Disconnected: JFK mimicry sentence

JFK's sentence: In your hands, my fellow citizens, more than mine, will rest the final success or failure of our course.

My Sentence:

Image belongs to Chalmers Butterfield

#4

I found out that night, on my way home from work. I was chatting with my dad from the passenger seat. I was happy as it had been a good day at work. We were driving down the highway past some random billboard or another when he broke the news. My neighbor had died. He had been toeing the edge of life and death for around a week or so but his death still seemed so sudden. I remembered only a little over a week ago waving to him as he sat on his porch. He was a quiet man, never uttering much more than a sentence, but he was kind. I wasn’t extremely close to him but the next few days showed me how much of an impact he had on my life and I on his. In the eulogy at his funeral his friend said he loved watching my sisters and I grow up. I can still remember him coming over and helping us build snowmen in the winter. While I missed him my grief was not comparable to that of his wife.

About a week later her sister was in town. We were all so excited to see her sister, she brought with her the sweetest Golden Retriever ever. Upon hearing that our neighbors sister was in town Emily and I were very excited. Usually left to our own devices in the evening we would cook dinner and race over. Bounding past dusty bikes and dusty chalk in the garage we would make our way across the spongy lawn to the neighbors house. There we would be greeted in by a slobbering ball of love and two women we held in utmost respect.

Curling into kitchen chairs we talked, especially Emily. Speaking at almost a mile a minute with her hands going just as fast, she dominated the conversation. This was okay with me as I generally prefer to listen. Although Emily held first place for most words spoken in the conversation our neighbor and her sister got in fair amount.

We talked about life. Our own youthful experience combined with our neighbor and her sisters own world wizened opinions. Never swear they told us. It is truly an unattractive trait for a lady and besides as my sister added there were other words you could use instead. Their one exception was however in extreme cases. It was here we learned that the first word stroke victims learn to say is the s word.

These nights were fueled by laughter plain and simple. A sprinkle of wisdom and seriousness accented the conversation but never dominated. We always returned to the same comedic atmosphere. These nights granted greater understanding and deeper relationship with my neighbor, her sister and even my sister. Eventually my neighbors sister had to leave and while we still went and talked to my neighbor quite a bit it was never quite the same without her.

#3

It was those summer days when cotton ball clouds of white stood starkly against warm blue. Golden rays of sunshine warmed the black tar covering the crevices and cracks of the neighborhood road.

The warm squishy blackness seeped between our toes as we scampered across the street. Our day usually started like this. Sarah, Molly, Emily, sometimes Abby and I scattering across the street to find our playmates- knocking on the doors that our friends lived behind. Behind these doors came the Wille girls, tiny and 2/3 blond, and the Basile twins, tall and tanned from summer sun, and the McFadden’s, blond hair shining white. 

As we assembled on the white pavement of the driveway the work began. Packs of colored chalk were dug out of the corners of the garage and we each grabbed one. Colored lines appeared on the sidewalk starting to take the vague shape of a road.

When the road was completed we got out the “cars”, in the form of bicycles, scooters, rollerblades, anything on wheels.  We rode our cars around in the circle drive. We rode our cars on our makeshift street stopping at stop signs and crosswalks. We rode our cars to the gas station. We rode our cars to the grocery store, or the bank, or the clothing store. We rode them into each other sometimes as well.

All morning we played. We played with our cars and played our car games. Games like Cops and Robbers, or Coolio Julio were how we spent those hours. Hours that went by like minutes until it was lunchtime. Lunchtime came without much warning, just the sudden grumbling of a tummy and we would be trekking inside for sandwiches or Mac and Cheese or hot dogs.

With stomachs full we returned to our summer wonderland. Our continuous circles continued and the sun rose higher in the sky. After lunch we never lasted very long. Pretty soon we’d be trudging back inside. Sweaty shirts stuck to sweaty backs, we all piled onto the couch to watch Scooby Doo. Glazed tired eyes watched the colorful bursts of the TV screen until finally our friends made their way home and it was time to help start dinner. It was the end of another summer day in suburbia.

These days were the normal of our childhood, and the nostalgia of our adolescence. 

#2

Author's Note: If you haven't read my first memoir it was about a family friend taking care of us while my mom was recovering from surgery. Since my exigency is how I was raised with by a "village" of people and exploring those relationships I wrote a similar one with someone in my "village taking care of me. However I chose to write a story about how us kids took care of one another juxtaposing this story to the first one where the adults took care of us.

 

The dream of a fish farm died that day.

From Left to Right: Molly, Sarah, Emily, Abby and Claire

The phone rang just after dinner. Its ominous echoes rang through the unusually empty house. It was just us four girls tonight, Dad was off on a business trip. Emily and Sarah and I continued to clear the table as Mom answered the phone. Reading the caller ID she smiled to herself, picking up the phone.

My mom didn’t even get the chance to say hello. Her face crumpled into full panic mode. In a matter of seconds my sisters and I were told there was an emergency. Abby, our neighbor had had to go to the hospital and her older brother Andrew and her little sister Molly were to come over and stay with us while my mom left for the hospital.

Minutes later the trudging steps of Molly and Andrew sounded in the front hall and my mom flew out the door.

Having Molly over at our house was no strange circumstance. She had been a permanent fixture in our lives ever since that competition with Sarah on the monkey bars. Coming over every day after school and often staying for dinner. It wasn’t uncommon for Abby to be there as well. As Molly’s older sister she often played with us but lately she hadn’t been around much. Being in six grade and I in a mere second there was a quite a bit of age difference especially as Abby was ready to move on to middle school.

Getting over our original shock we quickly made our way to the basement. As fought voted and eventually settled on a game to play we could not forgot. Images of shocked faces and panicked voices floated to our memories and our questions could not be held in for long. Because Andrew was the oldest he was the target of these questions. Shifting uncomfortably with each new question he would quickly divert the subject. We knew he didn’t want us to know but that only made us want to more.

After much prodding and many puppy dog eyes he told us. Talking so softly I almost didn’t catch it, Andrew said, “diabetes”.* Diabetes a new word of very little meaning. The burn of curiosity intensified as the unanimous question “What’s diabetes?” echoed around the cement walls. Unable to avoid the topic, Andrew relented. He explained to us how Abby was sick. Something called her blood sugar was too high and it was making her sick. I shuddered as he told us how she had to go to the hospital so they could teach her how to give herself shots, which she would have to take for the rest of her life. He reassured us, Abby was going to be okay, he said. She would be home in a few days and she would be okay.Our curiosity satisfied we turned back to the game at hand. 

Mom got home a few hours later. My heart raced. I was anxious to find out what happened, how Abby was doing. But even as my heart told me to run my feet dragged behind me weighed down with the dread of worst case scenario. Sarah and Molly and Emily and Andrew lagged behind as well. Our fears not yet alleviated.

Mom looked okay, worried but okay. She had seen Abby she said and Abby was okay. She would be home in a couple days and we need not worry. Her soothing voice calmed my racing and heart and eased the butterflies in my stomach. My fears were gone. My mom was a nurse she would know whether or not Abby would be okay. My worries gone I skipped upstairs ready to read before bedtime.

It was strange almost surreal after that day. Years of lemonade stands and one extremely successful snake petting zoo had given us a fair bit of money. It had been sitting in our piggy bank waiting for the day we could finally open up our own fish farm. After that night Sarah suggested we donate the money to Diabetes. Abby and Sarah and Molly and Emily and I agreed there was no other option.

Life returned to normal except when Abby pulled out that little black pouch with the orange syringe and needle. Emily thought it was cool. “Everyone come watch! Abby’s giving herself a shot!” she would shout and all her little friends would come racing with eyes as wide as saucers. Too old for that kind of nonsense I rolled my eyes and laughed at her. Abby did too. Whenever it happened we’d share a glance and chuckle and in those brief moments I knew that everything truly was okay.  

 

* “In a voice so low that Dad didn’t hear him, Brian said, “Yes”” (78 Walls); I don’t know why but this line gives me chills. Perhaps it’s just the context that it is in but I absolutely love it which is why I wanted to mimic it.

#1

Author's Note: I changed my exigency from what it is in the post below to the proverb "It takes a village to raise a child" and how that is true in my life/childhood.

White paper stretched endlessly across the wood floor. The roll of paper went from one wall to the other in an expanse of pure white. I couldn't wait to get my hands on it. Crayon fisted in chubby fingers, scribbled red marks across the blank white. Before I could get much farther I was stopped.

Mrs.C, our babysitter while Mom was hurt, wanted to show us something. She had my sister, Sarah, lie down on the blank white paper. Arms and legs spread eagle on the floor and light hair haloed around her head. Watching closely I observed as Mrs. C took a crayon and traced Sarah onto the paper. Finally it was my turn and lay giggling as the crayon went between my toes and fingers. When I stood up there was me! Right on the paper!

Mrs. C showed us that we could color in any clothes we wanted. Hours flew by as the roll of paper slowly dwindled. By the time my stomach was grumbling for dinner our hands were tired out and the crayons had been worn to stubs. As Sarah and I finished up our final drawings Mrs. C appeared with baby Emily. Rounding up shoes and stray socks Sarah and I scampered to the car followed by Mrs. C and Emily.

A few windy streets later the car bumped up the driveway. As the car rolled to a stop we burst out the doors and into the house. Careful not to trip over the crushes I rushed to my mom. Eager to tell her how many people I made on the never ending paper.

Exigency

For my exigency I would like to write about how I make sense of my life and the world I live, which is through kindness and love. When something happens that hits me hard or someone does something that I can't quite wrap my head around I deal with it by being as kind and loving as I possibly can. Doing so keeps me from doing or saying something that could hurt someone when I didn't completely understand the situation. I hope as I write my "babies" my exigency will become much clearer. Just as a side note George Saunders commencement speech was really inspiring to me and helped me come up with my exigency. 

Making Sense

Author's Note: When asked how I deal with evil I would say that first I turn to faith. I find my solace in God and through that faith I am able to see the good inside the evil. I tried to recreate this progression by going from the time where I am looking to God to the time where God shows me the good that still exists.

The old friend

Waiting at the door

When the going gets tough

And the tough have nowhere to go

 

The spark of warmth

Ignited by the thought

That there is still hope

There is still life

 

The ever solid presence

The knowledge that someone

Is on my side

Someone is fighting for good

 

The unconventional done by the everyday

People who help because they can

Not for obligation but for

kindness

*I mimicked the repetition of it was in the first couple paragraphs "It was, until last week..... It was an old-fashioned word.....It was a word that....."