Fred's Pizza

    So I knew my brain worked in strange ways before but now it has surprised me again. I was in my biology summer school class and we were reviewing how to make graphs. There was a person on the data named Fred. He had eaten the most pieces of pizza but not by far. He had eaten ten total pieces of pizza and behind him was someone who only ate eight. The graph was in a pattern of twos so it wasn't very creative in my own opinion. But everyone was saying Fred was a savage or he was fat then others would make the comment no he’s just big boned then they would laugh. I personally thought it was rude even though Fred was not a real person.

    A thought came into my head from that, what if Fred ate food to fill a feeling of emptiness in his life? I know it's crazy to think that the one who made the worksheet thought of background for their “test subjects” but it popped into my mind and i felt sorry for the man/boy. Then i thought of more! What if Fred felt empty because his drunkard father abused his mom and him so he felt no love so there was only emptiness within him. He ate to fill the feeling but it never truly felt like it was gone so he would eat more and gain weight leading to him getting bullied. From him being bullied he felt worse and ate more and/or possibly went to selfharm and attempts at suicide. I know it is not right to think like that and I know i am not a physician so I can't say if that motive is right or not it was just an idea in the least.

The Impact of Ryan

I have seen the impact this one man had on my high school. His name was Ryan. He was in track and field and had many friends from what I could pick up and how his death affected the school.

Ryan died in a three way car crash on april 30th. From some stories I heard was that a driver was snapchatting while driving and collided with Ryan’s car. At first we thought it was the Every Fifteen Minutes program that the school did, sadly it was not. It drew a huge crowd and we were expecting something else to happen like a man or woman to walk out the car with her face painted white or something. They didn't and the people that stood huddled watching the cars as they did nothing. Ambulances came and fire trucks with police. My biology teacher said that it wasn't the Every Fifteen Minutes program and that was a real car crash.

Later I heard that a man died in the crash and was possibly a student at West Hills from my grandmother. My step mom took my dad to someplace to get answers. I believe it was the school. When they came back they wanted to know if I knew the student from the crash. His name sounded so familiar, but I couldn't put a face with the name so my gears were turning, trying to put a face to the man’s name. I couldn't and it took away from my focus on the game I was playing with my younger sister and cousins. I went inside to think but came up empty-handed.

My mom had called me later that night around six fifty and asked me if I knew about the candlelight vigil that was going on tonight. I didn't know about it but, I wanted to go. It would be my first. My mom picked me up and we went to the school in the circle where kids get dropped off by their relatives and get a quick getaway. The cement berm around the flagpoles was covered in candle light whether it was from people holding candles or the candles they had placed on top of it. Personally, I expected most of the school’s population to be there and I had messaged my friends to see who all was going and who wasn't so I could have someone to lean on and them onto me. Not many of my friends were able to go because they didn't have a ride and my mom wasn't go to pick anyone up. I stood next to my mom as I held the small thin candle in my hand with a paper circle on it so it didn't drip down onto the hand that held it. I blocked the small wind that was making my candle go out with my left hand.

The candle got me thinking. What if the candle was like your life and the fire was your emotional strength? I know that many people these days battle depression and the only way my fire would stay up was with a hand there to block the wind. And what if the wax trail that it left on the paper circle and on your hand was the impact you left on the world? For Ryan he had a wax trail that covered an entire school. But what if your candle, like Ryan’s, was smaller than others? Would you still have a “full” life in your own and others opinion?

The people made the grass and blacktop of the circle and flagpoles flicker with light. A bagpipe started playing and everyone looked for the one playing the instrument. No one could see him so I figured it was a speaker. I looked back at the mass of people. The turnout was still grand and a lot of people went. I even saw my Honors Algebra 2 teacher there. The words the people in the middle of the mass of people was muffled by the mass of bodies that surrounded them. After that when my candle was already a trail of wax, we headed down to the blue football field for what I like to call “the silent lap.”

Members of track lined up on one end of the track with some others. My cousin participated in the lap. I didn't like how people were pulling out their phones I found that very disrespectful in my own opinion. The people in the lap ran as best they could which symbolized, to me, how strength to keep going though he was not. After the silent lap they made a big huddle and did our wolf pack sport chant. “Wolf Pack on three! Wolf Pack on three! One! Two! Three! WOLFPACK!” The members of track walked in front of the stands where everyone stood and the one who put it all together stepped forward. “Let's give it up for Ryan!” We all clapped, even if we had to put our candles down. The applause was so great that it muffled the sound of the sniffling from people who were crying. “That's all I had planned so we can all go home now, I know Ryan is smiling at us.”

My mother and I started to walk away when I saw that people started holding hands in the first ring of the track. I gave my second candle to my mother and walked down to the track to participate. It took forever to get enough people coordinated to hold hands so we can cover the whole first ring of the track. But once we did we made a “W” with our hands and said our alma mater. I didn't know it, but it just came out like it was muscle memory. When that was over I went back to my mom and we headed back to the circle to place our candles. I lit more candles from people who blew them out thinking they would, just go home but then saw that people were placing their candles on the berm.

I saw a man dressed in a traditional scottish bagpipe uniform and walked to him with my mother. He had a red and white pole with a point at the bottom of it. I had seen him around school and almost ran into him a couple times. His name was Austin and he was mostly blind. It took me by surprise to see that he could play without seeing. We thanked him for playing the bagpipes then left. I saw my math teacher on the way to the car and we stopped to say hi knowing that he had been through a lot of death in his career himself. We chatted for a bit then he had to leave to see his family and me and my mom left.

The day after his death the news people stood on the edge of the school grabbing as many students as they could. My friends and I were angry and we were dressed in blue in Ryan's name. The school needed a day of mourning the loss of another student! I went to my math class and I have never seen a teacher cry before that day. It was something that I never thought I’d see. Even more so since it was my math teacher who seemed fine the night before. We didn't do anything in my math class math related, it was practically a free period so I wrote this to get my thought on paper.

In fact the whole day and members of every other school in the San Diego county wore blue in Ryan's name. We took pictures and gave him millions of shout outs throughout the day. My school took a picture in the pit and we made a big circle in a patch of grass. I didn't participate in them, but watched from afar.

All of this got me thinking though. I know I battle depression and even fell into the hole of wanting my life to end. But this made me think about that, knowing that Ryan’s parents can no longer say goodnight to their baby boy, no longer say good morning, no longer see his smile. What kind of impact would that have on a parent, to go to their own child’s funeral? I also couldn't tell if it helped my depression or worsened it.

But I know one thing, I know that I will live so that my parents won't have to go through what Ryan’s parents are going through. I wouldn't want to damage my family and make another candle lighting and silent lap for me at the school. I will live so that I can see Ryan’s legacy through, even though I didn't know him personally, even if others do not.