This was an assignment for my writing class...thought I'd share it with you. It's a bit choppy in places because we were only supposed to write a page, and I thought my teacher meant a page double-sided, but most people only wrote on one side. No, wait, that's not the reason it's choppy; this is a very cut-down version! So I had to leave parts out to make it fit onto one sheet of paper.
That was hard...
Anyway, it's a piece detailing an eccentric/ strange person in my life. I guess this guy's not so 'eccentric', but this kept tugging at me, telling me to write about him. So I did.
If, by any chance, you can guess who he is, PLEASE DO NOT TRY AND GUESS ON MY BLOG. I DON'T WANT ANY NAMES ON HERE!!
Ask me in person if you're curious.
And please leave comments. Thanks :)
--
I’ve always longed to be closer to you, to be able to talk to you as freely as if you were my own brother. But each time I opened my mouth, I would forget all those past good times. Memories of when we played hide-and-seek among cherry trees; of summer beach barbecues where we would dig & dig in the sand until water came bubbling up through the damp bottom; of post-dinner movies at 1 am… they all evaporated whenever I looked into your brown eyes. I’d realize I was still that little girl standing at the bottom of the glass escalator, watching you come back down.
I had only been eight then, and been so excited to meet kids who could be like my brothers, since I didn’t have any of my own. You had black hair, like the rest of your family, slightly squinty eyes that needed glasses, a funny high-pitched voice, and a short stature. That first time I noticed you, you immediately ran up the escalator the instant your parents started talking to mine. We all had to watch you come down, and my sister stared at you and whispered, “What’s the matter with him?” I didn’t know then that you were calling for attention. I guess that’s normal, being the middle child. I just knew that you were funny, in both senses of the word.
I still remember that one time we kids were all playing a version of tag that involved wrestling of some sort; your older brother spun me around too fast, and I was laughing, but then I slipped and fell on my elbow. I started to sniffle, and the rest of you just watched and asked if I was okay. I started to cry in earnest, all of you raced away, and I was left all alone in the basement. You ran away with the rest of them. I suppose I knew then that you were a coward, someone who didn’t always take responsibility, and I cried harder because of it.
Our childhoods were spent together, but once you went to high school, we didn’t have much time for each other. We talked on the phone once.
“Hello?” you muttered, like you always do when you pick up the phone.
“It’s me,” I said brightly, ignoring the fact that you only seemed to be talking with me because my mom had asked. “I wanted to ask you about the teachers I got for my Grade 8 classes.”
“…okay?” You weren’t the chatty type by then. I guess we had forgotten how to talk to each other, after years of just smiling like strangers whenever we met.
“Erm…okay. Who’s this person? Is he..or she? Nice?” I stumbled my way through my list of teachers, and in the end you weren’t very much help at all. You only vaguely knew about two of the teachers, really. I was frustrated in your inability to help others. But I should have realized that when you fled from me that day in the basement.
I’ve grown up hearing stories about you; your smart friends, your passion for tennis, your popularity. I went to school, and could see it for myself. In Grade 8, I was just happy I knew at least one person in the older grades, and even shadowed you a bit when I was bored. I just followed that old red sweater you always wore. You were easy to spot, always surrounded by a throng of friends. I watched, and you smiled at times at me, but I couldn’t say hi because I was afraid of your crowd.
Then came the snippets of talk that started to worry me; your constant qualms about your appearance (you’ve never been tall, except to me), the time your mum smelled smoke on your clothes, and the many girls who came a-calling, hoping to catch your eye. But I also heard about the times you yelled at your older brother, saying what an idiot he was, wasting away his life, shouting at him to go to the school he paid so much for, to quit upsetting your mum. I felt a glimmer of hope that you would not rot away like him then; it would have been hard to stand up to him, someone that you yourself could not help being influenced by.
Nonetheless, those snippets grew into bigger pieces, and like glass, they dug into my heart. They drove deeper and deeper all throughout those dark years of hearing about when you covered up for your brother, though you knew he was doing wrong; your suspected smoking; your fooling around; your failing grades. Though I tried hard to forget you, I still found myself reminiscing about your jokes, your impish grin, and that twinkling you would get in your dark knowing eyes when I blushed after I did something silly. You would nod, smile, and then look away for me to have a chance to pull myself together.
Those kinds of memories made it all the harder. In time, I was sad to see another wreck graduate. I wrote you a congrats card; “Let’s try to talk more,” I said. In my yearbook, you wrote, “Let’s, ah, try and talk more, shall we?” I wished you had been more creative. And maybe not shown me up so much.
That summer wasn’t any different. We tried out another barbecue; you went to the car after an hour on your iPhone and napped. We tried to play cards with you, but you played one round of Big Two and went back into your computerized world. The only thing you ever said to us is, “Midget” or “You suck”. Is this your version of “talking more?”
But then, miraculously, you changed. Everyone you know was amazed.
After your university orientation, you stopped going out to parties about nothing, you stopped playing sports every day. Instead, you started the day early and studied so much you started to lose your appetite, though you’ve always eaten well. It’s why you got that bit of flab in the first place, although these days you’ve lost it all and more.
You were decent again to your mum; said you’d tried smoking and drinking but hadn’t liked it, that you weren’t ever going to do it again. She cried when she saw what you’d written on the front page of your notebook: “Let’s do tomorrow’s work today”. (She was even happier when you told her you’d written that in your Grade 12 year.) You acknowledged her efforts, and your changes have changed her too. She stays home now instead of going out, and she relishes everything she does for you.
You go to school by bus; you’re gone by the crack of dawn and back late. I saw you walking home towards me once in the dim light of dusk; you were but a shadow, but I’d know your loping gait anywhere. You seemed to be carrying a box, but now I realize it was a big stack of books. I was nervous, so I immediately crossed to the other side of the street. I hope you didn’t see me, because really, I wanted to say hi, but I couldn’t. I didn’t know how you might have changed towards me.
This piece of news is from way back. Your mum went to a fortune-teller, and she learned that one of her sons would be a son to bring pride to his family. There’s hope now that perhaps it will be you. Everyone worries that you’ll burn out before school has even fully started; you’re working that hard.
It’s only September.
In June, I hope be there to congratulate you on an incredible year. Maybe then we’ll be able to smile and go back to when we were young.
