Kathaleena Chhien ENGL223 Story #2 And Still, I Find You Next To Me To pretend for a minute that this is where I wanted to be would be a complete and utter lie. A bolt of lightning in my veins had burned towards my heart. I had to lash out to keep my own fragile mindset from harm; to convince her that I was better than him. There wasn’t anything pleasant in my life, except for her, but when she brought up my father and compared me to him, I couldn’t stand to hear the words that had left her mouth; she didn’t know him. Repeatedly I told her, I would never be like him because I was the bigger person, but I’m not one to deceive myself, no matter what the circumstances are. Harsh words kept spilling from her mouth as if they were in a glass of …show more content…
Certain voices stuck out more than others; the shrill laughter of my aunt whose tone was a single octave higher than anyone else’s and a deep, nearly unintelligible rumble from my grandpa fairly close to where I was sitting. There was classical music playing from the stereo. It alternated between Beethoven and fast-paced Bach with an abundance of pianos and violins. The volume couldn’t hold up to the natural sounds of the house since my father had invited relatives over and they were all chatting each other up. I sat there deep in my own thoughts; I could feel my eyebrows pushing together and my lips held a firm rectangle. My stomach growled, but I didn’t want to bother making my way through the hoard of the family just to get a plate of finger foods. I distracted myself from their boring chatter that clouded the room by worrying about her and picturing what happened over and over again. The melodies were hard to hear above the people that worked the floor of the house, but my fingers still tapped along to the faint beat along the mahogany wood of the far end of the dinner table I leaned against. The only reason I knew this song, as muffled as it could be, was because my mom used to play it around the house. Why was he playing this? As if he had read my mind, my father turned his attention from my uncle for a second and easily found me through the crowd of relatives, eyes never leaving me as I made my way …show more content…
You had to, I told myself, you had to. A hand slid across my back and landed on my shoulder causing me to flinch. His obnoxious voice boomed loudly into my ear, “She’s going to be fine. Don't act like your mother,” I stiffen. My father’s demeanor alone was dauntless and menacing, but here I sat conceited, narcissistic, big-headed, yet cowardly. There was something about the way he spoke that tugged at my heart, but it also made me feel whole. “Don’t get sympathetic now. You’re past that, remember? You’re the
Try as I might, I can’t seem to focus on the words coming out of my best friend’s mouth, my heartbeat echoing in my ears, drowning out any sounds she made. The table’s edge is smooth, gliding across my hand as I run my fingers over the corner. The droning continued, but I could only catch snippets: seating....invitations....decorations. All of these things seemed so trivial, so unimportant, compared to the thoughts that ran through my head.
Beads of sweat ran down the back of your neck, with every failure you dig yourself deeper into a hole farther away from their affection that you so ever yearned. If one, just one, person would share some affection towards you once in your life...maybe you wouldn't be so messed up. Maybe you wouldn't be seeing the things that you do. “Ungrateful brat--” your guardians spat, as a red pixie-sized demon sat at the edge of the pot of food you just
When confronting her father’s absence presence about the reminiscence of routine noises the speaker includes “you present in the sound of typing your own accompaniment, multiphonics disguised as chords in a distant room, speakers set on high to fill the whole house with your spirit,” Harper makes it clear that these sounds bring comfort to the speaker and fill the void their parents no longer fill. This use of auditory imagery taps into the idea of solace taken for granted that was only noticed because of the now unnerving quietness. The noises have become so expected and natural that the speaker associates every action with a sound; without that, the atmosphere around them becomes almost lifeless revealing a need for music to keep her family connected because without it they are left with nothing. This introduces the bittersweet nature of their bonds because when disrupted, a sense of dejection overwhelms the speaker when they realize they no longer can rely on those sounds which only live on in their
The speaker is visiting “home for the weekend, /from school, from the North,” and her grandma asks her, “How’s school a-goin’?” The speaker replies with “School’s fine,” holding back her emotions on her lifestyle in college. “I wanted to tell her/about the nights I cried into the familiar heartsick panels of the quilt she made me,/wishing myself home on the evening star./I wanted to tell her/the evening star was a planet,/that my friends wore noserings and wrote poetry/about sex, about alcoholism, about Buddha./ I wanted to tell her how my stomach burned acidic holes at the thought of speaking in class,/speaking in an accent, speaking out of turn,” Understanding is a vital part of the bonds people share. She knew her grandma couldn’t comprehend any of it. The speaker sensed her grandma would deem her friends inadequate. “I was tearing, splitting myself apart/with the slow-simmering guilt of being happy/despite it all.” In spite of the hardships, the speaker enjoyed it
Tears flooded my face as I let her hand go. I love my mother dearly, but without father I had to be the head of the house. The one to take charge in times like these. She was in not in a good place of mind to be rational. Why had father forsaken us like this, why couldn't we just go home and be with him. The thoughts swirled around my head but the next thing I knew was mother laying on the ground in pain. Her face crinkled and puffy as she clenched her stomach in the delicate hands.
Life in the middle school and high school was not easy for me. I had become an introvert, I still didn’t know how to be social, and I had very few friends. I was teased for being very quiet, and some people insinuated that I’m scared of fellow people. On the other hand life at home was difficult. My mother had become so bitter and pleased her was next to impossible. She became very harsh with my brother and me, and we were always scolded for even the smallest mistakes. Once in a while, my father would come for us and take us to the city he lived. I would look out of the windows as we drove out of town and would imagine how life in another city would feel like. I looked at the skies, and all I saw were promises of a better future. All my life I had lived in San
And while the details of the arguments that caused these altercations are lost to me now, all I can remember is the distrust and rejection that ravished my identity the moment their bodies made physical contact with mine. Living a life that was constructed by them and for them, I was utterly lost when the feelings of trust and acceptance died. I had committed myself to taking part in extracurricular clubs that stepped up my involvement and got me closer to getting ahead, and I had achieved a status that was somewhat unmatchable for others in regard to my popularity because of my success, but all of this seemed pointless because of the confusion that my parents
As I walked out of the courthouse and down the ramp, I looked at my mom in disappointment and embarrassment. Never wanting to return to that dreadful place, I slowly drug my feet back to the car. I wanted to curl up in a little ball and I didn't want anyone else to know what I had done. Gaining my composure, I finally got into the car. I didn't even want to hear what my mom had to say. My face was beat red and I was trying to hide my face in the palms of my hands because I knew what was about to come; she was going to start asking me questions, all of the questions I had been asking myself. Sure enough, after a short period of being in the car, the questions began.
...dad. Connor comes up behind me and kisses my neck as tears roll out of my eye, he knows that this is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. It was his suggestion anyway, he told me to write it down for generations come, as I am pouring out my disgruntled heart out onto these pages all I can think about is how I am supposed to tell my future children about their grandfather. Connor keeps telling me not to worry but he knows that I constantly fear our safety and my relentless killer of a father will eventually come looking for me. I know everything will eventually be all right but there is nothing that can get the look in my father’s eyes out of my head, the look of what am I doing with my life, the look of utter regret and sorrow. The look in my eyes of angst and pure rage as my dad tries to tell me that he didn’t mean to do what he did. The look of a liar.
The Creature That Opened My Eyes Sympathy, anger, hate, and empathy, these are just a few of the emotions that came over me while getting to know and trying to understand the creature created by victor frankenstein in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. For the first time I became completely enthralled in a novel and learned to appreciate literature not only for the great stories they tell but also for the affect it could have on someones life as cliché as that might sound, if that weren’t enough it also gave me a greater appreciation and understanding of the idiom “never judge a book by its cover.” As a pimply faced, insecure, loner, and at most times self absorbed sophomore in high school I was never one to put anytime or focus when it came time
We contacted your mother, but her assistant said she’d be busy until later tonight. Your sister said something similar, also.” I rolled my eyes. I’ve always been on my own. Why stop now? I was irate, but although he had been strict and stern all day, the officer’s presence in the room was soothing that feeling. This was new to me—usually, I sat in my room, worked alone, and despised when others bothered/distracted me. However, right now, the officer was actually helping. How could another human help me feel better? I scoffed to myself and tried my hardest to control my body, figure out what I could do to fix me, and fathom why I felt that way I
thought I’d let you know I’m on the A50 and should be home by 10:30.”
It was just after 10 o’clock when his fury burst through the wall that separated my bedroom from the living room. I recognized the voice, but not the anger. I knew full well that it was my father yelling, but I had never heard him so upset. Being the oldest and most responsible of my siblings, I had to go see what was going on. I tiptoed down the hallway and gingerly stepped out of the shadows and into the dim lighting of the living room. My eyes shot to my mom who was sitting in her recliner, red-faced, and wiping away tears with a handful of Kleenex. Then I saw my father, quickly sitting back in his chair as if everything were perfectly normal. “Having trouble sleeping?” he a...
.... Finally, my parents arrived, riding the sound of their running footsteps on the hollow wooden dock. Dad immediately relieved my weary arms of their burden and pulled my brother out of the cold blue lake. I looked up into my Mom's face to see tears of mixed panic and joy as she embraced my younger brother, heedless of the world that surrounded the two of them. She focused only on her son, who looked back at her silently with deep brown chestnut eyes.