Rose Sanchez Mr. McCloud English Comp 09 September 2015 Amtrak Station My car sped forward as soon as red turned to green. Ten till midnight flashed in red on my dash. Glimmering lights flashed as we drove past buildings down Main Street. Murkiness had fallen as street lights screamed in my face daunting me while driving. As we turned left on Fifth Street, Newton Train Depot came into view. Exiting my car with my grandpa and mother, we made our way on the curving pathway. It was short in width and yet spiraled in all directions. We passed barrels of flowers as we walked steadily forward. Luminously, its petals danced. Their purple and red tints were nowhere to be seen through this gloominess around. Just yonder was a water fountain. Pitter …show more content…
Ware and tear make it feel as if it had been in Newton for many years. Multiple signs hung on different walls that read Rail Passenger Station. Rust showed their age. An enormous, sturdy, wooden door with multiple windows was next to see for us. It shown many years of use throughout its wooden features that had worn away. Stains and dust clung to cobwebs behind each small window. Reaching for its large iron handle, it felt cold, unkempt but well made. A few steps behind that door was two large wooden doors with wear and tear upon them as well. While examining each aspect in this first room many things jumped out at me. Old, vintage looking chairs lined two walls and were down its center as well. They were a beigey, yellow color and looked almost like fold up chairs expect they were each connected by their arms. They felt like airport chairs, almost like they were made for people waiting. A strong smell of old, filth, and mildew assaulted my nose. Flowing straight up my nostrils almost reaching my brain. My eyes started watering from its strong stench. While sitting upon a grimy, vintage chair on a far wall an old rusted light above me began …show more content…
Suddenly my grandma was sitting right next to me. Light curls pinned back. Bright red lipstick made her lips stick out from every other feature on her thin sculpted face. A simple summer dress upon her slim, tall frame. Black and white oxford shoes tied on her small feet. A passenger train chugging along. My grandpa and his Navy friends hanging their hands and heads out each window ledge, anxious to get home. As it got closer my grandma stood up, ran through its wooden doors facing the tracks and jumped into my grandpa’s arms. They held each other for what seemed like forever. He gently kissed her on her lips as he gently dipped her back. My thoughts came back to reality as my grandpa said “Look Rosie!” Jumping up and rushing to another set of wooden doors, we pushed through them as we heard its loud whistles. Just as we made it out, a train came swooshing by. My ears began to ring. We watched as each cargo passed us. Graffiti scattered upon it. It slowly started fading into a sunset and twilight. My ears were pounding and felt like they were bleeding from excessive noise. Beyond each train track was streetlights that seemed to shimmer and wink at me through
I rushed out of the bedroom confused. I began to realize what was going on. I ran to where I last saw her and she was not there. Never before I felt my heart sank. My eyes filled with tears. I dropped to my knees and felt the cold white tile she last swept and mopped for my family. I look up and around seeing picture frames of of her kids, grandchildren, and great grandchildren smiling. I turn my head to the right and see the that little statue of the Virgin Mary, the last gift we gave her. I began to cry and walked to my mother hugging her. My father walked dreadfully inside the house. He had rushed my great grandmother to the hospital but time has not on his side. She had a bad heart and was not taking her medication. Later that morning, many people I have never seen before came by to pray. I wandered why this had to happen to her. So much grief and sadness came upon
I looked around at everyone in the room and saw the sorrow in their eyes. My eyes first fell on my grandmother, usually the beacon of strength in our family. My grandmother looked as if she had been crying for a very long period of time. Her face looked more wrinkled than before underneath the wild, white hair atop her head. The face of this once youthful person now looked like a grape that had been dried in the sun to become a raisin. Her hair looked like it had not been brushed since the previous day as if created from high wispy clouds on a bright sunny day.
Many features of the setting, a winter's day at a home for elderly women, suggests coldness, neglect, and dehumanization. Instead of evergreens or other vegetation that might lend softness or beauty to the place, the city has landscaped it with "prickly dark shrubs."1 Behind the shrubs the whitewashed walls of the Old Ladies' Home reflect "the winter sunlight like a block of ice."2 Welty also implies that the cold appearance of the nurse is due to the coolness in the building as well as to the stark, impersonal, white uniform she is wearing. In the inner parts of the building, the "loose, bulging linoleum on the floor"3 indicates that the place is cheaply built and poorly cared for. The halls that "smell like the interior of a clock"4 suggest a used, unfeeling machine. Perhaps the clearest evidence of dehumanization is the small, crowded rooms, each inhabited by two older women. The room that Marian visits is dark,...
The news of Grandma Singer dying had hit me like a punch to the gut. I quickly became so wrought up that I hadn’t even noticed when my mama began consoling me when she’d wrapped her arms tightly around me. At that moment it was as if I was a million miles away and all I could feel was this impenetrable wall of sadness welling up inside of me. Looking back, I don’t think I’d ever felt more abject in my entire life than I did right then, curled up in my mama’s arms crying like a baby. But then my mama said something to my step daddy that had changed everything. She said, “So, what do you think is going to happen with her house up in New York
As I walked through the door of the funeral home, the floral arrangements blurred into a sea of vivid colors. Wiping away my tears, I headed over to the collage of photographs of my grandfather. His smile seemed to transcend the image on the pictures, and for a moment, I could almost hear his laughter and see his eyes dancing as they tended to do when he told one of his famous jokes. My eyes scanned the old photographs, searching for myself amidst the images. They came to rest on a photo of Grandpa holding me in his lap when I was probably no more than four years old. The flowers surrounding me once again blended into an array of hues as I let my mind wander……
I sat silently on a rock with my grandpa in the palm of my hand, i was remembering the events of my life with him. From the first time I met him, to the last time I saw him. His remains were clutched tightly in my left hand. My grandpa 's old poems went through my head. One stood out in particular.
The morning of her death, sirens and ambulance barging into the home and hearing my mother cry from downstairs, still haunt me to this day. I was unaware of what was going on and my father was telling me to just stay in bed, trying to diminish the trauma I was about to reap. There lay my grandmother lifeless, with my mother breathing into her mouth holding her red nail painted fingers. My grandmother
Certain voices stuck out more than others; the shrill laughter of my aunt whose tone was a single octave higher than anyone else’s and a deep, nearly unintelligible rumble from my grandpa fairly close to where I was sitting. There was classical music playing from the stereo. It alternated between Beethoven and fast-paced Bach with an abundance of pianos and violins. The volume couldn’t hold up to the natural sounds of the house since my father had invited relatives over and they were all chatting each other up. I sat there deep in my own thoughts; I could feel my eyebrows pushing together and my lips held a firm rectangle. My stomach growled, but I didn’t want to bother making my way through the hoard of the family just to get a plate of finger foods. I distracted myself from their boring chatter that clouded the room by worrying about her and picturing what happened over and over again. The melodies were hard to hear above the people that worked the floor of the house, but my fingers still tapped along to the faint beat along the mahogany wood of the far end of the dinner table I leaned against. The only reason I knew this song, as muffled as it could be, was because my mom used to play it around the house. Why was he playing this? As if he had read my mind, my father turned his attention from my uncle for a second and easily found me through the crowd of relatives, eyes never leaving me as I made my way
“I don’t kno-” Suddenly that same metallic silver that I previously encountered flooded my sensory nerves. “Yes! I’m here, Mom!” I yelled as I threw open the door and embraced my mother with a tight hug. I could see her. I could see everything now. The lighthouse shine of the moon. The stillness of my furniture, my posters, figurines, my room, everything now in full view. I buried my head into the crook of my mother’s shoulder.
The Starbucks at Main Street Square was my only friend. Sometimes I’d ride the rail to Hermann Park. There’s this stone where I always found myself looking for. The stone was my comfort place, and had the perfect angle to look at people, and wonder where they come from, who they miss and what they’re sorry of. Spending my afternoons after school gazing at strangers was the only thing I could do, since my communicating skills were equaled to zero. The November’s weather was quite chilly, and I had put my cold hands in the pocket of a jacket my mother had insisted that I take. As I’m pulling out my phone to listen to Beethoven “Moonlight Sonata,” there’s this piece of “paper” that falls on the ground. The “paper” was a photograph of my mother holding the five-year-old me. Behind the paper, my mother’s handwriting said; “for when you feel lost.” Within the intervals that happen between seconds, I went back to the times where life was simple, and home was the place where my mother was. It never occurred to me that the feelings a single paper held, were the feelings you might never get from people. As I got lost on what was caught on the film, all the little memories long after I had forgotten came back. “A photograph can certainly throw you out of the scent.”
I cram back into the overly packed white sports-mom van that my dad owned and shake the snow from ugly, brown crocs. I feel bad about Andrew's glasses, but a simple bottle of glue will fix whatever damaged I caused with the snowball. Dad reminds us how close we are to our “Thanksgiving vacation.” We stopped for gas about two hours from Great Uncle Willy and Great Aunt Rosemary's house in Ohio. Hearing this, I sink back into my seat and lean my head back onto the broken headrest. I cannot help but remember who these people are. They not only raised my father after his mother's death and his father's abandonment, but also, they hit the age of 70 long before I came into this world. Aunt Rosemary sends letters in incredibly illegible handwriting, only translatable by Dad himself, all the time. However, Dad has never particularly
I woke up in the morning to see my little sister Ruth. She had sea-green eyes like my mom and dark brown cinnamon colored wavy hair like my dad. Caught to my surprise, the window was ajar and I could smell the awful malodor surrounding the streets. When I looked out of the window, I saw dead-unattended corpses who needed to be buried in the cemetery which was located down the alleyway. I looked away in disgust. “ Mary! Are you awake? For if you are, then come down and help me with breakfast,” yelled my mom. “Uh…,” I sighed to myself. Just another normal day in this boring little town of Abington. Next to me, my sister started to stir awake. I gently put my hand on her back and started to soothe her back to her soporific. After my sister’s breathing finally started to slow down, I got out of my mattress even
As I peered outside the chilly window fogged up with my breath, I could see an endless rainstorm pouring down, each raindrop jumping off my grandparent’s driveway, which now consisted mostly of mud puddles. I quivered slightly and turned back to watch my grandpa drinking a cup of tea while looking at an old book. He was wearing a brown vest on top of a loose long-sleeve that covered his large stomach. His body has definitely been marked by the years, as his hair is white as snow, and his wrinkly hands showing as he turned the pages in the book. I moved from the sofa to stand to closer to his recliner and watched him look through the the mysterious book, his face smiling
There was no lawn, but there were four flower planters. The house was painted all white, with the exception of the front door that was painted light green. My grandfather was still young, strong, and full of life, he always had time to play with his grandchildren. Every Sunday he would take us to the park, would buy us ice cream, and take us to Sunday mass. On the day when this picture was taken, we were celebrating my 10th birthday, and I was dancing with my grandfather. I cannot remember the song, but I do remember what he told me while dancing slowly. He said “My little girl” how he used to call me,” in five years you won’t be a little girl, you will become a young lady.” At that moment I could not understand what he meant, but in my mind I was saying “grandpa I will always be your little girl.” While dancing, he made me a promise, “My little girl on your 15th birthday, I will dance the first song with you.” Who would know that he was going to die on my 15th birthday year, he passed away on June 21th, 1987 on Father’s Day. He left me with so many beautiful memories, but the most important was my first dance on my 10th birthday. On the night before my 15th birthday, I went to bed around 10 p.m. I was feeling depressed, because I was only thinking of the promise that my grandfather had made in the past. A promise that in my mind was not going to
Every morning I wake up thinking that she is in the dining room drinking her coffee and watching her favorite TV shows. All of a sudden the truth starts rushing up and I come to realize that it was just a dream which was still hanging around me. In spite of my outward calmness, I felt as if there was a big hole inside me. My grandmother’s death was truly a sobering event and the most traumatic loss in my life. The commemoration of my grandmother will always be with me wherever I go and always tinting my dreams with her gentle smell of rosemary and the glittering silve...