To start at the beginning, and to be much less confusing, would be to start in August of 2012. I had this idea…almost like an epiphany – that I could be an actor. It was an out-of-the-blue thought. It came to me, and almost drifted into my head slowly. It began to take shape and it grew gradually bigger. Until it was almost fully formed: I could be an actor. Acting had always been somewhat tempting to me and I was always fascinated with the making of movies and the behind-the-scenes of plays. Sometimes so much that I stopped watching the production. But I guess it ultimately began with Starkid. Starkid is a hilarious and, frankly, an awesome parody and musical troupe of kids who met in college. I was inspired by them, just because they seemed more tangible than movie stars. Replying to myself on this thought: how would that even work? It wouldn’t. Not in Kenny Lake. So it was total coincidence when I happened to be at school (before school started) and Mr. Voley, walking down the carpeted school hallway, approached me and asked if I was going to do his “theater and media production” class as an elective. He was planning to do The Tempest by William Shakespeare: the final and magical play of the Bard.
    Was I going to do the class?
    Yeah, I guess. That’s perfect. I was just thinking of acting.
    So when school started, I chose drama as my solitary elective. When I learned the story of the Tempest, and the characters which reside in Shakespeare’s rich language, I was attracted to three of them: Antonio, the conniving, snide, and murderous brother of the “wronged Duke of Milan”, because I was intrigued by the evil factor – a cynical deliciousness that appealed to me; Caliban, who was the brutal and loud slave of that “wronged Duke of Milan”, because that he was so different from me: raucous and disloyal, and that maybe I could become an entirely separate person (or thing) than I am; or Trinculo, the comical and somewhat awkward jester, who’s character only interested me because of his comedic stupidity.
    However, none of these roles would I claim as my own. My given role was Ferdinand, the prince of Naples and son of the King Alonso. To put it simply, Ferdinand was the Romeo of The Tempest – a fluffy character added to the play only as a love interest. I was utterly dismayed. I did not enjoy being approached with this role and in the early stages of my line memorization, I was almost sullen, and slightly despondent.
    I attempted several times to “become my character” and found that I honestly disliked him. I simply could not push past me and become him. We were two different souls, Ferdinand and I, and I only met him at the end of the day at drama class. Problems just pulsed through his role – problems that were met only with questions. The largest of which was, “What will my ever-mocking friends say?” Cheesy? Maybe, but it wasn’t a question to be undermined. I was the star-crossed lover. I was the lover-boy. All of my lines were besieged with chivalrous love.
     It wasn’t until late in November (I knew all my lines, but I was never overwhelmingly enthusiastic about them. Never.) that I realized that I wasn’t going to perform my role like a loser. In short, I wasn’t going to do it grudgingly and I was going to have to let Ferdinand in and “do the best [I] could do with what is given to [me]”.
     It was hard. I found myself admiring other classmate’s lines and feeling something I was missing in Ferdinand, being so focused on either despising him or drilling him into my reluctant brain. But I wanted to love it.
    So I made a resolve. Ferdinand was going to help me out, and, slowly, he did. We started to abide each other and made a flimsy truce. We were going to do this on December 14th and December 17th: then we were done and we could finally part ways and be rid of each other. After that I became a little more committed to Ferdinand. I realized him. He realized me. We could do this. So we’re going to do it. We might not be best buddies, but we’re trying.
     I will probably always remember Ferdinand. And I will always remember my first theatrical introduction to Shakespeare as The Tempest. I’m going to remember it in a good light and I’m going to remember that it was a great time trying to reason, grapple, battle, conquer, and eventually ally with Ferdinand. Nevertheless, there’s a rumor that next semester the drama class is going to do a TV show: I somehow hope I get the role of serial killer. Just kidding.
    Thanks, Ferdinand.

    Hello.  Things are different for you now.  You are not a ten-year old boy anymore.  I would like you to think about me now, not as a thirty-year old, but as a ten-year old:  do you remember as vividly as I do the old sledding hill only a 100 yards from our house?  The short but exhilarating ride down into the willows that grew beneath it?
    Have you not forgotten the exciting dream of publishing a book?  That much praised novel from the Alaskan boy.   As you read this, you might say, “yeah, yeah.” But do you remember?  Do you actually remember?
    Remember…please.
    I carry on.  I will become you when I grow older, because I am you 20 years younger.  20 years. Remembrance is renewed knowledge.  Do you remember (I think you do), when the dogs ran, joyfully, in front of the sled, surging to pull us across the trail.  The dogs were beautiful, their muscles strained, yet somehow at ease.  I think you remember that.  And maybe you also remember our blueberry patch that in the autumn was filled with round, juicy, tart blueberries.  The wonders of the Arctic and the wonders of living as a child, free among the wilderness of Alaska.   I hope as a 30-year old you are happy as you read this and try to remember the facts I have mentioned to you at this moment.   But I have one last memory to give you.  The memories of that haunting lynx…, so – read and remember. 
    It was February in the Brooks Range, and cold.  Not extremely cold, yet cold enough that it bit at my cheeks.  I don’t suppose that the snapping wind helped, or the fact that I was speeding along quite quickly down a well-packed trail on the back of a red dogsled.
    The dogs plowed ahead, perhaps ignoring the fact that it was cold, perhaps annoyed with it… yet their emotions were hidden.  The whiteness of the snow usually twinkled when the bright sun danced upon it, but today it was dull and the sky was bleak and gray.   The air seemed pinched.  We entered a patch of black spruce and before I had time to think, there was a creature, caught in the rusty clamp of a trap.  At first, I was confused, and flitting across my mind was the word RABBIT.   And then I saw it.  A lynx... in a trap! At that second, our lead dog, Pika, turned to the right, pulling the frayed gang-line over the curved top of the sled.  The lynx was like a demon, hunched, with bloody crimson lips and the dark, haunted eyes, like that of a tortured being.  Snow clumped in patches on its partly black, partly silver-gray fur.  The dogs were lunging now.  Then, it became chaos.  My mother - our mother - leapt from the sled runners behind me and grabbed Pika by the collar.  I, too, tried almost vainly to haul the dogs away from the forest specter.  I fumbled many times, my fingers screaming in cold agony.  The cat glared at us with bloodshot eyes, fierce and shining.   Pika lunged again for the lynx.   It pulled away, but the trap halted it. It writhed.   Mom caught the dog, and yanked her back onto the trail.  The lynx hissed.  It recoiled and bared black gums and shiny teeth.  And then, suddenly, we were on the sled and the trees were passing us like gaunt sentries of the forest.
    If humans had weaker skin, blood streaks would show across my cheeks as the wind played a cruel banter with my face.  I was half frozen when we reached the shelter of our home at Marion Creek.
    Now I am done.
    And now you remember.