Once upon a time, I saw the world like I thought everyone should see it, the way I thought the world should be. I saw a place where there were endless trials, where you could try again and again, to do the things that you really meant to do. But it was Jeffy that changed all of that for me. If you break a pencil in half, no matter how much tape you try to put on it, it'll never be the same pencil again. Second chances were always second chances. No matter what you did the next time, the first time would always be there, and you could never erase that. There were so many pencils that I never meant to break, so many things I wish I had never said, wish I had never done. Most of them were small, little things, things that you could try to glue back together, and that would be good enough. Some of them were different though, when you broke the pencil, the lead inside it fell out, and broke too, so that no matter which way you tried to arrange it, they would never fit together and become whole again. Jeff would have thought so too. For he was the one that made me see what the world really was. He made the world into a fairy tale, but only where your happy endings were what you had to make, what you had to become to write the words, happily ever after. But ever since I was three, I remember wishing I knew what the real story was. I look up at the tall, pretty tree. I toddle my way past the kitchen sink, past the table, and all the way across the room to the big, black piano. The piano was so pretty and shiny. One day, I told myself, when I was bigger, I will learn how to play music on the big piano. I climb up on top of the piano bench, on top of the keys, and onto the very top of the piano, and sit down so that my legs were swinging ... ... middle of paper ... ...g that smile. Is he going to leave now? I stop kicking the floor and sit up, watching him. But instead of walking over to the door, he stands up and walks towards the piano. I stand up and follow him anxiously, almost certain he knew my secret. Without saying a word, but still smiling, my brother stands facing the piano, where he is tall enough to see over it, and see what is behind the piano. "Oh lookee!" he exclaims, pretending to be surprised, "look what I found behind the piano! Looks like there's enough space for you and I to fit in there together!" My brother again, gives me this fake smile that was to show that he never knew about the little room. I am very angry now, but I do not know what to do. I didn't want him to know that I knew that there was a little room behind the piano. I watch as he shoves the piano into the wall, my dream playhouse destroyed.
My mind started to wonder though each room of the house, the kitchen where mom used to spend every waking hour in. The music room where dad maintained the instrument so carefully like one day people would come and play them, but that day never came, the house was always painfully empty. The house never quite lived to be the house my parents wanted, dust bunnies always danced across the floor, shelves were always slightly crooked even when you fixed them. My parents were from high class families that always had some party to host. Their children were disappointments, for we
are in the room. You can tell that he thinks something's up when glances over
There were many days that passed when I felt as though I wasn’t going to make it and I felt as though I didn’t deserve to be alive, but who is really ready to take care of a child anyhow? I wasn’t. Then one day I woke up and realized that my life would go on, and that I just had to do the best I could and learn from my mistakes.
We looked over at each other, different expressions displayed upon our faces. She had a worried and scared expression. I was grinning from ear to ear. Unable to contain my excitement any longer, I pushed open the rotting door, the rusted hinges squeaking loudly.
“Sure!” Oliver wagged his tail at the thought of having an audience. “Follow me to the piano room.”
“You got him! Nice shot man! You did amazing on it,” my brother congratulated me.
Life in the middle school and high school was not easy for me. I had become an introvert, I still didn’t know how to be social, and I had very few friends. I was teased for being very quiet, and some people insinuated that I’m scared of fellow people. On the other hand life at home was difficult. My mother had become so bitter and pleased her was next to impossible. She became very harsh with my brother and me, and we were always scolded for even the smallest mistakes. Once in a while, my father would come for us and take us to the city he lived. I would look out of the windows as we drove out of town and would imagine how life in another city would feel like. I looked at the skies, and all I saw were promises of a better future. All my life I had lived in San
As the sound of the announcer calling our team roughly breaks the calm silence of the busy Ann Arbor lake, the light click of our oar locks can be heard as the four of us squares our blades in the green-blue water together. In the shallow water, the sight of brown algae snaking along the bottom and the peeling black and yellow paint on the end of our oars welcomes our eyes. We sit relaxed in the black carbon fiber shell of the Camilla, our sharp eyes analyzing every movement of the other boats while the sun’s scorching rays beat down on our tan shoulders and the reflective surface of the still lake. As we wait for the race to begin, the aroma
“ No wasting food,” my brother teased and ran out into the yard. I was chasing after him, I felt like steam was pouring out of my ears. He ran back in right when I heard a creak. I slammed onto the door and found my brother opening his mouth and laughing at me in front of my parents. I felt more embarrassed than mad at my brother now. I scraped some skin under my chin and it was bleeding now, I hope that would make my mom feel sorry for me.
I opened the box and looked at the soft velvet casing. The freshly polished wood of my instrument glittered golden brown in the evening sun. I reached for it and picked it up. The usually very light instrument seemed to weigh more than I could ever remember. I walked in a straight line up the side of the church building. I passed the graves of many of the dead as I made my way to the door.
I’m going to start out with the place I’ve lived my whole life Gresham, Oregon. It’s a pretty good thing having lived Gresham my whole life. Everything is super close like parks, stores, and schools. It was the best to grow up in opinion I got to see some stuff I should avoid and got to meet people that were helpful in my life. Also a plus of living in a smaller city is if you meet one person when you go to the park you will most likely see them another time. I have friends I played basketball with at Highland one year ago and still play against them to this day. There's a community more in Gresham, I think no one's afraid to talk to each other or ask for help and if someone needs help they won’t shrug them off. That’s one thing I don’t really see if other places everyone else has their own agenda and that doesn’t include knowing your neighbors. That’s insane, but it makes me happy that Gresham has friendly people unlike other cities. Maybe some of that is to do with schooling which is the next thing I want to talk about.
Life is like a million puzzle pieces, and without those pieces we wouldn't be a complete puzzle. Nevertheless, that's exactly how my life is set up. With the pieces, of my imperfect life, I am more of a person, but without them I'm incomplete. I believe I'm no different than the other, but in reality I really am. My puzzle consist of me being a young, middle class, black female, who did not grow up in a single parent home. My parents are still happily married, and unlike most married couples, they is very, very limited arguing within our household. Furthermore, I was raised in the south with a christain background. Social location is the groups people belong to because of their place or position in history of society.
the door. In result to this the boy cries and decides to get a shovel
Have you ever felt out of place? Different than how you’re supposed to feel? I can’t answer this for you, but I have. Once in middle school, the other in high school, and when I found out what the definition of normal really means to people. I always felt that something was out of place. The way people acted towards one another, and the labels we use to brand ourselves with. We’re stranded and cheated by society today on being taught the way they want to teach us. You might have noticed this yourself, and learned from it. Yes, we’re different from one another, so this is how I learned.
As he walked past me, I glanced up at him timidly. I looked into his eyes, realizing they were exactly like mine. Quickly I shifted my gaze to the floor, not wanting to make eye contact. It wasn't always this awkward between us, but something had changed.