On Sunday I posted this image:
for Writing Exercise Two
The idea was to write (in any form) about the image. Three people submitted three very different responses. The one I wrote (at my writers' group about ten days ago) is posted last. From the dramatic to the humorous to mine - which in retrospect seems a little paranoid. I hope you had as much fun writing them as I did reading them.
The evening had left her with even more questions than when she'd left the house. She went with an open mind and actually felt calm. Was she attracted to him for his calm, gentle manner or because he reminded her of her father? She thought she'd had it all sorted out before, but after spending the evening having dinner with him, she was even more unsure of her feelings. In her dreams that night, she was waiting on the corner in the rain for him to pick her up. The car pulled up and the window rolled down and she burst into tears.
By Middle Child
Oh drat! My zip has stuck...again! Why does this always happen when I'm in a hurry? And no one is around to assist?
If only I could turn sufficiently to be able to get a good look at what's happening. It doesn't help, though...I can come up to the mirror as close as possible, I still can't see a damn thing. Even standing a little further away, doesn't help one iota!
Why can't we be like owls? They can turn their heads right around, without moving the rest of their bodies at all. That would be a great deal more helpful to me right now.
The more I tug, either up or down on this wretched zip, the more it stays stuck! This dress is far too pretty to cut myself free...I really don't want to have to do that at all, but I'm running out of time here! My flight leaves in less than two hours and I still have to get myself to the airport, through the 5 o'clock traffic. Drat! Why didn't I heed my intuition and not go to that ridiculous lunchtime function? Serves me right, wanting to get all dressed up to impress the other girls! What for? Who are they to me, anyway?
Guess I've learned my lesson the hard way, hey? Next time, I'll decline and focus on the things that are really important...like getting to the airport on time, so I can attend my parents' 40th Wedding Anniversary, on time!
What's that I hear? The doorbell? Oh, I can't believe my good fortune. Hopefully it will be someone I can explain my predicament to, without it coming across as some unlikely tale...I am, after all, a woman living alone! One hears all sorts of stories about needy women seducing the postman or plumber!
Best I head for the door... before my potential Good Samaritan decides no one's home! I definitely don't want to have to cut myself out of this dress!
(girl on right) I saw you. How could you. I knew all along it was you but I hoped it wasn't true.
(girl on left) what do you think you saw, nothing is what I will tell you. Nothing at all. I have nothing to hide.
(girl on right) Nothing to hide? Then what''s that?
(girl on left) What's what?
(girl on right) That bra you are hooking is mine sis - you are always taking my things, always.
(girl on left) ummm, ohhohoh,,ummm, ya. I grabbed it by mistake - sorry Sis.
(girl on right) 'whatever, just change and give it back to me, NOW.
(girl on left) k, k, geeze.....
Whatever I do, you are always there, watching. You monitor the way I wash a dish or brush my teeth. You criticize my choice of shoes and the split ends on my uncut hair.
“Is that another gray? And another?”
I look harshly at the culprits in a magnified mirror.
“And what about that number on the scale?” you ask, accusingly.
I let you look for me because I don’t really want to know.
In every conversation, you are right behind my words.
“Tell him what you really think,” you coax, but then, “Too harsh! What will he think of you, now?”
Go away! Get out of my head! I’m tired of your intrusive presence. Let me be! I want to live my life without second guesses and reprimands; to feel present in my life. Instead, I wait for your permission and the pat on the head in the form of a peaceful moment or a good nights’ sleep.
I know who you really are. You may look like my father - angry tense and wild-eyed - and then take on the form of my mother – so needy with her brow furrowed in an eternal, perplexed frown – but really you are just me. In all my imperfection, you are just me. For once, just tell me that’s enough.
I'll put up another, soon!