February 10, 2013

So.. As Promised...

Tomorrow's project for memoirs was to write about an object. This object could be living or dead. It could be inanimate... it could be anything you wanted. I wrote two pieces to choose from, but I think I've decided to use the second. 

Here is an excerpt from each: 

Exodus Richard The Third
Shifting slightly, I crawled under my blankets and curled up in the afghan my grandma had made years ago. It still had the musty smell of moth balls and perfume that reminded me of summer picnics at the lake and cold winter nights after sledding down the hill and skating on the rink she and Bumpa had cleared for us. After laying still for an hour and being unable to sleep, I climb back so my chin is resting back on the dresser. Two beady black dots meet mine and he hovers again.

            “I think you’re pretty.”
            Bubble. Bubble.
When the light caught him right, it was though he sported armor glimmering in the sun against his crimson red tail and fins. His eyes were the only darkness he wore, reflecting back at me tears of sadness and anger. “You know, I think it’s pretty stupid. The whole getting old thing. I mean, I get it. People get old. We’re all getting older. Every second. I should be grateful. My lifetime will long surpass yours. I mean, I’m sorry, but I sincerely hope I outlive you. I mean, there are so many things I want to do before I die. You know? Like, get married, have a family, graduate college long before all of that. I want a puppy, not that I don’t hope to have you beyond this year, but I’d also love a puppy. Before I die, I want to leave the country.” Bubble. Bubble.
            I laid back down, pushing the blanket to the floor and curling into a tight little ball, tucking my knees to my chest. “Do fish get Alzheimer’s? I wonder if science could ever determine whether a fish could develop brain disorders like that. One day, will you wake up and not know where you are? Will you be confused by your pirate? Speaking of, let’s name him. He’s too scary looking to be called Hook. He’s kind of ugly, but he seems to make a good bowl-mate. How about Queequeg? What would you do? If you woke up one morning and didn’t know where you were, how you got there, who the heck the skull pirate was, and why the floor looked like sparkly grapes?”  I couldn’t see, but I could feel the bubbles in the still of the night. Bubble. Bubble.
            “Are you hungry? I’m sure you’re hungry. Good morning by the way. You look so handsome in the morning, handsome and… dead. Are you dead? EXODUS RICHARD THE THIRD YOU MOVE YOUR SKINNY LITTLE TAIL RIGHT THIS MINUTE!!!” The sock door shut harder than expected and jolted the fish bowl. Exodus went flying from his spot nestled under Queequeg’s arm. “I’m sorry little guy. Don’t scare me like that.” Bubble. Bubble.

Happy 
           She props herself up on her tippy toes and reaches for the headboard to pull herself up. Her soft blue night gown scrunches up, exposing her pull-up so she scrambles over the top of the mattress covering herself and looking around to make sure no one could see. Her soft friends were all staring up at the ceiling, tucked in already. She crawls to the end of her bed and kisses each one goodnight and the hurries back to her pillow. Her daddy comes in the room, and kneels down next to her bed. He pulls her special bear out from behind his back with a smile.
            “You almost forgot Happy Bear!” he laughs, as she reaches her hands out for him eagerly. She tugs him into her arms and hugs him with all the power a two year old could muster up. Her daddy tucks them both in, smoothing her hair away from her eyes and kissing her goodnight. Soon, the light is off and her daddy is gone. She kicks the blanket away and sticks her feet in the air with Happy on top—flying like her sisters did to her.
            She never told anyone, but when it was just her and Happy, he could talk. He was pretty smart for a teddy bear. He told her when it was time to sleep, he told her she was safe, he scared away the monsters, because teddy bears could do that. When she was sad, he would smile at her, and tell funny story. When she was bored, he would take her on adventures. They could go anywhere in the world—even Africa. She loved Africa, because there were lions and giraffes in Africa, and she had just learned about them in school. Happy love Africa too. He said it was hot there, and he liked the heat. 

Thirteen years later, with no sisters to help her get ready for her first day at another new school, she was staring into her closet on the phone with her best friend. “I don’t know, I’m thinking of my beige jacket…. No? Oh, white button down with the rolled sleeves? Are you sure?... and light blue v-neck? Okay, what about my hair? Side braid and headband? Which headba… oh yeah? I won’t look like a five year old? Okay. See you in twenty minutes? K, love you, bye.” She tossed the phone on the bed, and it landed next to her bear. She rushed getting ready, braiding her hair off to one side, amazed at how long it had gotten, the end of the braid reaching her elbow. She strategically placed the headband so it kept the loose bangs from her eyes. Once she finished priming herself in the mirror she turned back to her bed and started searching for her phone. She threw her pillows off the bed, grabbing Happy, she tossed him onto the floor to get to the phone. She took off out the door without a second glance.
But when she and that boy had their first fight, she tore her room apart looking for him. When she couldn’t find him, she raced through the house searching all of her mother’s storage tubs. She tore apart the laundry room, the closets—she searched everywhere. Tears streamed down her face when she finally gave up, sprawling across her bed, burying her face in her blankets. 
The bear’s soft fabric had faded from its original caramel brown to a more sandy tone, his nose was dusty gray, and the paint on his eyes had been scratched off almost completely. His stuffing had been mostly loved out of him, with years of hugs, cuddles, and thoughtless tosses, he had become floppy. But, when he was pulled out from under the bed, the memories rushed back to her. Memories of late nights, thunderstorms and pep-talks washed over her. They were memories of a friendship she could never hope to recreate. 
 
 The excerpt from the second was a little rough for cutting and pasting, but it'll have to do. 
Enjoy the last half hour of your weekend!! 
Always,
H.Eilene

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