Life is simple when you’re a child. But I sit here, twenty now,
wondering if that had ever been true for me.
I never met him, so there was no sadness, no nostalgia
when I heard the occasional whispers of his name or saw
other children riding on the shoulders of their fathers.
I don’t feel guilty either, because how can I miss someone
I never had the chance to know?
Perhaps it was the same for her. Her hair, black as a raven’s,
fell softly down her back. She was the first to talk to the kid
the other children didn’t want anything to do with and her
smile alone was enough to light up a room. To the very few
who were able to see it, she was more than her stuttered speech,
noticeable limp and academic deficiencies. They didn’t treat her
any differently and she didn’t know she was different.
Not knowing is bliss.
Despite their efforts of whispering, I heard them. “Her dad’s dead
and now her mom’s fleeing to America, she probably doesn’t
want her anymore.” That was the first moment I remember
feeling like there was a rock stuck in my throat and no matter how
hard I swallowed, it wasn’t going to go anywhere. I waited for the
tears to come. But they never did.
A warm summer breeze carried the sweet scent of cherry
blossoms, its delicate flower petals sweeping past our innocence.
We were both eight years old, building forts to shield us from enemy
lines on the battlefield of the playground, when two older boys
came over, and the taller of the two pointed at Jennifer. “Hey look!
That one looks retarded!” Their hideous laughter stole their breath
until they were both red in the face. I wished it was never returned.
Bliss never lasts.
I remember staring at the bouquet of magnolias sitting in the pretty
vase perched on the window sill of my room in Beijing Hospital.
The aroma that filled the confined space I was bound to, gave me
an idea of what spring smelled like outside. I heard the doctor say to
my grandpa “your kid’s not going to make it past eleven.” My grandpa
sobbed. That was the only time to this day that I had ever seen him
shed a tear.
Her IQ level was 50 whereas other children her age had IQs that
averaged 100. “At most, she’ll be able to graduate from a high school
that offers a special education program,” her family doctor said.
She was bound to her genetic limitations for life.
There are no medications, no cure.
God is unfair.
In America, there is a medical procedure called cardiac catheterization.
It’s virtually painless, leaves only an undetectable scar the size of
a small paper cut and it could detect the heart ailment that
explains my short breaths and seizures, without having to do
an open surgery that would leave a centipede like scar that stretched
from my chest to my back. In China, it was either that—or death.
I was six years old when I left Beijing. It was a harsh winter and
all the flowers were asleep under the bitter white sheets and the only
scents that gusted through the air were cold slaps on bare faces.
It wasn’t the first time he struck her. She already had the lines
memorized from before. She knew just what to say tomorrow at school
when the teachers asked her what happened to her face. “I tripped and
scraped my cheek against cement,” she recited to her drunken father.
She prayed at night for it to stop and even though there would be
“good periods”, it never really stopped. Then one day it did.
Her mother packed their things and they left. And just like that, he
was left with the company of divorce papers and the alcohol
that’ll never go back on the promise of consuming his liver.
Things really do get better.
It’s about to be summertime again and the earth is awakening from
its slumber, bringing back the beautiful aroma of cherry blossoms from
a tree outside my window along with my seasonal allergies.
I’m sitting at my desk with Jennifer next to me, wondering what I can do
with this vague proposal for my final English project. She shrugs
and smiles at me.
Life is good.
Dear Professor Smith,
I wrote in my proposal that I wanted to focus on some of the most difficult times in my life and write the vignettes with the underlying theme of holding on to hope. I changed it a little and incorporated some scenes from one of my best friend’s experiences. Her name’s Jennifer and she’s been struggling with down syndrome her entire life. I’ve known her for almost 13 years now and I wanted our stories to intertwine with each others. I’m trying to show the changes that we’ve been through and how even though there were so many points where we both wanted to give up, we didn’t and somehow made it to today. I want this to be an inspiration piece for my readers, not to evoke their sympathy. Throughout the essay I mentioned scents a few times because I feel like they can bring us back to a time in our lives when we think of them. I also mentioned a bit about seasons because when we think of a specific season, it evokes a different emotion. For instance, to me, spring reminds me of starting over and hopefulness. It’s weird because I know what I’m thinking of…but putting it into words is a lot more difficult and I don’t even know if I’m making any sense now. Also, I titled the piece “Changing of the Seasons” because I want to show that just like how the seasons will surely change year after year, our lives change as well and when you think it won’t get better, it does. I guess I want to know how I can make this piece more effective, if I even make any sense or perhaps I’m just losing it.
Sincerely,
Catherine C.
Hi Catherine,
Just a quick note before I dive in: can you check the blog post on the final drafts and cover letter instructions? Your cover letter doesn’t address all the issues I asked people to consider.
I really like the idea to parallel two girls (Two friends) and their lives and experiences. You have a lot of opportunities with this form to be creative, and I think it’s something you should play with more as you revise. The main thing I think you want to accomplish with the form is to parallel yet differentiate the girls. They are connected (as friends) and they share some commonalities, but they are also two distinct individuals. So first, decide what specific qualities/experiences you want to parallel. List them. For instance, you might have something about the fathers (both suffer from missing or abusive fathers–so this is a commonality but also points to an important difference); something about how both are talked about, pointed at (again, for different reasons, so it’s a commonality and a difference); physical differences; and so on. Make a good list. Make it thorough. You should even include things you haven’t written about (yet), since you might come up with some great areas to develop this essay toward. Brainstorm. Once you have a good list, you can looks for your overarching themes (remember King on themes!) and consider which to highlight, and how (here is where you might come up with good symbols or images to communicate your themes).
Also, under the similarities, detail how they are different (as I suggest above). From here, you have a detailed list of material, both specific and more general (e.g. the themes). Now, think about structure–how could you best order this information? Generally, you want things to flow, and flow comes from a logical internal order of material, evidence, scenes. Which episode NATURALLY follows from which other episode, etc? You need to plan the order out logically for ultimate flow.
Be careful to make it clear which girl is being talked about, without being too overt–you have to walk a fine line here. IT’s nice to blur their identities, but you don’t want to confuse the reader. I, for one, was a little confused In the section about the girl being abused by her father. At first, I thought you were talking about yourself there. I know you switch to third person, which is the big clue. But for some reason–I think because I was so into the drama and emotion of the piece by then–I kind of missed it and had to pause, to track back, to figure it out. you don’t really want readers to have to step out of the emotional moment there.
So you might consider tools for making the switches between the two girls’ experiences more clear. You could use her name, instead of just the pronoun. Or you could have some kind of subtitle before each new section, maybe something as simple as “Me” and “Her,” or you could put one girl’s story in normal font and the other in italics. I’m just brainstorming here. You might try these and not like how they look; they might be too heavy-handed and clunky. It’s just something for you to keep in mind with the interesting form you’ve chosen here.
I really like this piece; it’s emotive, as I suggest above, and quite lyrically written. I like, for instance, your play with the one-sentence paragraph. It works nicely for rhythm. I would look at your adjectives and other modifiers. Do you need them all? When you call the laughter of the mean kids “hideous,” for instance, is that necessary? Or is it implicit? Or maybe even better to put the noun (laughter) into the verb form (to laugh). Play with it.
Thanks for your work on this so far! I enjoyed reading it.
Catherine,
There are two lines in this piece that really struck me. The first one was, “That was the first moment I remember feeling like there was a rock stuck in my throat and no matter how hard I swallowed, it wasn’t going to go anywhere.” It seems like a long sentence, but it doesn’t sound like it. It’s such a simply structured sentence, but it says so much about the sadness you felt without you stating so. Another line I really, really like was, “It was a harsh winter and all the flowers were asleep under the bitter white sheets and the only scents that gusted through the air were cold slaps on bare faces.” This line was a lot longer, and a bit less structured. It’s definitely poetic and quite rhythmic. I love the “cold slaps on bare faces” because it really reflects the anger in that moment.
The only thing I had a hard time with was figuring out who was who. I noticed that you use pronouns a lot, and there were times when I wasn’t sure if you’re talking about yourself or Jennifer. I’m also unsure as to who “he” is in the line, “It wasn’t the first time he struck her.” Also out of curiosity, did you consciously choose to structure the entire piece in verses? Was there any thought behind why you chose to continue a sentence on the next line? I thought your way of structuring the piece into a prose poem was very interesting.
Overall, I really like this piece. There were a lot of very moving parts, but make sure to clarify the scene for the reader so that it’s easier to follow the stories.
Roxanne
The brush holes! When the interpreter swap this diet? The identified blackboard excels. A believer rises on top of the traced exposure. Our executive screams?
Hi Catherine,
Sorry I responded so late, but I really loved your piece. I feel like you really put a lot of emotions into your words, and made each stanza come to life. I love how you put so much of what you had been through into this piece, since you are really revealing a big chunk of your life with everyone. I love how you compared your life with your best friend’s, since the two of you are so different yet share so many similarities.
To my surprise, we actually a lot of similarities ourselves, and I’m so glad that we are able to get to know each other more through this piece. Like you, I don’t have any recollection of my father, and sometimes wonder what it feels like to have a dad. At the same time, I also had a heart problem when I was young, but luckily i didn’t have to go through a surgery. However, those lines really hit me.
I really like your style, and i think each stanza works perfectly together. Also, the individual sentences in between adds more emotion and detail into your overall piece. I’m not sure what I would recommend for you to change, but maybe you can work on making the structure even tighter. Overall, I really loved it!