Love Sonnet

Here is one of my AP Lit assignments. We were to write about something we were passionate about, and since mine was love, and it is still Valentine's day here in Maui, I decided to post this in time with the holiday. <3

How old is old enough to say the words?
The set of three which every person knows,
What age is perfect, what one is absurd?
When, like the flower, true affection grows.
How long must I know you before it’s right?
What time is the trigger, days, months, or years?
To love young surely is no awful plight,
Though it is full of what a father fears.
There is some risk when short-eyed youth declare,
Promising devotion, as passion burns.
But you and I, our love is sweet and fair,
A word to describe it remains unlearned.
This I know, it is truly nothing new,
More than words or age defines, I love you.

Happy Valentine's Day!

~ Brittanie V.

The "Much Anticipated" Drama Essay

Through the past semester, I have written several essays, and, as the topics have become known, several people have asked to see them. Since I don't feel comfortable walking around with a copy of my essays wherever I go, I figured I would start posting a few things here.
So, here is the first. My personal favorite of the college essays I wrote last fall, this essay is probably the closest to my heart, as are the people mentioned in it.
Oh, and Morgan and Alex, please excuse my creative liberties. :)
The prompt was simply an experience that has helped to shape who I am.
Here it goes:

“Just a sec, just a sec, let it catch up to us.”
Again, I was waiting on GPS technology to get a grip and figure out just where, exactly, my little van was. My hyperactive navigator fiddled with his cell phone to try to get it up to speed, while I hastily pulled over to the shoulder.
“Okay Chris, this isn’t working. Ash successfully got us lost, and your stupid phone is making it worse,” I grumbled, my dad’s obsessive punctuality pulsing through my veins. “Does anyone have any idea how to get there?” My gaze swept over blank faces; Ashley, my copilot, looking chagrined, Cole, muttering incoherently to himself, Monique, Ashley’s little sister, looking slightly uncomfortable in the back seat with silly Chris...and Molly, the enigma. None had an answer for me. I glanced again at the clock (set seven minutes fast to prevent tardiness), thanking God we left early.
“Maybe…maybe it was the next exit?” Molly offered, as if waking up from a dream. I thought a moment, twitchy at the concept of trying an exit I was unfamiliar with. Seattle was a labyrinth to me, full of one-way streets, impatient drivers, and haphazard parallel parkers. Everyone expected you to know where you were going; every movement had to be purposeful.
“Are you sure?” I asked, on the verge of laughing with hysteria. What parents let their kids ride with a seventeen year old who had virtually no driving experience with a city bigger than Redmond? What did I think I was doing, trying to drive to the theater without someone more experienced to guide me?
It was not the time to doubt her. Alex and Morgan were waiting for us. They were our directors, the unofficial leaders of our strange little theatrical group. I sought their approval; we all did.
I pulled a u-turn and merged back onto the freeway, listening to the explosive chatter of my friends. Each one had a personality that was larger than life. Each one had their quirks, arguing Star Wars military tactics or retelling drama stories each of us could recite by heart.
Excitement and relief shot through me as Molly pointed out the ‘Harvard Ave’ exit, and we were no longer ‘lost’. I hastily parallel parked and ushered my friends into the little theater, eager to see Morgan and Alex again.
A few months ago, we were fellow performers, carrying one another through the throes of An Ideal Husband. Today, they were the entertainers, taking on Shakespeare’s Tempest with an unfamiliar troupe, leaving us to sit aside as the audience. A few months from now, my van would tackle Twelfth Night leaderless; Morgan and Alex had moved on. They wouldn’t be around to babysit us any longer.
The Tempest was a swirl of senses; each actor vibrant, their personalities larger than life. The audience swayed with the disintegrating ship, floundered in madness with the betrayers, and drowned in rum with the drunken sailor. My driving woes were swiftly overshadowed by pure enjoyment and admiration for the cast; for my friends.
Afterwards, Alex and Morgan talked cheerfully with us about everything theater, going on with empty threats of invading and whipping us into shape. Surely their shoes were far too big to fill; like Seattle, they were far too complex, far too impressive for me. I was just the driver with the little van, trying to get my friends to the theater.
“You’ll do fine,” Morgan murmured in my ear, as he gave me a parting hug. It was late, and my passengers had curfews. My body was as reluctant as lead. He was the big brother, the leader; I wasn’t.
“I’ll miss you,” I said, insecurities, affection, and emotion weighing in my voice.
“You’ll do fine,” he repeated, giving me one more squeeze. “You’ve done great already.”
His simple assurance convinced me. I’ll do fine. I’ve done great already. I’m a good driver.

So there you have it. Hope it meets expectations. :)

~Brittanie V.