Because you guys are all awful and had to choose the one I didn't really want to put up here, here is part of a sort of essay-like thing I wrote about seeing my dad last weekend. It's definitely not finished and barely even edited in the slightest, and it was hard for me to put it up here, but I kind of want to know what you think about it. It's my first go at non-fiction, and I'm almost thinking it's what I'm sending in. It's the closest I have to a short-story. ~Heather
My stomach rolled and my eyes burned in the heat outside of the restaurant, but that couldn't be the only reason. Some credit was due to why I was there.
I kept replaying the one memory I had of him in my mind.
I was just a little thing, couldn't have been much older than two and running through his house (I couldn't call it mine, I never belonged to or with him) in a maze of white. We had covered the entire hall, living room, and bedroom with light-colored sheets and the sunlight shone trough, illuminating the world to my innocent blue eyes. Just faintly, I could hear my cousin laughing softly as she hid among the labyrinth and I tried to find her.
It was a game, you see. While he just sat there in a chair amidst the cloth walls, not telling a soul where the others hid, someone would run off and hide.
But they were always found or came out when the seeker was defeated enough to call "olly-olly-oxen free!"
He wasn't and didn't. Not for over ten years.
I could have called olly-olly-oxen free all my life if I had wanted to. Instead I just held that picture in a wallet under my mattress for nearly five years, only pulling it out if I had a bad dream and knew Amy was a sleep and wouldn't be woken by my ever-handy flashlight. Instead, I spent days forming elaborate stories of where he was and who he was with and what their names were and why he hadn't taken me. Instead, I cried every year on my birthday, wishing that I had two parents to celebrate with as opposed to just the one.
Then that call came last November and I ended up there at that restaurant, my stomach rolling and eyes burning. It took almost a full year to happen, but it did.
"I do not want to be here," my oldest sister, Natasha said.
"I don't either," Amy agreed.
They both looked at me. I shook my head and picked at my fingernails. "No."
But we were, all of us, ready to re-meet our father, or as Natasha liked to call him, the sperm-donor. When she first asked me about lunch with him, she'd said "The sperm-donor called. He wants to see us." She didn't even feel the need to pretend like she cared.
I cared, but I wasn't lying. I didn't want to be there. I didn't want to have to be there. I didn't want to have to get to know my own father.
We had invited Amy's boyfriend, Robert, along as a sort of buffer. He suggested we wait inside where it wasn't so hot. So we did. They seated us at our reserved table and arguing ensued. Amy immediately snagged the inside corner of the booth side, Robert sliding in next to her, and Natasha took the same end on the chair side. The only place for me was either by Natasha or Robert, both of which would leave me with the possibility of sitting next to him. I asked please would they sit on the other side of me and didn't they realize that I was not going to sit next to him and couldn't Natasha just handle maybe sitting across from him because it had to be better than next to him.
They said no.
P.S. Anna (where are you, Anna??????), comment on Caroline's post, just there↓
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6 comments:
You've rendered me slightly speechless (not to mention the whole eyes-clouded-over-with-tears issue) and left me with, instead of words, the feeling that I need to run to your house right now and give you a huge hug. Which is just ridiculous, because I don't really run and whe don't really hug. I think we have hugged maybe six times over the course of our four year friendship. But still, hug number seven seems neccessary, at this point. So... *hug*.
Moving past the hugging-ramble and into the actual essay now: this is honestly one of if not the most beautiful things that I've ever read that you wrote (and you know that you're spectacular in general). I'm glad that You';re considering sending it in- because if you don't, then I will be very, very angry at you. (But probably only for a few minutes. Some specific things:
* the whole memory scene is lovely. It has this kind of airy, blue-ish white quality to it (I doubt that description makes any sense whatsoever, but if anyone gets it, it will be you), and wehn I read it, I am THERE. The labyrinth mention is great. And the bit about how it's his house is so sad, but such a good line.
*The olly-olly-oxen free part was my favorite. "I could have called Olly-Olly-Oxen-Free all my life..." The whole paragraph is so pretty and heartbreaking and cry-making, knot-in-stomach forming... and it's good. It's really good.
*Okay, so I find it kind of hilarious that Natasha calls him the Sperm Donor, which is mostly because when I was in 7th/8th grade I wrote this story about a girl who had to move to Ireland and live with her father (who hadn't called since her mother hung up on him when the girl was in Kindergarten) and that was what she called him. Besides the little connection, I liked it beause it says a lot about her character; the differences between her attitude to the situation and yours.
*ACK. Hating Amy/Natasha/Robert by the end. Mean jerks. But I love the last line you have here. It's so simple, which makes it extremely powerful, especially as it's own paragrpah. I know this isn't the actual end, but that's a great scene break.
.....
For a couple of reasons, while beautiful, this was hard for me to read.
And here's what it really is : I think I know you better than prety much anyone else does. I mean, I'd be willing to bet that I at least make the top five. And yet, this side of you still comes as soemwhat of a shock. In person, and on the phone, and whatever- you come off as this pillar of super-strength (Gee, that doesn't sound like something Clark would happen upon in the Fortress of Solitude at all...). Anyway. It's just that you're so unaffected, so brave and clam and together. I mean, I'm a mess about 89% of the time. And it's obvious. But you just seem so strong so much of the time. And this- it's incredibly vulnerable and brutally honest, and it scares me a little bit because it makes me worry that I know you less than I think I do. The post-title kind of reinforces this worry.
Also, more simply and way more importantly, it's hard for me to read because I know it must have been excruciating for you to write, and to put up on here for us to all see and god, criticize. To picture you, going through all of this- that makes me sadder than almost anything can. Because you're my very best friend. Because, as one of our very favorite gentlemen would say,
i carry your heart(i carry
it in my heart).
To end this crazy babble (GOD, how long is this comment? Record-breaking?) This essay is incredible. YOU are amazing. I definitely need to read more of this.
trying not to fret
caroline
i didn't even read caroline's comment because it's so long, so if i repeat some things (it looks like it could be a lot of things), then i'm sorry. : - (
wow. all of it is extremely well written. the syntax and the general voice is just fantastic. there is a bit of rearranging and one phrase i would want to change.
because the style of this is very long winded (you use and a lot in your sentences, etc.) the parenthesis in the second real paragraph "i couldn't call it mine..." ...not there. and maybe it's because of the structure of the sentence. that entire paragraph is beautiful though. the imagery is fantastic. maybe a little clean up would help define what you are saying.
"it was a game, you see." i love that. you're talking to us, and it's amazing. love that.
so the picture i get (because i can't stop thinking about this paragraph. it's brilliant, but it has a smidge of sawdust on the edges and i reallyreallyreallyreally want it to be wiped away so we can see how astoundingly beautiful it is) is this guy sitting in a simple wooden chair surrounded by flowing sheets that spill onto a dark wooden floor. if that's what you're going for, ta dah. if not, maybe it needs a little tweaking.
okay, "the sperm donor"? can i say how amazingly sad and unbelievably humerous that is?! it gets across your point while making me smile at the same time. like...it shows that everyone is frustrated with him, that he's possibly not responsible and...and...yes! lovelovelove that.
and the fact that you (she? you.) didn't want to sit with him and the way that comes about...delightful. lovely.
and the whole olly-olly-oxen-free thing, and the metaphor that is. pretty darn cool. but it needs to be cleaned and up made a little more clear in order for it to be astoundingly amazing.
i love you. a lot. and this is really good. i want more. : - )
much love,
emilea
QUESTION FOR EVERYONE:
can i post my personal essay for the application? i'm afraid it's a creative nonfiction essay instead of what they're looking for. maybe not. i'm also afraid that i don't stay on topic. AH.
anyways, i need help. would you guys mind??????
much love,
emilea
please, go ahead and post it, emilea.
Also, thanks so much you guys. I was kind of biased when I was reading this and thought it sucked and your comments almost come as a shock, but it's good to know you like it. ♥
Heather
"I didn't want to have to get to know my own father."
This is beautiful, Heather.
I like in particular the part about the olly-olly-oxen-free game. Firstly because it is an amazing image and second because of the way you use olly-olly-oxen-free.
I can also feel your desperation at the end, when you don't want to sit with him. Just through the way you wrote it and not necessarily what you said.
I know this was hard for you to post, but I'm really glad you did. This is very honest. It's like what Mamie said. "If you don't bring your heart to the table...I mean, why should I?"
A few things:
Maybe you could shorten the intro a tiny bit. I feel that the story begins more after the first line break than it does with the first paragraph.
"Innocent blue eyes..." I feel like you could use something better there.
And, like you said, this needs a little editing. There are just some tiny kinks in it that, if smoothed out, would make it a much smoother read.
****
"They said no." A great way to end it. I would love to read the rest of the story, but if you don't want me to, that's fine.
All in all, this is brilliant. The first line might as well be "Hello, my name is Heather, and this my heart." (Only it shouldn't, because that would be somewhat corny.)
-Anna
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