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Coming Out Bright and Shining (to be continued)
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Coming Out Bright and Shining (to be continued) |
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Blondie Member
since 1999-08-06
Posts 307Ohio 
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It was supposed to be a time where I had no worries. A time where my life was always going right, and I felt as if I could fly away on those white, fluffy clouds in the sky at any moment. A time where the only thing that would bother me was the boys ‘coodies’ or the way Johnny would pick his nose in the middle of class. A time where my only care was how I could get out of taking my nap in class. A time where my only focus was how in the world I was going to be able to tie my shoe for Mrs. Schaffer’s kindergarten class. But everything does not always work out the way it’s supposed to be. Things don’t follow the path in which everything is supposed to fall into. Our lives do not end up being the way we all wished they would be. We can wish and want and hope all we please, but nothing can change the path in which God chooses to place us. My path, with it’s many twists and turns, turned out to be different from some kids, but unfortunately seen and heard about all to often. My life so very stereotypical to how so many kids’ lives end up turning out to be. I have set out many endeavors for myself, and some of which I have accomplished. In this story I am going to share my past, some of which is hard for me to remember. Some of my past comes across to me as a surrealistic dream, parts I remember, others I don’t recall. I am also going to share with you the present time, and what I have a achieved on my path which was set out for me. I am going to share with you the many obstacles I have conquered, and the many paths I have taken. Finally, I will share with you my plans for the future. I have set out so many goals for myself. Some say I am incapable of accomplishing a lot of my goals, some say I have set them too high, but I feel with the backround I have, and what I have accomplished, so much good can come out of what I put my mind and heart into. This is the story of my life... My legs are crossed, my hands folded in my lap, and my mouth sealed as I stare at the front of the church. The pulpit seems so shaky as the pastor pounds his fist on it, and bounces about the stage, searching for stray eyes. I stare into his face, unaware of what he is saying. I never seem to comprehend what he speaks about. He always mentions “The Truth” or “Our walk with Christ”, but what does he mean? What I learn in Sunday School about “The Truth” does not seem to fit in my life. I don’t understand what he means anymore. My “walk with Christ” seems to be okay. I always walk on my daddy’s feet when we play, plus my older friend taught me how to walk like the ‘cool kids.’ I think my life is following the right path of truth and walking with Christ. I think about so many different things as the pastor continues to preach on “The Truth.” I always want to doodle on sheets of paper like the McGregor kids get to do in church. They always bring one hundred sheets of colored paper from home , and then pull out the hymnals so they have something to keep their papers sturdy on as they doodle. I watch them intently in the pew in front of us, laughing and giggling about their pictures they have drawn. Gosh, I want to doodle like them. I look to my mother and father, both staring at the preacher. I might as well not ask to doodle. I know they’ll say ‘no’, they always seem to say ‘no.’ My father would probably get angry if I asked again anways, considering the last time I asked to doodle was ten minutes ago. My father’s eyes stay focused on the pastor. I wonder if my father thinks about different things while the pastor is preaching like I do. Probably not. Everyone says he is a good man, and a devout Christian, he probably listens to every word that the pastor says. I watch him as he shouts out “Amen” a few times. I lean against his arm, and tug at it lightly. He pats my arm, then turns back to listen to the pastor. I look to my mother now, who seems to be daydreaming. Her eyes aren’t focused on the pastor, but they are focused on the stained glass window in the back. She has a look of discernment, like she understands what the pastor is saying but does not take heed in it. I glance up as the pastor is finishing up. Please Lord, let him end the sermon, I am so tired and want to go for some ice cream. The ritual we had every Sunday night was, we would go out for ice cream if we were all obediant during the pastor’s sermon. We almost always got to go because my siblings and I were afraid of my father and his spankings. If we would ever act up during church, he would pick us up by the waist, carry us out to the bathroom, and spank us until we pleaded for him to stop. Then after he would wipe our tears away, we would have to go back into the church and sit quietly until the sermon was over. After the sermon was over and we got home, we were sent to our room for the rest of the night with no t.v. or bedtime snack. My father tugged at my shirt to stand up. The sermon was over and we were headed to get some ice cream at the store on the corner of our street. We all sat in the car, our hands nicely folded on our sunday outfits, as my father went to get the ice cream. On the way out of the ice cream shop I saw daddy get stopped by a familiar man. He looked like he had went to our church before. My father seemed to talk to him for what seemed to be years. The man kept smiling over to us, then turning back to talk to my daddy. My father motioned that he had to leave and went to the car, handing each of us our cones. He looked to my mother telling her that the man he was speaking with used to attend our church, but spread his wings to start his own church on the corner of West 65th street. My mother nodded, remembering the man. My father continued to say that the man kept telling him how our family seemed as if they were the perfect bunch of people. We were always attending church regulary, the kids were always behaving themselves, and how the whole family participated in every activity the church had. My father boasted about this for a few minutes, saying how proud he was of his family. My mother only nodded in agreement. My father leaned over and kissed my mother as we drove home that night. I woke up that morning with a stomach ache. I hated when I had a stomach ache. I would rather lose an arm sometimes than have another stomach ache in my life. I rolled over in my bed and stared out my window. I saw my father packing up the car. This was odd, why was he packing up the car? I don’t remember him telling us we were going on a trip anytime soon. I threw off my covers and ran downstairs to where my father was. I asked him where we were going today. He smiled and touched my cheek with his hand. He told me he had to go on a business trip this weekend and would be back in no time. I pleaded with him to not go. I had never been without my father for a whole weekend, that I could remember. I was seven years old and didn’t want to start now. I tugged at his leg to stay, but he smiled and kissed my cheek and told me to run inside and help my mother with breakfast. I began to cry as I walked into the house and upstairs to my bedroom. I don’t know why this scared me so much, my father leaving me, but all I knew is that I hated it. I did not want him to go. I began to think of how I could sneak into his car, but it was too late. I watched out the window as my father drove off down the street. My mother began to scream for me to come downstairs and set the table. I rushed around quickly to find my other sock that I had misplaced amidst all the previous commotion. Mom would yell if I didn’t have my socks on my feet. She would complain about how I could catch a cold with cold feet, and how I had better find my socks before she got the belt. Where did I throw my sock? I began to crawl under my bed when I felt a tug at my leg. I stopped moving and peeked from under the bed. My mother met my eyes, and I knew that I was in trouble. I crawled out from under the bed. My mom began to pinch my cheeks so I would look her directly in the eyes. She started to yell about me not obeying her the first time she yelled...’you know that when I call for you the first time, you come running young lady. When I say jump, you say how high!’ I tried to look down, because I hated to look into my mother’s face. She had this way of making me feel so small with just a simple stare. My mother jerked my face back up to meet her eyes...’young lady, you look at me when I am speaking to you.’ She began to yell about my sock not being on my foot and about how messy my room was. I listened to her yell about how worthless I had become these last few months and how I never seemed to treat her right. Finally, after ten minutes of non-stop screaming, she sent me downstairs to start setting the table. I began to cry as I laid each plate in it’s position. I could hear my mother telling my sister about how she should never turn out like me, how she should remain a hard working kid, who always obeys her parents. I wished right then that I could run away. I could hide myself from the world forever. Why would the world need someone as helpless as myself? I could never help the world with how I had turned out to be...’worthless’ as my mother called me. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I began to ponder what my mother was telling my sister. I heard my mother’s footsteps come closer to the kitchen, I began to brush away the tears from my cheeks as quickly as possible. My mother stopped in her tracks as she saw me wiping my tears with my sleeve. She began to yell about how much of a baby I had turned out...’i just don’t know how I raised such a baby. You would cry over anything. Dry your tears and go up to your bedroom after you are done setting the table. You’re not going to get breakfast, young lady, I will deal with you later.’ I placed the last plate on the table, and began removing the table setting I had placed for myself. I put the setting away and ran upstairs to my room, trying not to let my mother see the tears that streamed down my face. As I sat in my bedroom, I began to pray. Lord, please just let my daddy come back home. I need him now. Things are so scary now. I just do not know what to do. Amen. I could hear my sister and brother giggling with my mother as they ate breakfast. I could smell biscuits and gravy, and my stomach began to rumble. I sighed, knowing in my heart, that this was going to be a long weekend. "Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." Matthew 6:34 |
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Sharon Member
since 2001-06-04
Posts 53Within a whisper |
I read this and held my breath the whole time. I know when we like something, it's pretty standard to say 'I look forward to reading more from you'...well, I do, but then I don't too. I have a feeling you have a deeper tale to tell. You do have a way with words, you should write prose more often. I await the next chapter. |
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Blondie Member
since 1999-08-06
Posts 307Ohio |
Thank you very much Sharon for reading this prose. It's more or less my first time really displaying some of my prose I have written. I am open to all comments. Thanks again. the next chapter is soon  |
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serenity blaze Member Empyrean
since 2000-02-02
Posts 27738 |
I think I have a stomach ache now. This is just emotionally devastating. You've got a gift of writing my friend. You brought me there. I type to you through goosebumps. |
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Blondie Member
since 1999-08-06
Posts 307Ohio |
Serenity, thank you so much for your post. I enjoy writing prose more than anything, but just never got the nerve to post it and recieve comments, thanks again... |
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