Eighteen
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Description:
i wrote this about a neighbor who used to come over for afternoon coffee with my grandmother. she was a mesmerizing creature. i love the way that she wore life on her skin. you could see it on her- in her age, in her sighs and in her steps. there was something about her that i wanted to eternalize. i tried to do that through this piece. my purpose was to capture her in the eternity of my words. i wrote this in 1998 and have just recently found it again. the woman i am writing about died in 2003...
help me in grammar, editing, and punctuation. ideas, feedback, opinions...
help me in grammar, editing, and punctuation. ideas, feedback, opinions...
Eighteen
Her heart hurts. The lady with the crooked toes and sagged skin beneath her eyes. Her hands shake and her cracked and peeled fingernails look like red kidney beans sizzling in a pot. She wears three rings on every other finger, and she dazzles in cubic zirconias and rusted, gold plated jewelry. The lines where her eyebrows used to be are now drawn with an eye pencil, and each day, her nervous hands quiver desperately to perfect a shape that supposedly resembles a brow. Her hair is thin and straw like the bristles of a broom. She sits with her head down, chest heaving and a sob is stuck in her throat. "Last night, I dreamt I was eighteen and I was in love," she mumbles slowly under a voice that scrapes like ice when its being grated for a snow cone on a hot summer's day. She says that that is all she dreams about now. In each dream she is vibrant, wholesome, ready for life and mostly, she is in love. She tells me that in her dream, her lover proposes and she regretfully refuses his offer. She laughs at her own dream. I try to search for the comedy in the situation but I do not find it. Then again, there is so many things that she knows and I have yet to learn about. She raises her head to look at me, and then she shuts her eyes as if she is starting to dream again. I lean closer, stretching my neck to better examine the woman. I squint my eyes and strain, puzzled at her behavior. She unfolds her hands and brings them to her face. She says something, but it fades within the cracks of her hands. I wish to comfort her but am afraid to touch her. Her fragile frame, she might break and split at my attempt. When she finally lowers her hands, her eyes are wide and there is a smile breaking through. Her lips stretch and when a grin finds its way, her whole face lifts and brightens as much as her jewelry. In that shadowy instant, I know exactly what she looks like when she dreams, when she was eighteen and in love . . |
Submitted on 2006-02-08 04:47:14 Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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| how powerful your thoughts and words truly are, my love. i was truly, honestly, captivated by this piece. it is so sad to me, so tender, so intriguing... its like i wish that i could help alleviate her sorrows but i cant. all i can do is stand in awe, mouth gapped wide at the eloquence of yours words. Her heart hurts. The lady with the crooked toes and sagged skin beneath her eyes. Her hands shake and her cracked and peeled fingernails look like red kidney beans sizzling in a pot. She wears three rings on every other finger, and she dazzles in cubic zirconias and rusted, gold plated jewelry. The lines where her eyebrows used to be are now drawn with an eye pencil, and each day, her nervous hands quiver desperately to perfect a shape that supposedly resembles a brow. Her hair is thin and straw lie the bristles of a broom. there is some incredible imagery here, im proud of you for crafting such a sublime write. you really make the reader want to jump through the page and embrace this frail women. i love how you describe her attempt at drawing her eye brows, how epic! you have made me truly feel for this forlorn women immensely. your words flowed mellifluously off of the page unto my soul. once there they played a wonderfully sweet requiem, nay an ode to the old women. i wish that i could have been there physically with you at the moment of your inspiration. but i can't help but think that your word somehow brought me right there and that i haven't missed a beat. She sits with her head down, chest heaving and a sob is stuck in her throat. "Last night, I dreamt I was eighteen and I was in love," she mumbles slowly under a voice that scrapes like ice when its being grated for a snow cone on a hot summer's day. She says that that is all she dreams about now. In each dream she is vibrant, wholesome, ready for life and mostly, she is in love. She tells me that in her dream, her lover proposes and she regretfully refuses his offer. She laughs at her own dream. I try to search for the comedy in the situation but I do not find it. Then again, there is so many things that she knows and I have yet to learn about. these lines made me want to weep. how beautifully crafted they truly are. oh, the sad remorse of youth gone by. she seems to be a flower fading into the dusk of an eternal evening. how sad. to live vicariously is one thing. to dream it is another. excellent job babe. She raises her head to look at me, and then she shuts her eyes as if she is starting to dream again. I lean closer, stretching my neck to better examine the woman. I squint my eyes and strain, puzzled at her behavior. She unfolds her hands and brings them to her face. She says something, but it fades within the cracks of her hands. I wish to comfort her but am afraid to touch her. Her fragile frame, she might break and split at my attempt. When she finally lowers her hands, her eyes are wide and there is a smile breaking through. Her lips stretch and when a grin finds its way, her whole face lifts and brightens as much as her jewelry. In that shadowy instant, I know exactly what she looks like when she dreams, when she was eighteen and in love . . what a glorious climax to this triumphant piece. i love how you desperately want to embrace but can't out of fear that you mat destroy her in the process. the way you describe her words falling into the cracks of her hands is a line that i shall never forget. i envy this piece! this really did inspire me to write some more. now, i must go as i aspire to write something this epic myself. great job, mi amor. john-paul | Posted on 2006-12-10 00:00:00 | by rev.jpfadeproof | [ Reply to This ] | In some way everyone carries around a part of this woman...regretful, lonely, withered, old, and disappointed. I only hope she enjoyed her actual 18 year of life. You know i think your writing is great but this is superb! Wll done... | ~Alexander | Posted on 2006-06-01 00:00:00 | by Alexander Blue | [ Reply to This ] | Sacred Sindy, | This was excellent. I love short prose pieces that are written almost like poetry. Your imagery and word choice is spot on and very effective. I found myself thoroughly involved in this brief scene, and very affected by your description. My grandmother is still alive, but not in the best of health. She has some of the same mannerisms I could imagine this woman having. Confused at times between dreams, fantasies, and reality. It would be far too difficult for me, emotionally, to write about her. So I envy your strength in that respect, even if you were not that close to this woman. It is still can be rather jarring to see her as you have written her on the page and not have her be here anymore. Thank you for sharing, ~drowning_queen | Posted on 2006-06-04 00:00:00 | by drowning_queen | [ Reply to This ] | I have only read two posts from you and I don't mean to be overly favoring your work, but this too will be on my favorites list. I loved how you captivated me with your words. Everything you said painted more detail to this vibrant picture of the woman. Your emotions and the way you described them make me jeous to not have experienced this for myself. Great write, I really enjoy your writing. | Cheers Tom | Posted on 2006-05-01 00:00:00 | by UnspokenDreamer | [ Reply to This ] | I noticed this | She sits with her head down, chest heaving and a sob is stuck in her throat. how about As if a sob where stuck in her throat. and this, "Last night, I dreamt I was eighteen and I was in love," she mumbles slowly under a voice that scrapes like ice when its being grated for a snow cone on a hot summer's day. ...hot summers day" is a nice comparison to her winter and would serve as the foundation for continuing the story, in a flash back, into a two fold portrait of her youth verses her Old age which would reveal the commonalities between the two woman and their differences. If you tie it into two evolvoing histories of the same peson it will become like a shadow taking flesh and walking side by side with its owner. Than if you tie her into the history of her times she will become a parable for our own lives and who we are in society with respects to our age. Who knows, this could become a nice little novela or a middle novel. What is it they say, there is a novel in every mans life. How many little gems like this do you have? Ya, I think it is worth expanding and you can fill in the gaps by hanging out at the dinner between 10 am and 1 pm when all the old folks come to eat. The really poor ones go to mcdonalds for decaffe and an apple pie. I've even seen them in wendys around the same time. It makes me sad, I want to put them in my pocket and listen to all there stories. Good luck with it, let me know if you expand it. | Posted on 2006-02-26 00:00:00 | by Car va g o | [ Reply to This ] | Excellent write! It was terribly sad, but your ending was beautiful. Spedicature got it all in, so I don't feel the need to repeat anything. I really could see the character you were describing, and I was putting myself in the room with her. That seemed to be the view point you were writing it from. I'm very impressed with this piece. If everything you write is this good, then I would love to read every piece. Even if it's not, I still want to read it. Thanks for posting. | ~Clover | Posted on 2006-02-08 00:00:00 | by clovernfoxglove | [ Reply to This ] | Wow this was such a meticulously crafted write...Is this a real encounter because it certainly reads like a biography of someone who lived/ live thier lives to the fullest. I LOVED YOUR VERY DESCRIPTIVE AND VIVID WORDS...The scene is just too real and that gave me a hunch...I really loved the strong imagery that the piece paints for us...It read like an ALBUM of someone who does not want to erase the profound memories of their teens...Hmmm I gotta tell you, I was so captivated by your finnesse..It was so hmmmm I'm even speechless..It was such a marvelous write..This is the best piece I have read today...It was so soothing...I also wanna grow old like that and not be afraid to embrace the challenges that transpire when we age...As opposed to getting a face lift...I would not want to erase these profound memories...The whole piece read so beautifully..Thank you for sharing (SMILE)...Be happpppy.Nobantu | | Posted on 2006-02-08 00:00:00 | by Nobantu | [ Reply to This ] | Um, wow. That was really good. | I was wondering about "Goya" i dont really know what that is, was that what you meant to say or was it supposed to be "Soya"? Anyway, i didnt find any grammar, punctuation or spelling mistakes. Only thing i did find was in the line: "and straw like , like" there is an extra space before the comma. I also noted the spelling of "jewelry". My mind shouted at me to tell you to change the spelling, but when i looked it up it seems that it can be spelt "jewelry" or "jewellery". The correct spelling for the word is actually "jewellery" but in american english it is "jewelry". Must be some weird americanism again. But as for your poem. Never before have i been drawn so deeply into a poem. Your imagery and the words you use to describe each situation is awesome. You seem to have perfectly desribed an old woman, down to the cracks on her hands. All i can say is that i hope to read more of your poems. Im actually feel privileged to have read this. Thanx Oh, and this one is going on my fav list. Apyreal | Posted on 2006-02-08 00:00:00 | by Apyreal | [ Reply to This ] | Wow...I don't know what to say about this one either! You did a great job with all of your descriptions and put this woman right here in my living room! The end of this was beautiful and I can't help but praise the work of yours that I've read. Your imagery is outstanding and this'll be #2 on my list! Thanks for sharing your talent! | Candi | Posted on 2006-06-16 00:00:00 | by dreamweaver | [ Reply to This ] | This is absolutely, postitively going under my favorites. This was so... everything right with literature. It was origional, captivating, and brought me to the moment. I can see this woman, the picture you painted of her was so vivid, very precise. It starts off heart-wrenchingly sad, and develops into a "live and learn" tale. | I really can't think of any corrections, this was very impressive... Im intrigued by your work! -Ann | Posted on 2006-04-17 00:00:00 | by andrya | [ Reply to This ] | |
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