Another piece from my writer's workshop:
“Blake?”
“Allie?”
My head is reeling, has it really been that long? We stood staring at each other for what seemed like an eternity. We didn’t notice the bright blue sky that finally found its way out of weeks of fog. Nor did we notice the park filled with families playing on this warm Saturday morning. All that was here, was us, just as it was all those years ago.
I stared into his eyes and saw our past beginning to come to light in his mind after so many fresh memories burying his younger years. His boyish good looks had turned into a more refined and handsome version of his younger self. The scar is still on his right cheek. I wonder if he remembers me dropping a plate on him when he lifted me to reach the freshly baked cookies set high on the counter so we wouldn’t get them. We were always getting into mischief when we were little, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. We had been inseparable for as long as I could remember. We were meant to be together, there was no question in my mind.
Our last day together came crashing into our thoughts at the same time. It was 18 years, 3 weeks and 4 days ago. The pain of that day is always fresh in my mind.
“Please do not go to England, I need you here!” I had cried as he held me close. I could feel my world crumbling around me. My perfectly laid out plans for my future were being ruined.
“You need to go to Stanford and get that education. You have a full ride and you know there is no other way to afford school,” he urged. I had to live with my grandparents from a young age since my parents decided to be missionaries in Africa. They said it wasn’t safe for me and that they would be home soon, they never returned. I had to work my way through high school to help pay the bills and a college education was out of the picture until I was offered a swimming scholarship.
I was so angry at him for being so practical. I knew it was the right decision for both of us but I couldn’t bear the thought of being so far away. He was offered a once in a lifetime opportunity to work in England for the next 8 years. How could he leave me, I was his soul mate?
I cooked dinner for him the night before he left. When he walked into my tiny apartment and saw the dim lights and candles on the table, a look came into his eyes that I never wanted to see again. He and I both knew that we may not see each other again. He held me and whispered into my ear that we would always be close and that I only needed to call him if there was a problem. He pulled away and ruffled my hair and wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb. Trying to act tougher than he was, he smiled and said “Cheer up kiddo, you will meet lots of new friends in college and completely forget about me.Remember, I will always love you” With that, Blake walked out of my life for what I though would be forever. I fell to my knees and wept until the candles burned out.
We lost touch after a few years, but now, here I am staring at my childhood love, my soul mate in present day. After years of looking for him and running into dead ends, Blake is here.
“Come push me in the swing ,” yelled a child, bringing us back to reality. My heart dropped when Blake turned and smiled at the child. My eyes betrayed my disappointment. Blake ruffled my hair like he used to and said, “Allison, he isn’t talking to me. I couldn’t find anyone that makes me feel complete except for you. I have been looking for years to find you.”
Blake offered me his arm and we walked through the park. In that moment, I could hope that we really were meant to be together. He has always made me whole and the pieces that fell apart so long ago, are finally put back together. I rested my head on his arm as we talked for hours, just as we always did.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Tanta Rita
This is from a creative writing course I am taking. We had to develop a character.
The young woman wipes her damp palms on her skirt. She isn’t focused on her surroundings, only how to navigate her way a few feet to her destination. She makes note of the small grooves in the floor and the chairs that sit like obstacles waiting to grasp her feet. She takes a deep breath and puts one foot in front of the other, slowly gaining confidence as she proceeds. When she reaches her chair, she places one hand on the back and smiles at the audience and slides down into her seat. She can read their expressions because it was always the same before she played. People think that someone like her couldn’t create anything worth taking note. She smiles to herself, because she knows how they will feel after her performance.
The young woman with brown hair pulled into a bun at the back of her neck, speaks confidently with only a small hint of nervousness, “My name is Margaretha, and I will be performing a song that I wrote while watching the boats sail in the canals of Amsterdam with a storm quickly approaching.”
With this, the young woman closes her light colored eyes and sees the notes and the melodies swirling in her mind. This path is much easier for her to travel as she has been down it many times. Her instrument, the cello, is much larger than her but she handles it with the ease of a master. Her arms move with the strength and confidence of one who has played this instrument all her life. She sits tall and proud with the instrument becoming a part of her being.
The audience is immediately entranced with the deep melodies coming from this large instrument and tiny player. At times the music is inquisitive and playful and quickly turns dark and foreboding. The woman can feel the emotions of the captive audience and she takes them through the emotional story while never uttering a word. The music comes to a sweeping end and the onlookers collectively take a deep breath, not realizing they had been holding their breath so they wouldn’t miss a note. The musician had made the cynical audience forget that she had a curve in her back and moved slower than others.
The young woman stands and politely bows to the audience. She once again smiles to herself after seeing all of them standing and wiping tears from their eyes. Behind her light eyes is the mind of a musical genius who can take an audience into their own imagination. Never once did she let this curve in her back stop her from doing what she wanted.
The young woman wipes her damp palms on her skirt. She isn’t focused on her surroundings, only how to navigate her way a few feet to her destination. She makes note of the small grooves in the floor and the chairs that sit like obstacles waiting to grasp her feet. She takes a deep breath and puts one foot in front of the other, slowly gaining confidence as she proceeds. When she reaches her chair, she places one hand on the back and smiles at the audience and slides down into her seat. She can read their expressions because it was always the same before she played. People think that someone like her couldn’t create anything worth taking note. She smiles to herself, because she knows how they will feel after her performance.
The young woman with brown hair pulled into a bun at the back of her neck, speaks confidently with only a small hint of nervousness, “My name is Margaretha, and I will be performing a song that I wrote while watching the boats sail in the canals of Amsterdam with a storm quickly approaching.”
With this, the young woman closes her light colored eyes and sees the notes and the melodies swirling in her mind. This path is much easier for her to travel as she has been down it many times. Her instrument, the cello, is much larger than her but she handles it with the ease of a master. Her arms move with the strength and confidence of one who has played this instrument all her life. She sits tall and proud with the instrument becoming a part of her being.
The audience is immediately entranced with the deep melodies coming from this large instrument and tiny player. At times the music is inquisitive and playful and quickly turns dark and foreboding. The woman can feel the emotions of the captive audience and she takes them through the emotional story while never uttering a word. The music comes to a sweeping end and the onlookers collectively take a deep breath, not realizing they had been holding their breath so they wouldn’t miss a note. The musician had made the cynical audience forget that she had a curve in her back and moved slower than others.
The young woman stands and politely bows to the audience. She once again smiles to herself after seeing all of them standing and wiping tears from their eyes. Behind her light eyes is the mind of a musical genius who can take an audience into their own imagination. Never once did she let this curve in her back stop her from doing what she wanted.
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