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Critical Analysis #2
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Book of Happy Memories (parts 1&2)
| Critical Analysis #2 |
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Book of Happy Memories (parts 1&2) |
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abba56 New Member
since 2002-12-29
Posts 5Mn |
~ Book Of Happy Memories ~ A gift from my Grandmother I was only twelve. Just a plain spiral notebook inscribed on the inside cover in her own delicate hand... 1) Look every day for one happy thing, write it down here. 2) This is not a diary. No sad thoughts allowed. No fanciful wandering. No dark dreary doubts. 3) When it happens, (and it shall), You find nothing to write... That's OK. Just look again the next day.... And the next day.... And the next...... Well... I tried but my life was so dark, miserable and so alone. After two months, only three entries were shown. The book was put on my shelf and collected dust. Six years later... My first fate filled night. Friends tried in vain to fill me with hope but I knew.....I WAS CERTAIN! The battle was over, could NEVER be won better life be undone. New razors sharp, shiny glow bathtub filled to let my blood flow. Just one final thing, the note pointing blame. So I went to my shelf for something to write. Still there, covered with dust. That blasted book. Supreme irony to write a suicide note from the pages of this cursed thing. Happy memories numbering only three. A mistake I made or perhaps my salvation. I read the first entry pencilled in lead already fading. "Wendy R. came to my table at lunch today. I showed her my limerick about the ant squished by an ele-phant. She laughed, said it was funny. She touched my hand softly and I think she wanted to kiss me. It made me feel good, so I'm writing it here." Tears flowed, anger flooded away. Just one joyful memory simple and pure. Razors were tossed, bathtub water drained I survived just one more day then one more again, and the next.... and the next! So much joy in life I might have missed. Many years later... Such simple pleasure from life I might never have known. My lover had been taken... unjust! Not just any but, "That One Lover", the only one. That half of my soul, the spoil's of my joy won by the sharing of tears and of years. With one simple wave, a mere gesture of his hand God ripped her from me with taunting words of grace. He laughed at my stupidity, my simple blind faith as he flipped me "The Holy Bird", and spat in my face. By now, in my wizened older years, I was hardened to pain. This time it was ANGER, virulent puss filled Rage! Knowing no relief till vengeance's own fury is released and again I was SURE, of death... absolutely no FEAR! As the headlights rushed toward me it seemed so damn clear I needed to see God directly, to laugh at his cursed embrace. And though the cost be eternal damnation, I'd gladly pay it thrice for that one simple chance to spit back at his self-righteous face. I know it was not real but I swear, in that split second of time in the blur of the lights, my Grandmother, framed by the haze one hand a shaking finger of mirthful admonishment the other holding that blessed damned book! Brakes slammed... Tires screech... Car spins... Semi-truck's horn receding from my lost soul. I had survived yet again but still all alone I returned slowly home. I was afraid to open it for I knew what it held. Most of it memories of Bonnie, the time's of us. Joys turned to haunting memories Nightmares of dreams unwon, forever lost. But Grandma knew just what I would need on the cold winter nights that my heart would bleed. So I took a deep breath and I opened it first to a dog eared page visited often; my favorite verse. Just a couple of lines written with a quick, jerky script. "Today I first held my son, such joy; such wonder; (I CAME SO CLOSE TO MISSING THIS!) My own simple words cannot express What I am feeling right now, But I knew I had to try - I'm attempting to write it now." And at the bottom of the otherwise barren page two small fading stains. The salt of tears shed on that one exquisite night. And to those two, were now added more. I cried... And I cried... A flood of tortured relief and slowly new life dawned, I began to see. The pain of love's leaving would always remain, but with pause; with passing; would fade to quiet refrain. Time soothes all wounds in such sublime divine ways. But my memories of her... the "Best of the Best." All written right here in this very precious book. With incredible consummate detail. The first time she touched me, the tender tingle it caused. Our first kiss, the passion that arose. She first said "I Love You," beneath our special tree. The first time we entwined our bodies as lovers. Ahhhh our first night together... Four fully filled pages there. All the intimate telling, the touching games. We giggled, we played we roared with rapture's blessings till dawn found us exhausted, fullfilled at last still entwined, peacefully fast asleep. All recorded right here, safe from the ravages of time. Why do we fear so, memories sweet surcease? I fell right there to the floor on my knees. I thanked my lover for being there, though still far away. I thanked my Grandmother, her foresight of when I would bleed. And I thanked God! Begged his forgiveness, knew it was received. I survived yet another day. And the next day yet. The next... And the next. Till I find myself here today, reflecting on his simple plan a new book before me, it's blessed design so simple, yet grand. Hard-bound leather, acid free pages of yet virgin paper intended to stand firmly against times wrenching torment. And on the inside cover with indelible ink in my own passionate, hand guided script. Those same simple instructions faded from time yet engraved clearly, and firmly in my mind. "1) Look every day for one happy thing. Write it down here. 2) This is not a diary. No sad thoughts allowed. No fanciful wandering. No dark dreary doubts. 3) When it happens, (and it shall), You find nothing to write... That's OK. Just look again the next day... And the next day... And the next..." I close the cover, I lean back, warm and content. Jimmy is coming at three, he is so much like me. Shy, turned inward, unsure, yet so full of light. This "Book of Happy Memories," yet to be; is for he. Today he turned twelve. It's for the dark lonely nights, his shorn young heart bleeds as my Grandson's soul, cries out...For it's own healing need. Copyright (C) 2002 Abba56 [This message has been edited by abba56 (12-31-2002 09:20 PM).] |
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sweetwater Member
since 2002-12-16
Posts 178Perth |
this was an excellent read. The emotions that come through are powerful and I liked the circular pattern it creates. I also liked the repetition of the words .."And the next day yet. The next... And the next." it promises future, nicely thematic. ""Wendy R. came to my table at lunch today. I showed her my limerick about the ant squished by an ele-phant. She laughed, said it was funny. She touched my hand softly and I think she wanted to kiss me. It made me feel good, so I'm writing it here." this line threw me. I don't know, it just seemed to interupt the flow of the poem. But that's just a personal thing... I know this is not that constructive but I had to let you know that this poem really touched my emotions. Thanks for sharing. |
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jeffwillett Member
since 2003-01-04
Posts 86Texas, US |
I like the subject of this one, the emotions to show nicely. But for me it wasn't an easy read...but it was enjoyable! |
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