I'd like to see something that explains a portion of your personality. (I'm not so naïve to think you can sum up your whole personality in one short piece of work, but pick an experience you had and explore how it shaped who you are today.)
****************************************
My response:
I must have been an older teen, because I was in the corner
bedroom of the house. At first, when we
moved in, I was in the smallest of the three bedrooms, but when my little
brother moved himself out into the attached shed, I took his larger bedroom. I was comfortable in there. My daybed was made of dark, stained wood, my
dresser a dark oak. They contrasted nicely
with the pink quilt and pastel colors I'd filled my room with. The sun shone brightly through the window
with the decorative wrought iron bars, and I sat comfortably, just outside the
square of light, on the bean bag chair I'd gotten when I was twelve. I had a book open in my hands.
A quick knock came at the door, and then it opened. My mom stuck her head in, red curls framing
her face. She'd gotten home from running
errands. She frowned at me.
"Did you get the kitchen floor mopped?"
The way she asked left no doubt that she knew I hadn't done
my chores yet.
"No, I couldn't because [my sister] was still doing the
dishes when I was in there. I had to
wait until she was done."
My mom frowned. She
fixed a stare at my guinea pig in her cage.
"Did you clean out Misty's cage?"
The stench in the room testified against me. "No, I don't know where you put the new
bag of cedar chips."
Mom stepped into the room.
"They're in the garage. You
just have to go look. Did you clean the
bathroom?"
I sighed. I wanted to
read my book. "No, [my brother] was
taking a shower."
Mom's frown deepened, and she raised her voice, "You
always have an excuse, don’t you? Always
an excuse!" She turned and stormed
down the hall.
"An excuse."
There was something about the way she said it. An excuse wasn't any real reason … it was …
well, just an excuse. Not a real cause,
not any good explanation, just an excuse.
Something you told someone in the hopes that they wouldn't see through
it and know that you had just flaked on them.
"An excuse."
It brought an odious taste to my mouth.
I was repulsed by the idea.
I laid my book down and pulled my body up. I didn't have any more excuses, and even if I
did, I wasn't going to make them anymore.
I wasn't going to stand, at the end of my life, and make excuses for the
things I hadn't done. There were things
that needed to be done, and I was done making excuses.
***************************
I will admit to taking a liberty or two here for this
scene. It did actually happen, and I
know there was a list of things I was supposed to get done that day, each of
which I had an excuse for not getting done.
The only thing on the list I can remember was cleaning out Misty's
cage. I can also clearly remember my mom
saying that the new bag of cedar chips was in the garage, I just needed to look
for it. The most memorable part of that
scene was the way my mom accused me of making excuses, and how disappointed she
was with me for it. It made an impact on
me – with my proof as the fact that I remember it now, over 15 years later.
I hope it doesn't sound like I was perfect from then on out,
but that afternoon did teach me the difference between something you really
can't do (like asking a toddler to replace the intake manifold in your engine)
and making excuses so you don't have to do something you really just don't want
to do.
Years later I told my dad I wanted to be a marine
biologist. He said, "You'll have to
learn to scuba dive." I was
afraid. The thought of being underwater
and relying on a tank and a few flimsy pieces of equipment scared me … but I
heard the excuse forming in my mind.
"I couldn't become a marine biologist because scuba diving is
scary." So I sucked it up and took
scuba diving lessons … and discovered one of the greatest loves of my
life. I've never been able to dive as
much as I'd like (mostly living landlocked since I learned), but I never would
have learned, if I'd made excuses.
(Thanks Mom! I love
you! And you will always have red, curly
hair, in my mind!)
test comment...I can't post my story.
ReplyDeleteK, I guess my story is too long? I'll post it in two comments...
ReplyDelete*All names have been changed to protect the guilty
In Kindergarten, I fell in crush with a friend of mine, Lyle. He was fun, had awesome toys, and seemed to like me too. We only lived a few minutes from each other, and I went over to his house often. We shared a passion for ninja turtles, transformers, and playing "save the damsel in distress from the mad scientist" (his little brother). Sadly, our hearts were broken as he moved a town away. Our lives were ripped apart now that he attended another school. No longer could we play together at recess. No more could we just go to one another's houses on a whim. An end came to the formerly inseparable Raphael and Michelangelo. We were devastated for days.
Over the years, times were rare when we saw each other, once maybe twice a year if we were lucky. At Fourth of July fireworks, we brushed shoulders. At a multi-middle school concert we flirted. In late summer afternoons we thought of one another and sighed. Our hearts were eternally devoted.
Finally, one year, he returned to my school. We were once more roaming the same hallways, and though age had changed our shared interests, time had not striped our feelings...or so I thought.
I had expected so much more. The first day he should have found me, walked with me, talked with me. The second day he should have called me, gotten my locker combo, written a note. Days went by, weeks. Nothing. Nothing. I was surprised at myself when depression didn't set in. I was letting him go, a little quicker than I'd thought possible.
And then...he was leaning against the wall just outside the door way of my Spanish class, cool as a cucumber. I had to play it right. I didn't want to blow up at him, ask a million questions, accuse him of taking forever, seem too eager to win him back, and then scare him away.
"Hey," he said, as if we'd just seen each other at lunch.
"Hey, " I replied, casually. I was so good.
"Where've you been?"
"What do you mean?" My heart began to race. Had he been searching the halls for me after all?
"I've been looking for you. I only found out today you had Spanish this period." All was forgiven! He hadn't deserted me! He hadn't forgotten me! He hadn't found another girl!
"Oh," I said, keeping my emotions under control. "I was wondering about that." For the next three minutes, we exchanged stories, feelings for each other, life. The entire world could have passed between us in less time and it wouldn't have been enough. As he walked me to gym, we smiled at each other and he promised to come "pick me up" after class. Oh, my heart was floating on air! Lyle still liked me!
But the feel didn't last as I entered the locker room to dress out.
"Hey slut," said my friend, Jan.
"Slut?" I was shocked. What had possessed her to call me that? Was walking down the hall with a guy a slutty thing to do?
"Yeah." I looked at her feeling a little hurt and confused. She wasn't kidding.
"Why am I slut?" I wasn't sure I wanted to hear the answer.
"That guy you were walking with." She ended her thought there, as if that were all she needed to say.
"What about him?" I prodded, anger rising in my chest.
"You've been sleeping with him."
There are probably about a thousand things I could have said that instant in response to the accusation, but I didn't do any of them. I stared blankly at her. I eventually found my voice.
ReplyDelete"Who told you that?"
Jan smirked at me, as if I had just confessed. "Lyle."
"Well he's lying!" I cursed myself for stammering the words out. I was suddenly very aware that every word I said, no matter how it was said, made me sound guilty.
"Right." Jan and I finished dressing out in silence. That was the longest gym class in history.
...............
Jan walked with me. I suddenly didn't want to leave the way I came in. I wanted to leave out a back door. I wanted to avoid what was coming. I didn't want to face him.
But there he was. I had wanted him there so many times the last few weeks, and finally, when he'd come, I wanted to hide.
"Don't have too much fun," whispered Jan giving me a sharp punch in the shoulder.
"Hey, " he said, as cool as he had outside my Spanish class. This time, my heart didn't beat with excitement it lurched and made me want to throw up.
"Hey." One of my friends thought I was fooling around with this guy. My stomach began to turn and everything around me became gray.
"Something wrong?" He asked it so innocently. An hour ago, that question would have filled my thoughts will chivalry, kindness, sensitivity, even love. But instead, it brought forth an angry and ferocious lion.
My gray world turned red. "Yes. There is something wrong." The words came out so sharp they cut my own lips.
"Oh." Lyle's posture changed. "Well, what is it?"
"You've been telling people we're sleeping together." My straight forward accusation surprised me as much at it did him, but I could never let him know it. I leaned forward, closer to his face, making sure he saw the fire in my eyes. With every moment, I became more angry...stronger.
"I...I didn't." His lie was pathetic.
"Yes, you did."
"Who told you that?" Suddenly, I realized why my denial in the locker room seemed false.
"Jan told me." Lyle said nothing, confirming his sin.
"Bye," I said with attitude and started toward my locker. I wanted to scream at him.
"Wait, I didn't tell her that."
"Oh?" I spun on my heel, secretly excited he had continued the conversation. Maybe I'd get to belt him. "What exactly DID you tell her?"
"I...uh...told her that we used to do things together. We used to play together."
"Then how the heck did she get 'sleep together' out of that?" No one was paying attention to us. The hallways were emptying out quickly as students ran to catch their buses, but I was mortified. I was embarrassed to be seen with him, to be standing within twenty feet of him, to admit I had ever played with him as a child or ever liked him, let alone that I liked him an hour ago. I had to get away from him.
"Lyle, you're a liar."
ReplyDelete"No, no I'm not."
"Yes, you are, and you know you are." He gave me a pleading look.
"If I had known you'd act like this, I never would have said it."
"Too late," I shot back mercilessly.
Desperate to win something, if not me than the argument, Lyle switched tactics. "Well, what do you want me to do? I'm sorry!"
Knowing Lyle was losing his balance, I took a steadying breath of my own. "I want you to leave me alone."
His eyes grew wide. "You mean right now...or forever?"
I froze. Did I really want to burn this bridge for good? We had known each other for so long. Even though he had just confessed, I found myself wondering if Jan HAD misunderstood him. He really looked sorry...and just like that, my lion yawned, curled up, and went to sleep.
"Maybe just for now. I just want to go home." He had seen weakness in me, and it was only after I finally convinced him I wanted to be alone, that my chest finally relaxed.
Little did I know, that that afternoon I shouldn't have just set fire to that bridge, I should have blown it up.
------wow, I guess that WAS long...it doesn't take that long to read...does it?
It doesn't take that long to read. Your dialogue is great. I love how spunky you always are. I'd have hid my face and never emerged from the locker room ... ever. :-)
DeleteP.S. S, I love your post!!
ReplyDeleteI sat on the edge of the toilet seat, the cold porcelain permeating through my jeans. I stared at that white stick vacantly as my mind spun. Those two blue lines stared back at me almost taunting me, daring me to question the result. I uttered a profanity under my breath. I could hear those voices inside me starting up their incessant rambling. Only the results had silenced the voices but now they were arguing.
ReplyDeleteHow did this happen?
Well duh, you know how this happened.
Well obviously but a baby?? The doctor said it was pretty much impossible for this to happen on its own.
Well you have been married 8 years and I thought this is what you wanted.
Yes but no... I knew it couldn't happen, I had plans, I was okay with never being the answer.
So now what?
Yes, now what?
I poked my head out of the bedroom door. He was sitting on the couch watching a movie while the friend that I loathe was chattering away.
"Dear, I need you." I called as sweetly as I could. His eyes glazed over his glance never left the screen.
"After this movie."
"This is really important." My jaw was starting to clench, the sugary sweetness in my voice was quickly evaporating as I said again, "dear, I NEED you!"
For the first time his eye lock with the screen faltered and he looked at me. I motioned to him quickly with my hand to follow me. He rose from the chair and slowly walked toward me, I could tell by his look that he thought he was in trouble. I took him into the bathroom and handed him the stick. He started gobsmacked at the stick, oh that evil stick.
"Does this mean?" He started then stopped, his mind reeling just as mine had a few minutes before.
"Yes."
"But I thought we..."
"The doctor was wrong."
"Wow, now what?"
Now what indeed.
**************************
P.S baby girl was born this last Nov. And even though I was so nervous at first she has been an amazing blessing!!
P.P. S. I typed this on my tablet so sorry for all the grammatical/spelling errors its difficult to do with a 3 month old chewing you out!
There are so many little moments in this that I love! I identify with the "... I thought this was what you wanted. Yes but no ..." And I think all husbands must be the same. If there is a TV or computer screen in front of them, it takes a crowbar to tear them away! And I've decided I need to use the word "gobsmacked" more. Love it!
DeleteB, oh my gosh, I totally hear you! I have a 4 month old! Did it ruin the rest of the movie for him? ;)
ReplyDeleteHe had no problem finishing the movie, I on the other hand was sick to my stomach and don't recall any of it.
DeleteI have to publish this in at least two seperate comments, so here's the first:
ReplyDelete“Has anyone seen my cross necklace?” I asked one day at breakfast.
My siblings shook their heads and my brother, Joel, chuckled. “You’re not supposed to wear a cross, are you?” he asked with a sardonic smile. “You’re a good little Mormon girl.”
I rolled my eyes and didn’t answer. My parents weren’t there, or I never would have mentioned the cross in the first place. No, as a member of the Mormon Church, I wasn’t supposed to wear it. It’s not something we do, which at the time I didn’t really understand. All that aside, my necklace wasn’t really a cross, I always told myself. It was a replica of the cross that supposedly marked the grave of King Arthur. It was covered with Latin symbols I couldn’t read, and was utterly, totally cool. At least, I thought so. Most of all, it was from my sister, Mary. She was once one of my best friends, but at this point in my life she may as well have lived in an alternate universe. And yet she had thought enough of me to bring me this gift when she returned from her trip to England the previous summer. Maybe I hoped that in wearing it, it would show her…something. That I still cared about her even if she didn’t care about me that much? That I was still alive? Who knows?
Rising, Joel left the remaining Fruit Loops in his bowl to turn into soggy multi-colored slush, and got up to run for the bus. His skin tight jeans made his scrawny chicken legs look like a couple of twigs encased in blue fabric.
“I can’t believe you lost that necklace,” my sister muttered, her brow furrowed in annoyance. She shoved back her chair and got up to leave as well. A junior in high school, she had her own car, and was headed out to pick up her friends for class.
I bent my head down over my oatmeal, feeling even more isolated than I had moments before. Why had I mentioned the necklace? I should have kept my mouth shut. I always say the wrong thing, at the wrong time.
I got up to make one last futile attempt to fix my hair before I left for school. Most kids at our school wore Wranglers and boots, and of course, were called the cowboys and cowgirls. The cowgirls got spiral perms and used half a can of mousse a day to make “wings” of hair that flew out from the sides of their heads, or to lift their bangs about five inches from their scalps. My sister and her friends had “Flock of Seagulls with a touch of Duran Duran” hairdos, tall stiff spikes with streaks of black that threaded through chopped blond locks. They were the “punks.” My hair was long, limp, not permed, and my bangs repeatedly refused to do anything I told them to, no matter how much mousse I used. I wasn’t a cowgirl and I wasn’t a punk. I was just there. And, freshman that I was, I wasn’t cool enough to ride to school with my sister in her little blue Pinto.
ReplyDeleteI rode the bus, along with my “still in middle-school” little brother.
“The bus is coming up the street, Becky! You’re gonna miss it!” Joel called.
I grabbed my backpack, still bothered by the missing necklace. I’d put it on my dresser, in plain sight. It hadn’t just grown legs and walked off.
“See you, loser!” Joel screamed as he ran out the door. “And stay out of my room!”
That struck a nerve. Why had he said that just then, and how many times had I found my little brother in my own bedroom? I knew I’d be late, but I dropped my pack and walked down the hall. My sister wasn’t the only one I no longer felt I knew. Joel had morphed into an alien as well, in his Iron Maiden t-shirts and tight torn jeans. Half the time he was a zombie with bloodshot eyes and a vicious temper, so different from the smart, funny, good natured kid he’d always been.
His room was its usual mess, with dirty socks on the unmade bed and candy wrappers on the floor near, but not actually in, the garbage can. His dresser was littered with strangely-shaped dice of all sizes and colors. Joel used these to play “Dungeons and Dragons” with his friends at all hours. No cross was in sight, but I had this feeling that it was here, somewhere.
A tiny black velvet sack caught my attention. Usually Joel kept all of his dice inside it, but today his dice were scattered all over the place. I lifted the sack, felt something small, hard inside. With a lump in my throat I opened the drawstring; let the contents spill out into my palm. My cross.
It felt like all the air had been sucked out of my lungs. He’d stolen my cross. Why? Even as I asked myself that question, I was afraid I knew the answer. It was so Joel could buy what he, the good little Mormon boy, was not supposed to be drinking or inhaling or using at all.
I’d always feared speaking up because it seemed like I would inevitably say exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time, or saying something stupid. If I kept quiet, no one would be offended. No one would become angry, or, worst of all, mock me. Silence was my shield.
I threw the chain around my neck and tucked the cross inside my shirt. Then I sprinted for the bus. I never said anything. I never asked any of the questions that buzzed around in my brain. To this day I wonder what would have happened if I had spoken. What would my parents have done? Could I have opened their eyes earlier to what was happening to their son? Would it have helped?
Sometimes, silence was my shield, but it was also my worst enemy.
Just wanted to say about my posts here that first of all, my siblings and I are waaaay past those nasty teenage angst years, so we're good now. But also, I posted this because I know they'll never read it. :-)
ReplyDeleteYour descriptions take me right back to my own teenage years. Wow, I remember those hairdos, the tight jeans, that group of boys who played dungeons and dragons during lunch break. Aren't we all glad we're past the teenage angst years? :-)
DeleteThe gymnasium was cold and drafty. I looked up to see if there was still a bird hanging out in the rafters- it was. It fluttered off its perch and resettled in the corner as the huge overhead lights clunked into life, two at a time, all the way across the gym.
ReplyDeleteWe dropped our duffel bags and I sprinted back out into the hall. Four laps through the halls of the school... one mile... at 5:45 am. I grumbled, but I did it. And I did it fast. They say anything worth doing is worth doing right, and if was going to go running at this ungodly hour of the morning I was going to make it count for something. I was going to be stronger because of it.
Back in the gym, I began stretching as my teammates trickled in from their jogs, some panting, some chatting, most dragging their feet. A few late comers got an earful from Coach, and then we all slipped on our leather, split-sole jazz shoes, and gathered at center floor.
"We've got to change formations for the beginning of the kick routine," Coach started, "What we've got isn't working."
Looking up briefly from her clipboard she began directing us to our places. "Holly, you here in front just right of center. Charlotte, you next to her on the left."
I was two sets way from my new position, when the whispered judgement bulldozed me.
"Of course. Miss perfect-suck-up-goody-two-shoes is in front. Again."
Refusing to be lazy, raising the bar- these things had not made me popular. I knew that. I was aware of how some of the girls felt about me. Even still, my heart dropped nearly as fast as the tears sprang upward. Turning around was unnecessary. I knew that voice.
My best friend. My last friend.
This is heartbreaking. Good job!
DeleteCharlotte, I'd love to know the follow up story! How were the rest of your school years? What happened?
ReplyDelete