I have been sitting in this stupid restaurant for about an hour now, waiting on Jack to show up. He’s been super busy with recording and photo shoots. And tonight was the night we would finally have a real date. I’ve tried calling his phone at least 5 times and no answer. I don’t think I would be this mad if he had just told me he couldn’t make it instead of leaving me there.
“I am sorry but you have to leave unless you order something”, a lady who I’m guessing was a waitress told me. I just smiled a very small smile and nodded. I sat there for another 5 minutes and decided there was no hope. I grabbed my purse and headed to the door.
I made it outside and realised of was pouring rain. “Just great”, I thought aloud which earned me some looks by people passing by. I walked to the nearest bus stop and saw the wait was 10 minutes. So since there was no way I was walking home I sat on the bench and waited.
As I waited on the bench I got on Snapchat and saw Nate , Sammy’s, and both the Jack’s stories and saw they were all hanging out with everyone else. Right as I got up to walk to their house the bus pulled up. I decided to ride the bus to the Jack’s flat since that’s where they were in the Snapchat stories.
After about 5 minutes we made it to their house and I could hear there laughs from inside. I was probably about to make a fool of myself but I could really care less. I couldn’t contain my anger as I knocked on their door. I could hear running from inside and Gilinsky opened the door and I couldn’t stop myself and the anger was just flowing through my vein’s.
“ I can’t believe you ”, I yelled as I stepped thought the door.
“Oh God what did I do” “you left me waiting for you at a restaurant for at least an hour I waited for you hoping you were just running late, but obviously you had more important things to do”, I yell as I look around the room.
There was food and trash everywhere and you could tell everyone around us felt some what awkward, considering we were in the middle of everyone screaming at each other. So to save everybody from even more awkwardness I grabbed Jack’s hand and pulled him up the stairs.
We went into his room and he began to apologize, “I’m sorry (y\n), you know I wouldn’t do it on purpose”. “That’s the thing Jack you always forget, the one night we get to hang out you hang with the guys. You see them all the time and I’m done wit it”, I say as calm as I can but my words slowly turn into a yell.
Next thing I know Jack steps closer to me and yells, “ (y\n), just shut up, I don’t understand why your here, go and stop accusing me of this stuff, sometimes you really piss me off, just leave”. Then he raised his hand and my first instinct was to shield my face and I couldn’t contain my tears.
“(y\n), you know I would never do that” “I’m not sure of what you would do anymore”, and with that I left.
The MacArthur “genius grants” were announced just after midnight. Winners include cartoonist and graphic memoirist Alison Bechdel, playwright Samuel D. Hunter, translator and poet Khaled Mattawa and poet Terrance Hayes.
Alison Bechdel was commended for “expanding the expressive potential of the graphic form in intricate narratives that explore the complexities of familiar relationships.” Bechdel’s comic strip, Dykes to Watch Out For, ran from 1983 to 2008. “The characters in my comic strip … are all thinly veiled versions of myself,” she told the MacArthur Foundation. “No matter what they look like … they’re all basically me.” Her memoirs include Fun Home, about her father, which she talked about with Liane Hansen in 2006, and a book about her mom titled Are You My Mother?, which she discussed with Guy Raz in 2012. In a Q&A with NPR on Tuesday, she said:
“I guess I’m proudest of just really sticking with this odd thing I loved and was good at — drawing comics about marginal people (lesbians) in a marginal format (comics). I never thought much about whether that was responsible, or respectable, or lucrative.”
Khaled Mattawa was recognized for “rendering the beauty and meaning of contemporary Arab poetry accessible to an English reader and highlighting the invaluable role of literary translation in bridging cultural divides.” He says he finds it “moving and rewarding” to connect poets and readers who otherwise would not have been connected. “There were many great Arab poets who were not available in English, so it seemed important for me to bring them to the American reader,” Mattawa told the MacArthur Foundation. Mattawa spoke with NPR back in February 2011 about his birthplace, Benghazi, Libya, which had just seen an uprising against the regime of Moammar Gadhafi. He told Guy Raz:
“I feel rebirth, greatly honored to be from Benghazi. I feel slightly ashamed at having distrusted the people or my fellow citizens at not being able to rise. And I feel a great sense of solidarity with the people of my city. I’m overjoyed.”
Terrance Hayes was recognized for “reflecting on race, gender, and family in works that seamlessly encompass both the historical and the personal and subvert canonical forms.” Tune in to All Things Considered tonight to hear Melissa Block’s conversation with Hayes. “I’m pursuing a kind of language which is just as complicated and just as transparent as human experience,” he told the MacArthur Foundation. NPR featured Hayes’ poem “The Blue Terrance” back in 2006.
Samuel D. Hunter was commended for “quietly crafting captivating dramas that explore the human capacity for empathy and confront the socially isolating aspects of contemporary life across the American landscape.” Drawing inspiration from his Idaho hometown, Hunter says his plays are an “experiment in empathy.” He tells the MacArthur Foundation: “The plays are very plainspoken. I’m not interested in making a kind of art that goes over anybody’s heads. … I want them to be accessible.”
Clockwise from top left: Alison Bechdel, Samuel D. Hunter, Terrance Hayes and Khaled Mattawa. Images Courtesy of the John D. & Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation.
Rutherford Birchard Hayes and Lucy Webb Hayes are not amongst the most well-known of our First Families, but their solid, successful family and deep love for one another is fortunately chronicled in the candid, personal diaries that the 19th President kept for most of his life.
When President Hayes is remembered, it’s usually because of the disputed 1876 Presidential election between him and New York Governor Samuel J. Tilden. Hayes lost the popular vote and there was widespread voting irregularities on both sides which resulted in the electoral votes being held up in three states – South Carolina, Louisiana, and Florida. At the time of the dispute, Tilden, a Democrat, was ahead in the Electoral College, 184-166, just one vote away from clinching the Presidency. The three states where the electoral votes were disputed were all controlled by Republicans and while Hayes led in South Carolina, Tilden was leading on ballots in Louisiana and Florida before a significant number of Democratic votes were declared invalid. The dispute continued for months. Eventually, Congress created a 15-man Electoral Commission to decide the election and the Commission did so along party lines, 8-7, on behalf of the Republican Hayes just days before Inauguration Day. Just a dozen years removed from the end of the Civil War, Southern Democrats again talked of rebellion due to the election of Hayes but Tilden refused to challenge the decision and, placating his opponents with the Compromise of 1877, Hayes removed federal troops from the South and ended Reconstruction. Unfortunately, the quick end of Reconstruction and the Compromise of 1877 left newly-freed African-Americans in the South in a position little better than slavery, with few improvements until the Civil Rights Movement of the 1950s and 1960s.
When Lucy Webb Hayes is remembered, it’s usually as “Lemonade Lucy” due to the fact that, as First Lady, the strict Methodist banned alcoholic beverages from White House functions. However, the White House was not a boring, gloomy place during the Hayes Administration. The President, First Lady, and their five surviving children were a loving family and Lucy frequently held popular social events at the Executive Mansion, including creating the tradition of the White House Easter Egg Roll. Their home was frequently open to members of Congress, Cabinet officials and their families, and diplomats, particularly for Sunday evening hymn groups. Despite the lack of alcohol, for years Washington society excitedly recalled the 25th wedding anniversary celebration of the President and Mrs. Hayes at the White House where the 46-year-old First Lady, mother of eight children (five of whom survived to adulthood), donned the same wedding dress she had worn a quarter-century earlier and the First Couple renewed their wedding vows.
Although Rutherford and Lucy first met in 1847 in Hayes’s hometown of Delaware, Ohio, they began dating in Cincinnati where Lucy was attending college (she was the first college graduate to become First Lady) and Rutherford was practicing law. In his diary at the time, Rutherford wrote, “By George, I am in love with her!”, and later noted that when he first expressed to her that he loved her, “She did not comprehend it – really, no sham. I knew it was as I wished, but I waited, perhaps repreated…until she said, ‘I must confess I like you very well’ – a queer, soft, lovely tone, it stole to the very heart, and I, without loosing her hand, took a seat by her side – and the plight was fated for life.” It was an hour later before Lucy finally told him, “I don’t know but I am dreaming. I thought I was too light and trifling for you.” The couple were married in Cincinnati on December 30, 1852, and were extraordinarily close throughout their marriage. Shortly after their wedding, Rutherford wrote, “A better wife I never hoped to have. This is indeed the life…Blessings on his head who first invented marriage.”
Their close relationship continued as they began having children. Hayes practiced law and had an eye on politics. When the Civil War broke out, he served with honor, saw heavy fighting, was wounded on several occasions, and was Major General of volunteers when he resigned shortly after the end of the war. Hayes had been nominated for Congress while in the field but refused to campaign while still in uniform. He won anyway and served until being elected Governor of Ohio, a position he held for two terms (1868-1872), refused to break precedent and seek a third consecutive term, and then was elected again four years later – the office he held when he became President in 1877.
When Hayes had been nominated by the Republicans in 1876, his acceptance of the nomination included a declaration that he would not seek a second term if elected. When the 1880 election rolled around, President Hayes had no interest in breaking that promise and looked forward to retirement, handing the Presidency over to a fellow Ohio Republican, James Garfield, on March 4, 1881. Rutherford and Lucy retired to their beloved estate, Spiegel Grove, in Fremont, Ohio, and the former President was a progressive voice in retirement when it came to access to education and prison reform, although he opposed the women’s suffrage movement. Although he survived until 1893, however, the former President’s heart broke in 1889 when Lucy left him.
As he had done for most of his adult life, Hayes kept a personal diary through the days of heartbreak as Lucy suffered a stroke and slipped away. Nobody can tell that story better than Rutherford Birchard Hayes:
•“June 22 . Saturday. Returned, from attending committee and board meeting of Ohio State University at Columbus, with Laura yesterday afternoon, reaching home about 5:30 P.M. Rutherford [Hayes’s son] met us. He looked as if something awful was on his mind. We got into the carriage when he said: 'I have very bad news for you,” and with sobs he told us that Lucy had an attack of paralysis about 4 o'clock P.M. – fifteen minutes before four was the exact time. She was sitting in our room, first floor, in the bay, with Ella sewing. Ella noticed that Lucy had difficulty with her fingers trying to thread a needle; went over to her. Lucy could not speak. She was sitting in the large low chair that stands near the southeast window. She did not fall out of it at all, but sank back in it, and seemed to realize what had happened to her; was depressed and in tears. Fanny and Mrs. Haynes and Miss Lucy Keeler were playing tennis just outside of the room; were called in. Sophie Fletcher, the cook, came also. Lucy Keeler drove rapidly for Dr. Rice and he was soon present. He spoke with encouragement and confidence to Lucy. She was perfectly conscious but not able to speak. She was still in the chair. Had had her placed in the bed. When Laura and I reached her bedside, she seemed to know us. In her old manner she pressed my hand and tried to smile, or smiled! The report of the attack published in the newspapers this morning has brought many dispatches from friends and acquaintances in all parts of the country – from Comrade John Eaton, Boston, to Tom Ballinger, Galveston. Sympathy and inquiry.
•June 23. Sunday. Lucy is apparently more difficult to arose. Her face and eyes looked natural, almost with their old beauty, when Dr. Rice tried to awaken her so she could swallow her medicine. I think she failed to swallow it. But she had life in her eyes and face. Now I fear, alas! I have seen her eyes for the last time. Those glorious eyes! are they gone – forever? She still grasps my hand, I think intelligently and with the old affection. This at 7 A.M.
[At] 7:20 A.M., Lucy opened her eyes and with a conscious grasp, as she looked in mine affectionately, responded to my inquiry, “Do you hear me, darling?” But her eyelids do not open as they did last night!…
[At] 8 A.M. Dr. Hilbish calls. He thinks the indications rather less favorable than yesterday… She is weaker and more disposed to sleep. She now looks natural and rests quietly.
•June 24. Monday, 4:40 A.M. The end is now inevitable. I can’t realize it, but I think of her as gone. Dear, darling Lucy! When I saw and hear her last in full life, she was gathering flowers for me to carry to Mary, last Monday. When she found I would be too late for my train to Toledo if I waited longer, with her cheerful voice she said: “Oh, well, it makes no difference. I can send them (or I will send them) by express at noon.” This she did, and Mary got them. I was barely in time for the train – not a moment to lose. A characteristic act. It was like her. For me the last – oh, the last!
At 4 P.M., Now, more than three days since the attack, finds her much in the same condition she has been since the first day. We wait. Letters and dispatches come from all quarters – full of words that sustain and encourage.
•June 24-25, 1889. It is past midnight, almost one o'clock. We do not expect Lucy to see the light of another day. All of our children, Birchard, Webb, Rutherford, Fanny, and Scott, are waiting for the inevitable close. With us are our dear young friends – our darling daughter, Mary, wife of Birchard [and] our cousin and much loved adopted niece has come from Mississippi to be with us, Adda Cook Huntington. Lucy Elliot Keeler, so near and dear to both of us, and, more fortunate than could be hoped, the eldest child – the representative of my never to be forgotten sister Fanny – Laura Platt Mitchell, so beloved by both Lucy and myself that no sacred circle could be complete in my home without her; and with [us, also] the favorite aunt of our dear Mary, Mrs. Miller, a precious addition to our company of relatives and friends. The doctors too, Dr. John B. Rice and Dr. Hilbish, so attentive and thoughtful and devoted, and uniting with these lovable traits such skill and knowledge and judgment in their high profession that we have the best assurance that all will be done and has been done that man can do to save the dear one, and to smooth her way into the unknown if that is to be; and with them the good nurses, Mrs. Dilenschneider and Miss Woolsey, whose sterling excellence has in these few anxious days made them esteemed friends for life.
And Lucy herself is so sweet and lovely, as she lies unconsciously breathing away her precious life, that I feel a strange gratitude and happiness as I meditate on all the circumstances of this solemn transition we are waiting for. Would I change it? Oh, yes, how gladly would we all welcome the least indication of the restoration of the darling head of the home circle. But we cannot, we must not, repine. Lucy Hayes is approaching the beautiful and happy ending of a beautiful, honored, and happy life. She has been wonderfully fortunate and wonderfully honored. Without pain, without the usual suffering, she has been permitted to come to the gates of the great change which leads to the life where pain and suffering are unknown. Just as she was reaching the period when the infirmities and sufferings of mortal life are greatest, she is permitted to go beyond them all. Whatever life can give to the most fortunate, she has enjoyed to the full. How wise and just this is! If ever a man or woman found exquisite happiness in imparting happiness to others, the dear companion of my life, my Lucy, is that woman. Should I not be full of joy and gratitude for the good fortune which gave me her? Few men in this most important relation of life have been so blessed as I have been. From early mature manhood to the threshold of old age I have enjoyed her society in the most intimate of all relations. How all of my friends love her! My comrades of the war almost worship her.
Often I have said our last days together have been our best days. Who knows what the future might have brought to her? It is indeed hard – hard indeed – to part with her, but could I or should I call her back? Rather let me try to realize the truth of the great mystery. 'The Lord hath given, the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.“
•June 25. Tuesday. Lucy died without pain this morning at 6:30. All were present. I held her hand and gazed upon her fine face to the last; when, kissing her good-bye as she left the earth, I joined the dear daughter and the other children in walking on the porch in the bracing air of the lovely morning.
•June 26, 1889. I notice in the newspapers the phrase, 'the beautiful home in Spiegel Grove.’ Yes, it is, in its own plain, homelike, and sensible way, a beautiful home, but I now begin to realize that the soul has left it.
Lucy Hayes was 57 years old when she died on June 25, 1889. Obviously, the former President was heartbroken. Indeed, it was his heart which gave out on January 17, 1893, also at the Hayes’s beloved Spiegel Grove estate in Fremont, Ohio. Rutherford B. Hayes was 70 years old and before he died in the arms of his son, Webb, the 19th President’s last words were, "I know that I am going where Lucy is.”
Sammy Wilkinson Imagine (Reiteration is Sometimes the Most Effective Communication)
For this beautiful anon. :D
Request: Can you a imagine about me(Brianna) and Sammy ?
I haven’t done a Sammy Imagine yet. You didn’t really specify what you wanted to happen in this sooo we will see how it goes haha.
Sammy Wilkinson Imagine
You were stressed. More than normal. With your job as a pharmacist you got stressed quite often. However this was worse. When you were in high school you got really bad anxiety to the point where you were paralyzed because you didn’t know what else to do.
You were breathing heavily trying to calm yourself down as tears streamed down your face. You weren’t even worried over something that huge, well it was huge to you. You knew that you needed to calm down but you couldn’t because every time you did you just thought of the possibilities of everything going wrong. And that resulted in more stress and more, continuing the build.
You had run your hands through your hair so many times and pulled it in different directions so it was a complete mess. Your books that were on the living room table, are now strewn all over the floor with sheets of paper crumpled on the couch.
You were in the kitchen frantically opening cupboards and drawers to find the right supplies.
While in high school you found that a great stress reliever was baking. It actually worked out pretty well because you got stressed often and that provided food for the people at school.
You grabbed the container of flour and tossed it onto the counter. But you tossed it too hard and it toppled over, spilling onto the floor. That did it for you, it was too much. You let out a scream of frustration that was probably heard in China but you didn’t care as you crumpled to the floor in tears.
Spilling the flour wasn’t even that big of a deal but with the rest of your problems it was one more thing that just added onto your stress and you couldn’t take it.
“Y/N!” You heard Sammy shout as the door to the kitchen slammed open. You remained in a crying heap on the floor as you heard him rush towards your side. “What’s wrong baby girl? Are you hurt?” He asks as he pulls you into his arms and hugs you. You couldn’t say anything so you just cuddled closer to his chest trying to breathe correctly.
After a few minutes your breathing had steadied but you were still unstable.
“Y/N?” Sammy said and you looked up into his eyes. “What’s wrong?” He asks sympathetically.
“I–I just, I’m so stressed about this exam I have on Friday, I have been studying for months and now I am just so worried, because I am forgetting things. I know I shouldn’t be worried but I can’t help it and the more I try to calm down the worse it gets. Then I decided to bake because it helps relieve stress, you know. But I dropped the flour and I–I just can’t do it,” You wept out. You had begun to talk normally but as you continued you just remembered everything and all the stress came back. It was overwhelming.
Having anxiety sucked. Having OCD sucked too, because when your anxiety kicks in your become overly OCD.
Sammy knew all of this about you and he had witnessed it a couple of times. You felt him stand up from the kitchen floor as he carried you bridle style upstairs.
You felt him set you down in the bed you two shared and he tucked you in. He kissed your forehead gently then he turned around to leave.
“Sammy?” You asked as you sat up.
“Yes sweetheart,” He answered as he turned around.
“Where are you going?” You question him.
“Just downstairs, don’t worry I’ll be back baby girl,” He says softly and you nod your head as you fall back onto the bed. You closed your eyes and let yourself go.
Normally it was hard to let yourself go, especially if you were having an anxiety attack because it then gave you insomnia. But Sammy always helped. Sammy always made things better.
Something about Sammy just made life easier to go through every day. It wasn’t that you hated life but when those days came, Sammy was there to help you.
And you couldn’t have been more appreciative of him for it.
You felt the bed dip down and arms wrap around your waist as Sammy got into bed with you.
“Thank you Sammy, I love you,” You whispered with eyes closed. All of the worrying had worn you out.
“I love you too, princess. I love you too,” He whispered into your forehead as you guys cuddled.
He kept reiterating it.
I love you.
Hope you liked it! It took me a while to think of an idea but I eventually got one. This pretty much is me, I don’t like to base stories off of myself because I feel like people do that too much but for me baking is one of my stress relievers and my friends always get the benefits of my anxiety.