Freshman year: The Beginning of My Growth

During my freshman year, I believe that I was writing how I thought I should be writing. My ideas were all really dramatic because I thought that good writing had to be dramatic. What I didn't realize is that good writing is made up of colorful descriptions and the idea of "showing, not telling". Here is a sample of one of the stories I wrote during our writing workshop. I look back at this piece seeing where I could have expanded, and also laugh at the ridiculous plot of it. At least I was attempting to be creative!

Someone Else's Nightmare

The long day was over. The dusk turned into a navy night sky, like a blanket over the entire village. The contrast of the glistening stars was mesmerizing as he started being overcome by drowsiness. The coolness of the grass against his fingers was welcoming compared to the humid summer air. He was trying to forget the whole thing, pretending like it was all a nightmare that someone else was suffering.

Peter woke up that morning as normal, hitting the snooze button a few times before having his mother practically drag him out of bed. He didn't understand why he had to wake up; he didn't have school or really much going on except for hanging out with his friends and doing a few chores around the house. Then he rememebered: today was the day that his father was coming home from his three week business trip in Argentina. He got dressed in a hurry, crammed a bagel down his throat, and ran to meet his mom in the car. They had a lot of errands to do to get ready for his dad's homecoming. They were planning on putting up decorations and making his father's favorite meal, chicken alfredo pasta with mom's homemade bread sticks and salad with Caesar dressing.

Peter ran around the grocery store, trying to find all of the food on the list while holding his baby sister, Becky. They had so much in the cart, there wasn't room for her! He watched his mom as she chatted with an old neighbor. Peter never realized how stressed and tired she looked: the way she always had a forced smile, the bags under her eyes that she desperately was trying to cover up, the way she acted like there was so much to do and so little time. He felt like his mom was trying too hard and worrying too much; it was only his dad coming home, not like they were having the queen.

They finished up getting the food and decorations at the grocery store. Peter's mom had said that they had to stop at their great aunt's for a little visit. Peter despised Aunt Muriel, she was so nosy and old and her lap dog was constantly yapping insanely. She lived in a retirement home, the type that has fake plants everywhere and Bingo Tuesday. The food always had a weird moldy aftertaste and it was all very mushy, just so everyone would be able to eat it, teeth or not.

"Come here and give your auntie a kiss!"

"I'd rather not," Peter thought as he was embraced by a frail, little woman who smelled like mothballs and bad perfume. Aunt Muriel was sitting in her big ratty old easy-chair with Snuggles glaring at him menacingly.

As Peter reached in to give Snuggles a friendly pat, the beast started barking like it was possessed. Becky started crying at the dog's maniacal noise and Peter looked over at his mother whose face looked like it was about to crack under pressure. And she did. Like a volcanic eruption. Tears streamed down her face as she screamed

"This is all your fault Muriel! Tom would not be leaving me for some plastic twenty-six year old if it weren't for your constant prodding and sneaking about in our life! All just because you think I'm not good enough! I've never been good enough and my children have never been good enough either! You're a frumply old woman who should just mind her own business or die!"

Peter's heart stopped at that moment. Muriel had the smuggest look on her face that he had ever seen. He had no idea what a conniving and evil woman she was. Why hadn't he seen it before, seen through such a terrible disguise? He knew that there was something that he didn't like about her; he just couldn't put his finger on it. Peter felt like he was having an epiphany for finally figuring out this cruel woman.

"That's right Cary; you're not good enough for Tom. Tom needs someone who's much more in tune with his needs, unlike you. As for your kids-I never said that your children weren't ever good enough, they're amazing kids, and I wish I could spend all of my time with them, since I don't have much time left. I can't do many things anymore and they would be great help. Plus they would bring more visitors because they're so cute; my social status seemed to go way down since I moved here. That is why I was thinking they could come live with me, since you're obviously in a state of instability and can't handle them yourself. I assure you that Tom will be moving out soon, and you should just get on with your life and forget about Peter and Becky."

Cary was speechless with what Muriel had just calmly explained. She had just said she should give up her children. Peter, mistaking his mother's shock for actually entertaining the idea of his living with Muriel, ran out of the apartment and raced down the stairs. His mother called after him but he kept running, out of the building, past the parking lot, anywhere, just as long as he wasn't there. He didn't understand; his parents loved each other, didn't they? And why would his great aunt want to take him and his sister away? He didn't care, he thought as he collapsed into a field nearby. He didn't care if he never slept in his own bed again or ever again felt his mother's warm embrace, knowing the lies and scandals tucked away in their small home of suburbia. He couldn't stand living such an illusion, so perfect and happy on the outside, so dark and secretive on the inside. All he knew was he wasn't going home.