in the bud. Having a professional musician as a son was (and still is) not part of the James family plan. 

I first touched a piano when I was three. I was visiting my grandparents and took a liking to the old Steinway immediately - abandoning all my colorful plastic toys to poke and prod at the keys. My Grandfather was impressed at how gentle I was with the piano. While my bothers would often simply bang on the keys seeing just how many noises they could get out of the instrument at once, I seemed to listen carefully to each note as I pressed on the keys, never using all that much force in my exploring. 

He convinced my grandmother to try teaching me when I came over, even though I was very young. She had been the one who could play, having taken some lessons herself as a child. While I didn't learn much at first, my young attention often being swept up by other things, by the time I was five or six I was learning fast and loved the time I spent with my grandmother. I would beg my parents to go to their house after school or on the weekends so I could learn more. My parents got tired of making that drive pretty quickly, and my visits became fewer and farther between. But whenever I did get the chance to visit, my grandmother would remind me how great I was, and how important it was to share my music with the world. Music was my happiness, and my grandmother said the world deserved a share of it.

My grandmother died when I was six. The only person more crushed than me was my grandfather. When we were all done mourning (which took a deal of time), he told my parents he wanted me to have her piano and wanted to find someone to continue giving me lessons. They put the piano in out formal living room, and I wasn't allowed to play it nearly as much as I like. More than 20 minutes of practice and either my mother would complain of a migraine, or my dad would assign me some menial task he found more worth-while. Even so, I cherished those moments I spent playing alone in that gaudy living room. It reminded me of my grandmother which made me happy. The lessons continued until my grandfather died when I was nine, when they were quickly suspended.

Whenever I was home alone I'd sit and try to figure out how to play songs I heard on the radio. That was when I started considering asking for guitar lessons too. After all, rock and roll sounded a little less raw on a piano. My parents said no to the lessons, claiming I needed to spend more time on my studies and on running around outside. Frustrated with my parents distaste for my interests, I decided this wasn't going to stop me. I saved up months of allowance, money from birthday cards, and tips from walking neighbor's dogs until I had enough to buy a thrift store guitar. 

I swear I messed around on that beat up old acoustic guitar for three straight weeks teaching myself the basics with library books and a little guessing. But once I got it, I got it. The music started coming naturally to me. I took every chance I could to practice, which was much easier seeing as I could hide away in my room and keep things relatively quiet. This kept my anxieties down and really let me blossom. But for the most part, I kept the guitar hidden in the crawl space in my closet, afraid of what my parents would suggest if they found I'd spent my money on a guitar.

It wasn't until I was recruited at Hammel that my obsession really took on a life of its own. I took every music class I could fit in my schedule, even if I'd taken it before. I joined band where I taught myself to play percussion since there were no pianos or guitars involved. I joined glee club where I found out I apparently had quite the singing voice. I joined a community orchestra and learned violin, just like my brothers. I became so confident in myself I even started to create my own tunes and lyrics. I started reading and writing and dreaming my music may be on the radio some day. 

Despite my parents efforts to convince me otherwise (including steps like selling my late grandfather's piano and setting up job interviews with business firms, and even offering to pay fully for business school), I'm still determined to this day to share my music with the world like my grandmother told me to. 

[Gabriel James]

The Reason I have a Magic Number of 19: Part 1, Mikayla Carter...

Mikayla was my first serious girlfriend. I had some 'relationships' before her, if you can call holding hands with a girl for two weeks in 5th grade a relationship. And at the time I swore up and down she'd be my only. I called her Mika - which she hated, but loved. She was blind, which was a weird comfort for someone who effected everyone he locked eyes with. It was nice knowing that there was someone I didn't have to worry about influencing with my still out of control ability. I could be positive that she liked me for me, and not because my ability was telling her to.

She was beautiful - long brown hair and perfectly glowing olive skin. And even though her eyes never focused on anything in particular, they sparkled all the same. The was she touched my face to 'see' me created a feeling within me that I cannot describe to this day. I don't think I ever smiled as much as I had when I was with her. Mika was the first person who I felt ever loved me the way you see in the movies and books - unconditionally, without hesitation. She made me feel like I was needed, like I was worth something. And she made me feel like I needed her as well.

Even though we were school aged kids, our relationship was very mature. There were many teachers at Hammel who even noticed and made note of it. Maybe it was the nature of our childhoods, or the reliance we seemed to have on one another. By the end of Junior year we couldn't get through a day without one another in some capacity.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't love her, and I'd probably be lying if I said I don't still love her. Or at least the idea of her. Don't get me wrong, I've grown up, I've moved on. You can't live holding on to what could have been. But it's extremely hard not to think of the 'what ifs'. I think we could have lasted forever if it weren't for a series of unfortunate circumstances and events which would lead me to my numbers 2-19.

[Gabriel James]

The Reason I Always Have Painted Nails...

This is a recent development in my life, but I can't find it in myself to stop it from happening.

When I used to visit my niece McKenna in the hospital, one of her favorite things to do was paint my nails with her collection of brightly colored nail polish. As you'd expect any 5 year old to do, she never stuck to one color and instead insisted on using every single polish to create a rainbow on my hands. I never took off the paint, either. It was comforting, in a way, to come back home to Vermont and wake up every morning to a set of brightly colored nails - like a reminder that she's there.

Since McKenna died I won't pretend I haven't been a wreck. I've been doing whatever I can to comfort myself - including painting my nails. It reminds me of her, and it makes me feel like she's still here somehow. Like she's there in spirit telling me I shouldn't have put the yellow next to the blue, or that I should have used the sparkly purple instead of the plain. And yes, I've invested in sparkly purple nail polish in the past month.

Maybe I'll grow out of the habit, or maybe I won't. I guess I don't care either way. But sometimes I just think about how if my father knew I was doing this he'd kill me...

[Gabriel James]

The Reason I have a Magic Number of 19: Part 2, AnnaGrace Toredo...

AG, as she was often called, was one of Mikayla’s roommates. Very sweet girl, as I remember. She was quiet, and had quite a bit of baggage – things she never really talked about and when she did her emotions certainly got the best of her. She was a Pheromone Manipulator, and greatly feared even the slightest contact from anyone, as the touch caused a spike in pheromones like no other. I still did my best to befriend her, since I spent a lot of time with Mikayla in her room. AG and I were definitely friendly, even if she and I didn't have many conversations.

The night of the Spring Dance my Senior year I got in a fight with Mikayla over something stupid that I can’t even remember. At one point she knocked my glasses off my face and they broke. I wasn’t even worried about it at the time. She stormed off, and I assumed she was going to her bedroom. Once I cooled off, which didn’t take too long, I headed up to her room to try and work things out. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get to sleep that night otherwise. I had totally forgotten about my glasses at that point, though, and left without the protection it turns out I would have needed. I still to this day wish I had better control of my powers by this point. If I worked a little harder or cared a little more, things would probably have ended differently.

Mik wasn’t in her room as I had assumed she would be. AnnaGrace was, though. When she opened the door her face was red and tear stained. Not being able to just leave her like that, I decided to stay and talk to her, figuring Mikayla would be back any minute anyway. Well that night we found out that Charm and Pheromone Manipulation is not a good mix: While I was trying to convince AG everything would be ok, she managed to get absorbed into my gaze without my noticing. She scooted closer to me on the bed, and gently touched my thigh. Anna had essentially no control of her power, especially under my accidental influence. Things escalated extremely quickly, and as it turns out neither one of us had control while the other's power effected them.

Mikayla and one of her other roommates walked in a bit later. And no matter how many times I tried to explain to Mikayla that it was an accident, that I couldn’t even remember any of it… she couldn’t find it in herself to forgive me. I don’t blame her. I don’t think I’ve looked at myself the same since that night, either. There has always been a part of me that wondered how you can even define consent in that situation. I couldn't even say I consented myself. Looking back still makes me sick to my stomach. I hope that AnnaGrace doesn't blame herself, because she and I never spoke again after that night, and I'll never know if she'd forgive me, or herself.