little_miss_drama

“Nusquam Est Idem.”
Rachel D’Arcy

I’m nine. I’m waiting to walk to school with my friend. I slouch across the settee as my Granddad inhales from his air box. He’s got “Emphysema”. He got it because he used to smoke. Embassy filters: the ones in the blue box. My Granny had the red ones. Red and blue go together. Warm and cold. Boy and girl. I hear a buzzing beside me and turn round. My Granddadd is pointing his mouth piece at me and letting the oxygen whiz past my ear.

-“Granddad! Stop it!”

He smiles and switches off the machine. He goes to the toilet. My Granny is in the kitchen. My friend is waiting for me.

- “I have to go. I’ll see you later, Granny!”

I pop my head into the kitchen and begin to dash out the door.

-“See you later, Grumpy. That’s me off to school!”

Everything is normal.

I’m nine. I’m walking home from school with my friend. I see my Mum’s car outside my Gran’s house.

-“See you later!”

I start to make my way to start up stairs, gripping the rusting red handrail, when I hear a clacking sound on the concrete above me. I look up. There is my mum.

-“We’re going home now.”

I turn around and make my way to the family car. It’s dark blue - the colour of crayons – with yellow and black squiggles on one side. A Vauxhall Nova ‘Life’ Edition. Nova it was not – in fact, far from it. However, it was just one of those things that had always been there. I assumed it always would be, but it wasn’t.

I slouch in the relative comfort that the grey interior provides and stare out of the rain-stained window.

A conversation begins:

-“How was your day?”

-“Fine.”

-“What’d you do in school?”

-“Stuff...Why are you home early?”

A conversation falters:
- “What, sorry?”

-“Why are you home so early?”

-“Oh...I-I got a half day today. Music?”

A conversation ends. Music fills my ears. Something is not right.

Exiting the car, I make my way up to the front door. It’s got a stained glass window. I look at the colours – they’re vibrant and pretty. Pinks and blues. Warm and cold. I reach out and touch.

-“Rachel! Don’t do that! You know how old these doors are!”

I enter my house. The colour blue envelopes me as it has done all my life: blue carpet and blue wallpaper surround me. I make my way into the living room, opening another old door, and walk over to the television. It’s still the Children’s Programmes that are showing. I sit on the floral couch in my living room and watch the shades on the screen blur.

My Mum has made me a cup of tea and some toast. I eat and drink and watch and listen as she sits there in silence.

- “Can you turn down the TV, please? Right down. I need to talk to you.”

The sound of laughter fades as I face her.

- “Yeah?”

-“Rachel...”

I wait. There’s something she wants to say. I maintain my silence.

-“Rachel , you know your Granddad’s not been well lately...”

“He’s had another heart attack and been taken into hospital. It’s okay, he’ll be fine.” I mutter to myself inside my head. Why does she always have to make such a big drama?

-“...Rachel. Your Granddadd had another heart attack...He got taken to the hospital...They tried, but...”

That’s enough. It’s more than enough.

I don’t even remember her finishing the sentence. All I remember is the feeling of warm and cold as tears burnt my eyes and fell on my face. It doesn’t really register, but this is not normal.

“He woke up in the middle of the night, ma Ma said...Yeah...Sitting on the end of the bed. He said he was fine. I know...I know...We all just need to help her out. No, no. He suggested they went down to the Main Street. Yeah. They split up as they got out of the lift: he went to get the rolls from the bakers and she got the ham. She must’ve been waiting there I don’t know how long... Is that when you got her? God... And you know what the funny thing is? The thought of ‘death’ just popped into my head last night...She’s fine. She doesn’t really understand. No, no - she’s asleep.”
I wasn’t asleep. I was doing what I always did when I was upset. I was curled up in a ball, listening to my Mum on the phone and praying she would keep talking so the hall light stayed on. I didn’t like the dark. I was doing something new. I was praying. Asking God to tell my Granddad that I loved him. Asking him to bring him back and let me talk to him... God remained silent. All I saw through my window were the stars and the clouds and the swing in my back garden. There was no-one there to tell me it was okay. No-one to hug me – not just now. Rachel was asleep. She didn’t really understand.

It’s true. I didn’t really understand. I didn’t know what “Emphysema” was. I didn’t know that Granddad’s ‘air box’ kept him alive. I saw it all, but I didn’t know. All I knew was that there was something, somewhere in a hospital that looked like my Granddad, but didn’t talk and didn’t move anymore.

We got him a bench. My family got my Granddad a bench. You know the one’s you see in picturesque parks and say things like ‘For Iris. She loved it here.”? We got him one of those. It said:
We put it on the Main Street. Just outside the bakers. I used to walk past and see people sitting down on it – it made me happy. They liked ‘benches with backs on’, too. My Granddad despised backless benches. I walked past one day and it looked different. I went closer. I saw bark. I wasn’t supposed to see bark. I was supposed to see mahogany polish. I was supposed to see my Granddad’s bench; instead I saw a vandal’s handy work. The bench isn’t there anymore. It’s in a council storage crate gathering dust.
I’m sixteen. I’m standing on the Main Street. It’s Landemar Day and I’m about to go on stage to sing. I’m nervous, but excited. I go on stage with the rest of the band and look out at the masses of people gathered around us. There are stalls selling all sorts of things and fair ground rides whizzing and buzzing as we start up. My friends are in the audience. They cheer and merit themselves a ‘Hello’ from me between songs. I smile and laugh and sing. I look across the road and there’s an empty spot where a bench used to be.


I’m seventeen and I still miss my granddad. I assumed he would always be there, but he wasn’t. He was old and fragile. I didn’t understand. He’s not here anymore. I’ve grown and he’s gone, it’s different, but normal now. Nothing is the same.




Comments?

phurst

Overall, not too bad. I got confused with the phone call. It's all a bit choppy but it seems that's the stye you were going for. The girl could better describe her feelings. The grammer and punctuation appeared okay. Nice story, I'd read more.

Words of Ivory

The middle part is the best, and that seems to be where the most happens. There's some very decent and strong emotion put in by the speaker of the story around that point.

It's clearly a personal piece so I'm not going to over-analysise some bit; as a personal piece, it's heartfelt. Maybe a little substance to the start and end though, if you want it to be more enjoyed by a passive reader.

__________________
- VIDEO GAME CULTURE

http://www.writingforums.com/critiqu...-progress.html
- please read and critique if you have the time