Post by whisper on May 31, 2008 11:54:50 GMT -8
Hi everyone! I wrote this for my class, Creative Writing, and I got an A!! 
yay. The assignment was to write a memoir. I chose...well, I'll let you read it and find out what it's about. It's definitely something I'll never forget.
Everything fades into nothing. Voices, images; I am looking at them through a fuzzy TV screen. Angry people possibly wanting to hurt me and my family? Okay, scary, but I can deal. But this? No. No, this I’m not expecting. You could say I am shocked? Maybe astounded is a better word. I am beyond even that, though. An 18-wheeler crushing our house at that moment would come as a lesser surprise. And all the while, the light happy music of the ice cream truck rolling down our street plays in the background, an open mockery of the anguish I feel. This is a dream, right? That’s it. I just need to wake up from this nightmare. But dreams aren’t this painful. I’m dimly aware of tears forming behind the sunglasses I haven’t yet taken off. I know one thing: there’s no truthful ‘waking up’ from this nightmare. This morning? Happy and care-free at the pool. Now? I don’t even want to think about it. This can’t be happening. Not to me.
* * *
“Alex, hurry up! I want to go in the pool!” Molly’s voice drifts over the door of the changing room. Throwing my towel over my shoulder, I walk out, the swinging doors like the entrances to saloons in old western movies. My best friend waits for me next to the mirror, twirling her goggles with impatience. I smile.
“I’m coming; it’s not my fault you change super fast.”
Molly grabs my arm and drags me through the locker room door into blinding sunlight. We hurry over to where Molly’s mom sits in a lounge chair, dumping our towels next to her. Then we dash to the side of the pool and cannonball in, spraying droplets of water everywhere. We come up laughing, pretending not to notice the lifeguard scowling down at us from atop his elevated chair. We giggle and dog-paddle over to the other side of the pool.
The next three hours are spent playing various pool games including handstand contests, Spider, Marco Polo, and more. When we finally drag ourselves out of the pool, wrinkled like prunes from the water, we run over to the snack bar and order ice cream bars. Now we sit under a towel tent of our own invention, made by pushing lounge chairs together and draping soaked towels everywhere. It is dark, cool, and keeps out the super hot sun.
“Poke!” Molly’s laughing voice sounds from in front of me, followed by a sharp jab to my side.
“Ouch!” I complain, grinning. Molly is…interesting to be around. It’s always a challenge for me to keep up with what’s going on in her head. Now, after three hours of playing in the pool, she’s really wound up. You would think she’d be tired, right? Nope, not Molly. It’s like the pool was just a warm up for her and now she's really getting going. I just shake my head and watch with amusement as she points out how her sandals seem to glow in the dark and other “fun” things.
“You’re vibrating,” Molly exclaims, pointing at my cell phone in my pocket.
I pull out my phone and look at the caller ID. It’s Mom. I flip open the phone and put it to my ear, watching while Molly tries to catch the drips of water from the towels in her hands.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, how was your day?” Am I imagining it or does Mom’s voice sound weird? I shrug it off. Maybe she had gotten mad at my sister, a common occurrence.
“It was so much fun! Molly and I were actually wondering if I could go home with her and sleep over. I don’t have swim practice tomorrow…” My voice trails off in a wheedling tone. I can’t think of any reason why I shouldn’t be able to stay.
“Uh, no, actually you can’t. I’m coming to pick you up in about a half an hour.”
This is news to me. “What? Why?”
Mom’s voice is edgy, as if she is choosing her words carefully. “Dad wants to talk to you and your sister.”
I sit back, stumped. What did Dad want to talk to us about that he couldn’t call and ask, or wait for us to get home? “Why? About what?” I ask again.
Mom hesitates. “…He’ll tell you when you get home.”
Tell me what?! “Um, okay. Could I go to Molly’s after?”
“No.” Mom’s voice is flat, discouraging any argument.
I have to try. “But, why? What’s so important?”
“Because I said so.” Mom’s voice is harsh with anger, and it surprises me. Mom doesn’t usually get mad because I ask a question. I don’t really think about it, just that Mom is being unreasonable. But I don’t miss that she doesn’t answer my second question, either. Something is going on, I just can't figure out what. That should’ve been clue number one.
I say goodbye and hang up the phone, looking at Molly with my brow wrinkled in confusion. “She says she’s picking me up soon because my dad wants to talk to us. I wonder what that’s about.”
Molly draws her eyebrows together, thinking. “Are you in trouble?”
I shake my head, mystified. “I don’t think so.” A new thought strikes me. “Oh! Last time Dad had something to talk to us about, he was having problems with his company. They had to let a lot of people go, and he was afraid that they would come by the house because they were mad at him. I'm sure that’s what it is.”
My mind clears, positive I’m guessing right. Molly and I emerge from our towel tent to go in the pool one last time before Mom picks me up. Then I say goodbye to Molly, secretly promising to call later and tell her about the angry people coming for my family. I make it sound like a joke, and I'm not too worried. We’ll be fine. We were last time.
The ride home is quiet, and I don’t say much, certain that Mom is worried about our safety. Her face is strained and although she tries to hide it from me, her eyes shine a little too brightly. We pull in the driveway and I stagger inside under the weight of my soaking wet towel. Dad is upstairs in his room and my sister, Katie, is playing on the computer. I drift toward the kitchen, hungry again. I pour a glass of milk and grab a box of graham crackers. Katie appears out of nowhere, stepping softly in the too-quiet house, her expression like she’s just heard the world is about to explode. That should’ve been clue number two.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, completely oblivious to how quiet the house is while happily munching on my graham crackers.
My dog, Lucy, comes in and does her happy dance when she sees me home, wiggling her body and tail so fast she looks like she has ants in her fur. Katie says nothing, just stares at me, her eyes intense. I get the feeling she's trying to tell me something, but I decide to play it safe and not let my wild imagination suggest anything.
Dad comes downstairs. “Are you finished eating? I'd like to talk to all of you in the family room.”
I nod and follow Katie and Mom into the huge green room with the unbelievably comfortable couch. Mom sits and leans back against the pillows, her eyes closed as if she knows what’s coming. I bounce onto the edge of the couch, my sunglasses making the room look even darker than it is. I don’t need to take them off, I decide. I'm going outside again after Dad says whatever he wants to say; it’s too nice a day to stay inside. Katie sinks slowly against the arm of the matching chair, her expression still upset and miserable and…filled with dread, I realize. I start to get nervous. If the problem really is angry people, Katie shouldn’t be acting like this.
Outside, I hear our neighbor’s dog howling at some innocent passerby. The distant sound of the ice cream truck’s tinkling music reaches my ears, and I smile in anticipation. Maybe Mom will let me borrow some money.
Dad stays on his feet, walking around to the other side of the coffee table and turning to face us, his family. When he opens his mouth, I have no idea that the words he says next would echo in my head for the next two years. I have no idea that a few, simple words would ever be able to make such a huge difference.
“Girls, you may have noticed that I've been away more than usual for the past few months.” He pauses, letting us think about that. Where is he going with this? They’re business trips; he has no control over that. Dad continues and I pull myself out of my thoughts.
“The truth is I’m not happy with this anymore. Your mom and I have talked it over, and we have decided to end our marriage.”
I think my mind is on overload. It doesn't process a single word I just heard. I look over at Katie, and see that she's already sobbing, breathing unevenly. Now I know why she was acting like the world was ending. Because it has ended; at least, my world. And Katie had known it was coming. Mom has tears in her eyes, trying not to make us more upset by crying. I'm still perched, frozen on the edge of the couch like a statue. The music of the ice cream truck draws closer and I hear an echo of Dad’s voice, “…we have decided to end our marriage…” pounding in my ears. I shake my head, refusing to hear. I try to find the joke in the words, try to find the punch line.
No, no, no, NO! The truth begins to course through my body like a poison. Dad says something else, but I can't hear him any more. Everything, every sound, fades into an unintelligible buzz in my ears. My vision grows fuzzy; I don’t feel like I'm in my own body. I feel like a third party observer, watching some sitcom on a TV with a broken screen. My breathing catches and I struggle to draw breaths. The stupid, horrible, yellow ice cream truck rings its bell and starts down our street, the once light-hearted music now fake and mocking, blaring out its irritating melody. Suddenly I wonder how just minutes before I had wanted an ice cream cone. I feel like I'm going to throw up, and at the same time, I feel emptier than I've ever felt in my life. I feel the storm building up inside me and realize that it’s finally sinking in. My parents are getting divorced. I almost laugh in my hysterical state. Those are words I definitely never thought I would have to say. I know from this moment on, my life is changed forever. I will always remember this day, September 3, 2005.
Stories are supposed to have happy endings, make you feel good inside after you read them. But maybe it isn’t my story, so that’s why mine doesn’t have one (so far). Dad’s story? Maybe. He is getting married this summer, after all. I'll have to go to his wedding and...what? Be happy because he’s happy? Be glad he has another family to take my place? Pretend like I haven’t been torn apart so that he could have what he wanted? No, I don’t think so. I love Dad, and that won't change, because he's my dad. He’s Daddy, the person I grew up with. But his priorities have changed. He goes to see his fiancée instead of coming to watch my soccer tournaments. He spends Halloween taking his soon-to-be stepdaughter out trick or treating rather than watching my swim meet. Maybe this is Dad’s story. Or maybe this is just my sad part, like in everyone’s story; the part where the character despairs but it always turns out right in the end. Maybe. I’m sure I'll find out, but for right now, I don’t see how it can be all right. I don’t see how the endless fighting will end. I don’t know what else to do, except keep standing up for what I know is right. One day, a day that will change everything, maybe Dad will wake up and realize the whole truth of the pain that he's caused for me and my family. I'm not sure how long I will have to wait for that day, but I will wait. All I want is my Daddy back.
yay. The assignment was to write a memoir. I chose...well, I'll let you read it and find out what it's about. It's definitely something I'll never forget.Yellow Ice Cream Truck
Everything fades into nothing. Voices, images; I am looking at them through a fuzzy TV screen. Angry people possibly wanting to hurt me and my family? Okay, scary, but I can deal. But this? No. No, this I’m not expecting. You could say I am shocked? Maybe astounded is a better word. I am beyond even that, though. An 18-wheeler crushing our house at that moment would come as a lesser surprise. And all the while, the light happy music of the ice cream truck rolling down our street plays in the background, an open mockery of the anguish I feel. This is a dream, right? That’s it. I just need to wake up from this nightmare. But dreams aren’t this painful. I’m dimly aware of tears forming behind the sunglasses I haven’t yet taken off. I know one thing: there’s no truthful ‘waking up’ from this nightmare. This morning? Happy and care-free at the pool. Now? I don’t even want to think about it. This can’t be happening. Not to me.
* * *
“Alex, hurry up! I want to go in the pool!” Molly’s voice drifts over the door of the changing room. Throwing my towel over my shoulder, I walk out, the swinging doors like the entrances to saloons in old western movies. My best friend waits for me next to the mirror, twirling her goggles with impatience. I smile.
“I’m coming; it’s not my fault you change super fast.”
Molly grabs my arm and drags me through the locker room door into blinding sunlight. We hurry over to where Molly’s mom sits in a lounge chair, dumping our towels next to her. Then we dash to the side of the pool and cannonball in, spraying droplets of water everywhere. We come up laughing, pretending not to notice the lifeguard scowling down at us from atop his elevated chair. We giggle and dog-paddle over to the other side of the pool.
The next three hours are spent playing various pool games including handstand contests, Spider, Marco Polo, and more. When we finally drag ourselves out of the pool, wrinkled like prunes from the water, we run over to the snack bar and order ice cream bars. Now we sit under a towel tent of our own invention, made by pushing lounge chairs together and draping soaked towels everywhere. It is dark, cool, and keeps out the super hot sun.
“Poke!” Molly’s laughing voice sounds from in front of me, followed by a sharp jab to my side.
“Ouch!” I complain, grinning. Molly is…interesting to be around. It’s always a challenge for me to keep up with what’s going on in her head. Now, after three hours of playing in the pool, she’s really wound up. You would think she’d be tired, right? Nope, not Molly. It’s like the pool was just a warm up for her and now she's really getting going. I just shake my head and watch with amusement as she points out how her sandals seem to glow in the dark and other “fun” things.
“You’re vibrating,” Molly exclaims, pointing at my cell phone in my pocket.
I pull out my phone and look at the caller ID. It’s Mom. I flip open the phone and put it to my ear, watching while Molly tries to catch the drips of water from the towels in her hands.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, how was your day?” Am I imagining it or does Mom’s voice sound weird? I shrug it off. Maybe she had gotten mad at my sister, a common occurrence.
“It was so much fun! Molly and I were actually wondering if I could go home with her and sleep over. I don’t have swim practice tomorrow…” My voice trails off in a wheedling tone. I can’t think of any reason why I shouldn’t be able to stay.
“Uh, no, actually you can’t. I’m coming to pick you up in about a half an hour.”
This is news to me. “What? Why?”
Mom’s voice is edgy, as if she is choosing her words carefully. “Dad wants to talk to you and your sister.”
I sit back, stumped. What did Dad want to talk to us about that he couldn’t call and ask, or wait for us to get home? “Why? About what?” I ask again.
Mom hesitates. “…He’ll tell you when you get home.”
Tell me what?! “Um, okay. Could I go to Molly’s after?”
“No.” Mom’s voice is flat, discouraging any argument.
I have to try. “But, why? What’s so important?”
“Because I said so.” Mom’s voice is harsh with anger, and it surprises me. Mom doesn’t usually get mad because I ask a question. I don’t really think about it, just that Mom is being unreasonable. But I don’t miss that she doesn’t answer my second question, either. Something is going on, I just can't figure out what. That should’ve been clue number one.
I say goodbye and hang up the phone, looking at Molly with my brow wrinkled in confusion. “She says she’s picking me up soon because my dad wants to talk to us. I wonder what that’s about.”
Molly draws her eyebrows together, thinking. “Are you in trouble?”
I shake my head, mystified. “I don’t think so.” A new thought strikes me. “Oh! Last time Dad had something to talk to us about, he was having problems with his company. They had to let a lot of people go, and he was afraid that they would come by the house because they were mad at him. I'm sure that’s what it is.”
My mind clears, positive I’m guessing right. Molly and I emerge from our towel tent to go in the pool one last time before Mom picks me up. Then I say goodbye to Molly, secretly promising to call later and tell her about the angry people coming for my family. I make it sound like a joke, and I'm not too worried. We’ll be fine. We were last time.
The ride home is quiet, and I don’t say much, certain that Mom is worried about our safety. Her face is strained and although she tries to hide it from me, her eyes shine a little too brightly. We pull in the driveway and I stagger inside under the weight of my soaking wet towel. Dad is upstairs in his room and my sister, Katie, is playing on the computer. I drift toward the kitchen, hungry again. I pour a glass of milk and grab a box of graham crackers. Katie appears out of nowhere, stepping softly in the too-quiet house, her expression like she’s just heard the world is about to explode. That should’ve been clue number two.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, completely oblivious to how quiet the house is while happily munching on my graham crackers.
My dog, Lucy, comes in and does her happy dance when she sees me home, wiggling her body and tail so fast she looks like she has ants in her fur. Katie says nothing, just stares at me, her eyes intense. I get the feeling she's trying to tell me something, but I decide to play it safe and not let my wild imagination suggest anything.
Dad comes downstairs. “Are you finished eating? I'd like to talk to all of you in the family room.”
I nod and follow Katie and Mom into the huge green room with the unbelievably comfortable couch. Mom sits and leans back against the pillows, her eyes closed as if she knows what’s coming. I bounce onto the edge of the couch, my sunglasses making the room look even darker than it is. I don’t need to take them off, I decide. I'm going outside again after Dad says whatever he wants to say; it’s too nice a day to stay inside. Katie sinks slowly against the arm of the matching chair, her expression still upset and miserable and…filled with dread, I realize. I start to get nervous. If the problem really is angry people, Katie shouldn’t be acting like this.
Outside, I hear our neighbor’s dog howling at some innocent passerby. The distant sound of the ice cream truck’s tinkling music reaches my ears, and I smile in anticipation. Maybe Mom will let me borrow some money.
Dad stays on his feet, walking around to the other side of the coffee table and turning to face us, his family. When he opens his mouth, I have no idea that the words he says next would echo in my head for the next two years. I have no idea that a few, simple words would ever be able to make such a huge difference.
“Girls, you may have noticed that I've been away more than usual for the past few months.” He pauses, letting us think about that. Where is he going with this? They’re business trips; he has no control over that. Dad continues and I pull myself out of my thoughts.
“The truth is I’m not happy with this anymore. Your mom and I have talked it over, and we have decided to end our marriage.”
I think my mind is on overload. It doesn't process a single word I just heard. I look over at Katie, and see that she's already sobbing, breathing unevenly. Now I know why she was acting like the world was ending. Because it has ended; at least, my world. And Katie had known it was coming. Mom has tears in her eyes, trying not to make us more upset by crying. I'm still perched, frozen on the edge of the couch like a statue. The music of the ice cream truck draws closer and I hear an echo of Dad’s voice, “…we have decided to end our marriage…” pounding in my ears. I shake my head, refusing to hear. I try to find the joke in the words, try to find the punch line.
No, no, no, NO! The truth begins to course through my body like a poison. Dad says something else, but I can't hear him any more. Everything, every sound, fades into an unintelligible buzz in my ears. My vision grows fuzzy; I don’t feel like I'm in my own body. I feel like a third party observer, watching some sitcom on a TV with a broken screen. My breathing catches and I struggle to draw breaths. The stupid, horrible, yellow ice cream truck rings its bell and starts down our street, the once light-hearted music now fake and mocking, blaring out its irritating melody. Suddenly I wonder how just minutes before I had wanted an ice cream cone. I feel like I'm going to throw up, and at the same time, I feel emptier than I've ever felt in my life. I feel the storm building up inside me and realize that it’s finally sinking in. My parents are getting divorced. I almost laugh in my hysterical state. Those are words I definitely never thought I would have to say. I know from this moment on, my life is changed forever. I will always remember this day, September 3, 2005.
* * *
Stories are supposed to have happy endings, make you feel good inside after you read them. But maybe it isn’t my story, so that’s why mine doesn’t have one (so far). Dad’s story? Maybe. He is getting married this summer, after all. I'll have to go to his wedding and...what? Be happy because he’s happy? Be glad he has another family to take my place? Pretend like I haven’t been torn apart so that he could have what he wanted? No, I don’t think so. I love Dad, and that won't change, because he's my dad. He’s Daddy, the person I grew up with. But his priorities have changed. He goes to see his fiancée instead of coming to watch my soccer tournaments. He spends Halloween taking his soon-to-be stepdaughter out trick or treating rather than watching my swim meet. Maybe this is Dad’s story. Or maybe this is just my sad part, like in everyone’s story; the part where the character despairs but it always turns out right in the end. Maybe. I’m sure I'll find out, but for right now, I don’t see how it can be all right. I don’t see how the endless fighting will end. I don’t know what else to do, except keep standing up for what I know is right. One day, a day that will change everything, maybe Dad will wake up and realize the whole truth of the pain that he's caused for me and my family. I'm not sure how long I will have to wait for that day, but I will wait. All I want is my Daddy back.
