An accident
Danebra was a beautiful woman, that was what I thought when I was six year old. She had big blue eyes that were so deep that I could even see myself when I looked at her. She lived two houses away from my house. Everyday, after school, I passed her house and she would give me candy, which was so sweet that now I can still recall the sweetness.
Danebra had a pretty house. I was the only child in the neighborhood who was allowed to come inside her house. Her living-room was cozy. The couch was so comfy that I could sit there all day and sleep. The bookshelf was in the corner of the room and contained so many books that I once believed Danebra had all the books in the world. Most of the books were about cooking. The living-room usually smelled like the rose she put on the table. Danebra always bought new rose everyday even if the rose from yesterday was still nice. “I like the fresh rose’s smell”, she would say when I asked why she just used rose for one day. Her kitchen, which was connected to the living-room, was small and smelled like cookies. Danebra was a skillful cookie-maker. She made thousands kinds of cookies: chocolate, strawberry, cranberry, and whatever flavor that she liked. The best flavor was maple syrup. I didn’t know how she made it but the maple syrup cookies were the most delicious. I could eat ten of those at once. Her bedroom had only a bed and a tiny bookshelf. The bed sheet and the blanket had the cover of many photos of some three young girls on them. She told me those were her friends’ gifts. There were many pictures on the wall. All of them were Danebra herself since she was a little child. She was chubby and very cute when she was five. Then, the older she got, the thinner she became. ...
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...rywhere. It was in her way giving me treat. It was in her cookies. It was in her rose. It was in the picture of her and her husband. Even the police confirmed that her husband’s death was not her fault. However, everyone in my neighborhood ostracized her. No one wanted to be near her or talk to her. I tried to wave her while I was walking back to my house with my mom. She smiled happily back to me but then she quickly went inside when she saw my mom’s hateful look.
I was sad when I knew Danebra moved. It was so suddenly. I missed the sweet flavor, the rose smell, the cookie-smelled kitchen, and the cozy living-room. I stopped by her house once after she left. I wondered if she remembered me. I wondered if she still gave candy and cookies to another six-year-old girl. I hoped people where she live would see her kindness so that they would not be afraid of her past.
After Toosweet (Anne’s mother), quit a domestic job she had with a lady that worked her so hard, she got another domestic job with the Johnson’s. Mrs. Johnson was a school teacher and Mr. Johnson was a rancher who bought and sold cattle. The Johnson were very nice to Anne and her family. However, it was Mr. Johnson mother, Miss Ola, who lived with the Johnson’s that appeared to have impacted Anne the most in the household. Though Anne did a lot of chores for Miss Ola, Anne learned to like Miss Ola very much and they had lots of fun together. Miss Ola would bake cookies for them every Saturday and had a bell she would ring when she had cooked something for them or wanted them to do something for her. The old lady (Miss Ola) who would call
One of the biggest challenges Francie faces while growing up is loneliness. As a young child living in a Brooklyn slum, Francie has no friends her age. The other children either find her too quiet or shun her for being different because of her extensive vocabulary. Betty Smith describes how most of Francie's childhood days are spent: "in the warm summer days the lonesome child sat on her stoop and pretended disdain for the group of children playing on the sidewalk. Francie played with her imaginary companions and made believe they were better than real children. But all the while her heart beat in rhythm to the poignant sadness of the song the children sang while walking around in a ring with hands joined." (106). Francie is lonely, and longs to be included. As Francie matures, she begins to experience a different kind of loneliness. Betty Smith portrays her feelings as she observes her neighborhood: "spring came early that year and the sweet warm nights made her restless. She walked up and down the streets and through the park. And wherever she went, she saw a boy and a girl together, walking arm-in-arm, sitting on a park bench with their arms around each other, standing closely and in silence in a vestibule. Everyone in the world but Francie had a sweetheart or a friend she seemed to be the only lonely one in Brooklyn without a friend." (403). Loneliness is a constant challenge for Francie but it is through her loneliness that she finds a new companion in her books. Francie reads as an alternative for her lack of friends and companions. It is through her love of reading that Francie develops her extensive, sophisticated vocabulary. Her books lead her into maturity and help her learn to be independent and overcome her many hardships.
There is this teenage girl name Leah who lived in New York, she was ending her first year of high school as a freshman at Flushing High School. On the last month of classes around June she was hanging around with her best friend Henry. After class, they would hang out together and go to the city to explore and waste time, but there was one thing Leah had to tell Henry, her family had to move to Mexico because her parents thought that they will have a better life. So Leah had to leave with them. She told Henry about her moving with her family to Mexico, so they decided to go out to places before she left. They went out to the theatres, walked around the city, and get something to eat like Burger Kings or McDonalds. It was soon Leah had to leave,
cold, harsh, wintry days, when my brothers and sister and I trudged home from school burdened down by the silence and frigidity of our long trek from the main road, down the hill to our shabby-looking house. More rundown than any of our classmates’ houses. In winter my mother’s riotous flowers would be absent, and the shack stood revealed for what it was. A gray, decaying...
Marie’s grandparent’s had an old farm house, which was one of many homes in which she lived, that she remembers most. The house was huge, she learned to walk, climb stairs, and find hiding places in it. The house had a wide wrap around porch with several wide sets of stairs both in front and in back. She remembers sitting on the steps and playing with one of the cats, with which there was a lot of cats living on the farm...
One of her earliest memories came from when she was three years old. Jeannette had to go to the hospital because she burned herself cooking hot dogs. Her parents didn’t like hospitals, so for that reason after a few weeks they came and took her away. Jeannette and her family were constantly moving from place to place, sometimes staying no more than one night somewhere. Her father always lied to them saying that they had to keep moving because he was wanted by the FBI. Jeannette’s mother never took much interest in Jeannette or her siblings, because the mother didn’t want them and thought that they were bothersome and in the way.
The sun is making its way up the horizon, but has not yet filled the sky with its cheerful rays. We exit the bus and immediately turned into statues. We stood next the flag pole staring at the school entrance. “This is going to be okay. This is going to be okay” I mumbled to myself. I wanted to enter, nonetheless, gravity glued my feet down to the cold concrete ground. My hands started sweating through my thin-knitted pink sweater and tears were about to roll off my eyes. Shortly after, I saw a shadow of a tall woman approaching us from the school’s front door. My heart beats like a drum as she carefully making her way toward us like you would when you proceed a scared puppy. She stood about four feet away from us making sure she’s not invading our comfort zone. She knelt down and shows us her school staff ID card while holding her buzzing walkie talkie on the other hand. She then ask for our names and walked us one by one to our classrooms. I remember it was so early that I had to sit in front of my class waiting for my teacher to
Amanda a loving and caring mother devoted her life for her childern .she is abondaned by her husband,the only one she loved deeply.She struggles to secure her children`s lives and when she is overwhelmed by despair she resorts to her memories.
Then she saw a greasy china plate that had bread crumbs, cheese and sausage. The pungent of cheese made her stomach grumble. The man was very rude and insulted her because she couldn’t read. Then Frances headed home and on her way, she bumped into a girl with a nice, green, winter coat. She imagined her Ma in that coat, twirling around with a smile on her face. The girl’s mother said a rather offensive sentence about Frances and walked away with her daughter.
I shook my head, ashamed for invading my friends’ tragedies with memories I conjured up by their descriptions of them. I was still staring at Alice’s relaxed posture. The frown on her face was evident even while she rested unconscious with wrinkles near her seventeen year old eyes. I could still see the scar from stitches. Vesper shifted under the blankets on Alice’s couch. He was missing a father while Sebastian and I were missing a mother. But Alice was missing the two people that had given her life and left while she was living it. A trust fund was left in their
I started thinking of all the lies that I'd heard her tell. I remembered the time she told someone that her favorite restaurant had closed, because she didn't want to see her there anymore. Or the time she told Dad that she loved the lawn mower he gave her for her birthday. Or when she claimed that our phone lines had been down when she was trying to explain why she hadn't been in touch with a friend of hers for weeks. And what bothered me even more were all the times she had incorporated me into her lies. Like the time she told my guidance counselor that I had to miss school for exploratory surgery, when she really needed me to babysit. And it even started to bother me when someone would call for her and she would ask me to tell her that she wasn't there.
I slowly opened the front door -- the same old creak echoed its way throughout the old house, announcing my arrival just seconds before I called out, "Grandma!" She appeared around the corner with the normal spring in her steps. Her small but round 5'1" frame scurried up to greet me with a big hug and an exclamation of, "Oh, how good to see you." It was her eighty-fifth birthday today, an amazing feat to me, just part of everyday life to her. The familiar mix of Estee Lauder and old lotion wafted in my direction as she pulled away to "admire how much I've grown." I stopped growing eight years ago, but really, it wasn't worth pointing this fact out. The house, too, smelled the same as it's ever smelled, I imagine, even when my father and his brothers grew up here more than forty years ago -- musty smoke and apple pie blended with the aroma of chocolate chip cookies. The former was my grandfather's contribution, whose habit took him away from us nearly five years ago; the latter, of course, comes from the delectable delights from my grandmother's kitchen. Everything was just as it should be.
I saw her walk over to the dressing table. I watched her appear in the circular glass of the mirror looking at me now at the end of a back and forth of mathematical light. I watched her keep on looking at me with her great hot-coal eyes: looking at me while she opened the little box covered with pink mother of pearl. I saw her powder her nose. When she finished, she closed the box, stood up again, and walked over to the lamp once more, saying: "I'm afraid that someone is dreaming about this room and revealing my secrets." And over the flame she held the same long and tremulous hand that she had been warming before sitting down at the mirror. And she said: "You don't feel the cold." And I said to her: "Sometimes." And she said to me: "You must feel it now." And then I understood why I couldn't have been alone in the seat. It was the cold that had been giving me the certainty of my solitude. "Now I feel it," I said. "And it's strange because the night is quiet. Maybe the sheet fell off." She didn't answer. Again she began to move toward the mirror and I turned again in the chair, keeping my back to her.
The air is really fresh, and the wind is comfortable. Grandma usually opened the window during the daytime; I still remembered that feeling when the sunshine came in house and scatter. I walking among those numerous grand trees and admire colored leaves on the trees and on the ground. I miss that feeling of calmness and stability of the world around. I wish I could return the reality of those feelings once more. Memories in mind and never forget about happiness of staying in my grandmother’s house. Grandparent’s time-honored gift to their grandchildren is their unconditional love, unfettered by schedules, routines or commitments. They reinforced their grandchildren’s sense of security and self-value.
Bonnie the secretary introduced me to my new teacher. As Mrs. Bonnie was leaving the room, my new teacher Mrs. Evaheart introduced me to the class. As I stared at the class I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed. I wanted to go back to my old school where I had friends, knew almost everyone, a place where I didn’t feel lonesome, a place anywhere but here. As I saw each and every one of my new classmates faces the utter dread that I felt slowly began to fade as I saw a familiar face. Seeing one of my former friends give me a renewed hope that maybe being in this school won’t be so bad after