The Gulf War: “It’s like sports, only people are trying to kill you.”

Written for Print Journalism, this is a Profile article.

Scott Barbado, a Gulf War veteran, never had any intentions of becoming a Marine. As a kid he loved to play Special Forces with his best friend. He remembers his childhood as he laughs, “he shot me in the nose with his BB gun!” They would scout the area with the guns in hand, “running around the woods looking for enemies to defeat.”  Six years later these childhood games would become an adult reality when he was recruited by the United States Marines.

After High School, Scott enrolled at the University of Florida. “I didn’t know I wanted to do anything like [the Marines] until there was a recruiter that came to the college. I ran 3 miles under 18 minutes and completed a 12 mile hike, or hump, as they call it, with a 50 pound pack on my back. I dusted the ROTC guys who went to school for it.” He finished first out of 30 other men, making him an obvious choice for recruiting. “I joined for money for college,” but after completing the physical test he was highly attracted to “the thrill of the rush you feel from being with somebody else,” pertaining to being among the other Marines. He was recruited into a reserve unit that expected him to report for duty every other weekend and two weeks out of the year. 

“I went to boot camp for sixteen weeks. It was basic training.” This put him at the rank of lance corporal. After completing boot camp, he went to specialty school where he learned about intelligence operations. “I felt like I was doing something awesome, for something bigger than me.” He also went through jump school, which involved jumping out of planes, sniper school and survivor school. “I loved that stuff,” he says, reflecting back on all of the training he received.

 “When I reached my junior year in college, I was eligible for Officer Candidate School.” There, he became a leader. “I learned how to guide troops, deal with diversity and relay to troops. [They] have to believe in you.” Trust is necessary when someone is claiming that it is a safe decision to go out onto a warfront.

August 2^nd, 1990 Kuwait was invaded by Iraq, beginning the Gulf War. President George H.W. Bush sent American troops to Saudi Arabia. Scott Barbado’s unit was activated and he was deployed to Iraq. “We jumped into Kuwait.” When asked about the war he said, “It’s like sports, only people are trying to kill you.” He explained, “Its team work. I was in a unit with 13 other men.” Their job was to protect the units that were fighting in Desert Storm.

“We monitored our troop movements by satellites, and remote control airplanes that were huge so we could see everything. We guided ground forces and told them everything we saw.” Barbado also went out onto the warfront with his unit to physically scope the area. “Our duty was to relay back to command what the enemy’s positions were, how many people they had, weapons they had and areas they occupied.” Undetected, they would “photograph, evaluate; basically determine how strong they [enemy] were and what their positions were.” After they figured out the area, troops would attack the next day. A Special Forces Marine’s duty was to protect the rest of the troops. He stayed in Saudi Arabia for 2 ½ months before coming back to America.

After serving his country in the Gulf War, he resigned his commission. His attitude remains, “once a marine, always a marine.”

 He now has the opportunity to dust off his veteran title and go back to protecting his country. Although he hasn’t made a definite decision his unit may be heading over to the Middle East to provide his services in helping stabilize Iraq. National Guard Special Forces are looking for Marines with past combat experience to train others. Black water security would provide protection to companies in the Middle East. By keeping a watchful eye, they could guard Americans from terrorists. “We need to protect Americans and Internationals from the terrorists. They feel that we are a threat. They don’t want our western values forced on them.”

Scott Barbado has a great deal of pride in being a Marine. He feels that he provided a “blanket of freedom,” during the Gulf War, and if he decides to go over to Iraq he will do the same again. “I served our country,” and he will continue to do so if he is needed.

Arbonne International: “I have found my greatness.”

Written for Print Journalism, this is a Feature article.

Publish: Health/Motivational Magazine

Ever since MaryBeth became serious about Arbonne International, she has been an inspiration to thousands. She will be walking through the grocery store or strolling through the mall when someone will spot her. “Are you MaryBeth Relyea,” they would ask timidly. After she confessed that she was, “MB,” a smile would spread across her fans face. “You are a true inspiration.” MaryBeth wasn’t always as motivating as she is today. She wasn’t born enlightening people’s lives, but now she lives to help others.

“It sounded like a really good idea. I played around with the business [Arbonne], but I wasn’t serious about it and didn’t do a good job.” MaryBeth Relyea began working in Arbonne International after she answered a newspaper ad in 1994. A woman named Beverly ran the ad that said, “Help wanted, full training, flexible hours, work from home.” Arbonne is a network marketing business, which is often confused with a pyramid scheme.  MaryBeth explains, “A pyramid is more like a corporation, there is one president. It goes down like a pyramid.” Arbonne is different in that, every single person in the company can be an equal. “I want people to stand next to me, not under me.”  

Four years later, in ’98, she stopped working, but “loved the products.” With botanically based ingredients and a pure, safe and beneficial slogan, Arbonne is great for everyone. Lines in anti-aging, radiance and hydration, detoxifying, blemishes, color, aromatherapy, teen, baby, balance, healthy living and weight loss, and nutrition, make it easy to replace store bought, animal by-product packed skin care.

 “In 2002, my husband broke his back, he told me I had to go back to work. I had faith in Arbonne so I decided to build a business on May 1^st 2003. I promoted very quickly to the top level.” Moving up requires a lot of work, promoting others to higher levels and selling a certain amount of revenue in product. “I needed the money and I was very successful, because of this I learned how to be a public speaker and motivator. I traveled around the country training people.” MaryBeth has met many people, from millionaires and rock stars, to perspective Arbonne clients. “I have helped twenty one people get to the top level of the company, where they are making $300,000 a year,” this is National Vice President. “After you help someone else get to NVP, you are promoted to ENVP.” She has also helped “152 people get the Mercedes Benz, which is Regional Vice President Level.” This means that she has coached and led individuals into working their businesses enough to reach RVP. When they do so, the company gives them a monthly car allowance which goes toward any style white Mercedes Benz they want.

(Picture taken from: http://arbonne.com/company/opportunity/)

MaryBeth travels all over the country, doing trainings and motivating others to get involved in Arbonne. She has impacted a lot of people with her motivational speeches and uplifting attitude. “When I do trainings, I talk about myself and my life and how I used Arbonne as my vehicle to make really positive changes in my life. I used to be really shy and now I’m really outgoing. I used to be really broke and now I’m really rich. When I train people, people in the audience identify with me or something that I say.” She tells her audience about her struggle, being a mother of three, in debt, and suddenly in need of a job. This company saved her from having to get into the office. She got to keep her stay at home mom status and raise her children. “I’m very honest and real. I think people think I’m so great because I am the same person I was before, except I have grown. I’m not a big snob but I have confidence.” It’s easy to tell how humble MaryBeth is when speaking with her. In her home office she has a basket full of letters sent to her from individuals she has influenced positively through her trainings. “Lots of people say they’re not going to quit because of the inspiration I was to them.”

“Anne Dugan, also an ENVP, had three hip replacements at 30. She probably would have lost her house because she couldn’t work.” Anne is a member of her “team.” These teams are miniature versions of network marketing, MaryBeth began as the leader. She taught people about Arbonne and recruited people to be on her team. Although these individuals begin under her, as independent consultants, they can work as quickly or slowly as they want up to her level. Beth Tooker, also a member of MaryBeth’s team, had a story too. “Beth Tooker was a social worker working in a school and working privately 80 hours a week with four small children at home. Every night she would go home and cry because she couldn’t be a stay at home mom. Arbonne made that a possibility.”

MaryBeth Relyea has inspired many people, including herself throughout her Arbonne journey.  “I was very in debt. Now, I am much more confident, financially secure and I have thousands of friends,” all because of this company. “I started very shy and insecure. I didn’t think I was good or great or anything and now I know I am great and I have a lot to offer people.” When asked how she kept motivated to continue working, even at the top level of the company, she beamed, “I am motivated because I want to help as many people as possible. I really control my life. I want to help other people have what I have, because at my level I could retire, but I don’t want to.”

Her advice to anyone looking into the Arbonne International business; “You have to work. It is not get rich quick, it takes time, and don’t ever quit.” Because of Arbonne, MaryBeth says, “I have found my greatness.”

Chain Reaction- Fiction

Standing in the kitchen, Anne gazed out the window. It was another hard day for her.
She had woken up with an ache in her heart since visions of her mother had haunted her dreams.  The prescription bottle of colonapin was a welcoming sight in her medicine cabinet. Five pills should do it she thought as she looked at the aging of her face and the darkness of her eyes. After shutting the bathroom door and locking it tight she began to mask her pain. A long cold shower smoothed her puffy eyes, lotion brought a rich aroma to her skin, rouge brightened her cheeks and clear blue contacts made her complete. Stepping into her pressed floral dress she took in a long deep breath and sighed at what she saw in the mirror. She took one last sip of the cold tap water and opened the door to the bedroom.

After checking to see that Beth had gone off to school, Anne took out a glass of wine and sat on the couch. Goosebumps raced up her bare arms from the chilly leather. The plasma flat screen mounted on the wall in front of her displayed the 11:00 o’clock news. It was too heartbreaking, there was too much bad in the world. She switched it to the Home Gardening channel as she finished the last swig of her wine and laid her head back.

Fogged visions of her parents arguing floated through her thoughts. She could hear the sound of the old family station wagon from all those years ago, clanking down the driveway. It had surprised her as her dad squealed down the street. He had never been that angry before, though tension always hung thick in the air. Anne’s brown hair and sleek physique always set her apart from the rest of the family but she never understood completely why things always got worse when she was around.

She woke up, freshened her makeup and the thoughts began creeping back, picking at her soul.

Anne’s sisters despised her.
                “You don’t belong here,” they would tease. “Look at your hair, you invalid. It’s all your fault mom hit the bottle again. Look at what you’ve done to this family. No one wants you here.” They would taunt her endlessly. She could feel her father pulling away.

“Do you still love me,” she asked in a small voice. Tears blurred her vision as she looked up at her father. Pain cut through her heart as he lowered his gaze to the floor. It was an answer in itself.

She walked into the kitchen, away from the bathroom and the noises and hid the wine bottle. She squirted the lemon scent dish detergent into the glass she had used and scrubbed it until it shone like the rest of her kitchenware. All she wanted was for her family to love her. She shut her eyes, startled when she heard shattering. She forgot she had been holding the glass. With another hour before Beth came home, Anne cleaned up the shards, took the wine back out and swallowed one more pill. She set the table for dinner and tidied up the house one last time.

Finally she got to the rest of the dishes in the sink, just as Beth’s school bus came to a stop in front of the driveway. Her daughter hobbled off the bus with a sneer expression on her face. She stomped up the steps and slammed the front door as she entered the house.

“Mom!” Anne was glad she had taken that extra pill. She felt calm and relaxed.
“Yes Beth?” she sang from the kitchen.
“It’s Aurora, mom. I have told you that fifty thousand fucking times. You didn’t wake up in time to make my fucking lunch, so I stole ten dollars from your purse.” Anne always cringed when Beth wanted to be called Aurora; it was such an exotic name. She tried so hard to keep everything humble and normal around her home.

                Beth stomped up to her room and slammed the door. Second’s later horrid screaming music filled the house and Anne knew that it would be along afternoon. She began to make dinner, but couldn’t get the voices of her sisters out of her head. Anne went up to Beth’s room to tell her dinner was at five and that she should really turn down that dreadful music before the neighbors think a murder is happening in this house. Beth had responded by throwing something heavy at the door so Anne retreated back to the couch. Rich wasn’t home yet so dinner could wait.

All Anne could think about was her emptying bottle of pills, the wine hidden in the cabinet, her sisters screams blaming her for their mothers spiral toward death, her daughter blasting corrupted music,  and the news, the awful, awful news.

Night settled on her spotless home as Beth and Anne sat across from each other at the dinner table, lasagna separating them from each other. Anne tried to ask her daughter how her day was, did she get her homework done, when do report cards come out, but Beth just ignored her.

How could this selfish, ignorant teenager be my own, she questioned. Beth has everything. I have ensured that she has had everything she ever wanted, love, support, and material possessions to fill the gaps… I just don’t want her to feel like me. She does belong here. No one deserves to feel the way I feel because of my family. She should never have to deal with such dark feelings.

She gave up trying to talk to her ungrateful daughter and finished dinner in silence. She had enough to think about as it was; she did not need Beth cursing her out for saying goodnight, or throwing something at her after kissing her on the forehead. She would be sure to kiss her twice tomorrow night, after she had a while to relax and sleep off the day.

Anne retreated to her bedroom and pulled the blankets up to her chin. Her eyes drooped shut, a long day weighing down her lids.

Things had gotten pretty bad around the house these days. Anne was starting to look predominantly different than her two sisters and everyone was noticing. Her dad couldn’t look at her anymore and her mom always seemed to be hiding something behind her sad eyes and vodka stained breath. Her mom had an alcohol problem before she was born, she heard family members speak of it every now and again, but now it was creeping back into all of their lives. Her mother would come home to her sunken, dark eyes filled with tears that Anne could never understand.

One night she woke up to the shouts of her parents down the hall. She was fourteen and had begun to figure out that she was different. Her seventeen and eighteen year old sisters still hated her. They would taunt her about her strange round eyes and her thin brown hair. They were all blue eyed, blonde, beauty queens.

She heard her mother’s slurred screams, “You knew this happened a long time ago! What the hell am I supposed to do, kick her out?! She has no clue!
“Just get her the fuck out of this house.” Her father’s voice was cold and also slurred. He was not one to drink, but the situation was out of control.
“She’s your daughter Bill! You raised her!”
“ She was never my daughter. She is an outsider in this family. Look at her fucking hair! This whole town has been talking about it for years!”
A knock at the door accompanied by a small voice made her parents freeze, “mom?” Anne was scared. She knew they were talking about her.
“Get the fuck out of here!” her father’s voice bellowed. Terrified and finally understanding, Anne went back to her room.

The next morning she woke up tired, more tired than she had ever been. She went to the bathroom, locking the door, and looked into the medicine cabinet. Looking at her brown round eyes and her dark roots peaking through her blonde hair, her broken heart throbbed again.

It was Christmastime. Her aunt had come to town for the holidays. Her mother had been spending almost all of her time locked in her room, away from the constant reminder of her affair seventeen years ago. The handles of vodka and stench of wine filled the room and took up her father’s side of the bed. Since the argument he had not slept there. Now that her aunt was around they had to pretend everything was normal. She had suggested a family photo for Christmas cards. Anne, her two sisters, her parents and her aunt all huddled around the Christmas tree. Her aunt went back to the computer to upload the photo, printed it out and stuck it on the fridge with an olive magnet. The whole family stood around the photo, tears sprinkled her mother’s face as her father’s turned red with anger, and her sisters pulled her hair and stepped on her feet. Anne stood out like a sore thumb. The red shirts they all wore clashed with her pale skin and brown hair. No one talked to her the rest of the day. Anne knew what she had to do. She packed up what little she had and left.

People gossiped, “seventeen years old.”
“poor girl.”
“she wasn’t Bills.”
“They say she sent her mother to the bottle.”
“I knew they couldn’t pretend forever.”

She swallows three more pills with a shot of vodka and walks back to her bedroom. She curls herself into a ball as her vision goes blurry. Her body slowly goes numb as her mind shuts off, her heartbeat slows and her breathing stops. Never again will her family haunt her dreams.

FEEDBACK: Is it clear why her family hates her? 

Non-fiction - "Dead Girl Walking"

Dead Girl Walking

Rachell Relyea

                I look at the cable box above the television with droopy eyes. It glows 12:50 a.m. Sleep races out of me with the realization that I have to be home in ten minutes to make my curfew. I walk to the garage door and peer outside. All is motionless, blank and dreary. I twist the door handle in my cold hands and open the only barrier standing between me and darkness. I wave my final goodbye and pull the door shut behind me. The minute I feel it click I turn and sprint to my truck. “DING DING DING DING.” I jump in, turn the key and slam the door, in one swift motion. My headlights come on, illuminating the yard in front of me. Was that an animal? I swear I just saw something out of the corner of my eye. I tell myself to relax as I put it in reverse, trying to maneuver my way out of the driveway without having to look in the rear view mirror.

                The rear view mirror is always where it begins. In the scary movies the victim gets into the car, thinking that it is safe, just to end up glancing at mirror to see her killer in the back seat.

I pull out of the driveway and I am surrounded by nothing. I put my foot to the pedal trying to get the speedometer to catch up to my heart rate. I jump at the sight of mailboxes, street lamps, telephone poles, and bushes. Then I start to think that I am being followed. A dead girl is behind me in the street, grey face with blood blacker than the sky. I can’t look but I can feel her. She is there. Just like in the movie. I hit my blinker and pull onto my road, barely touching the brakes. I have to slow to thirty but I roll through the stop sign between the end of the street and my house. I live on a dead end so I start to think the girl will be there, emerging from the forest, all of the sudden appearing in the passenger seat planning my death. I zoom up the driveway and hit the garage door opener just in time to pull in and hit it again. I walk in the house at 1:00, right on time.

“MOM! I’m not driving in the dark anymore.” I declare to her as I run up the stairs and dive into my bed. I fall asleep still thinking I’m going to open my eyes and see her standing over me in the night.

Feedback: Is the point of view effective?