1997
I was seven years old. Our cat gave birth to nine white kittens the other day. They were the most beautiful things I’d laid eyes on since my Limited Edition Barbie that Mom sent me. My grandfather placed them in a cardboard box. Their eyes were closed. I had the urge to hold one of them. I picked one up and carried her to the forest. I named her Nala. She woke up in my palms. Her dark eyes were peeping through, looking up at me.
Nala died a few days later. She slipped from my hands when I was holding her. She didn’t make a sound. I couldn’t make a sound. All I felt were the trees bearing down on me.
2000
I was still nine but considered myself ten. Mom and Dad were over. It was months and months of me waiting for them to arrive. There they were sitting next to me in our living room, as real and American as they could be. I was holding Mom’s right hand as tight as I can. I was scared to lose her. “You’re coming to America! With us!” Dad exclaimed. I was trying to control myself, but I couldn’t help but jump up and down.
A few moths later, I was in my new room. The walls were a peachy pink hue. I was surrounded by Barbies, Beanie Babies, and teddy bears. I was sitting on my pink bed with Dad’s black planner and a black sharpie. In big bold letters I scribbled, “I WANT TO GO HOME.”
2002
I was eleven but hated admitting it to my classmates. I was the oldest in my 5th grade class. The boys made fun of how I pronounced the word, “teeth.” The girls thought I was some kind of slut when I came in with a bright blue training bra peeking through my white button-up uniform shirt. I had two best friends. Their names were Angela and Kimberly. They told me I had really pretty hair.
It was a Saturday afternoon when Mom started telling me parts of everything: Dad isn’t really my dad, and I have three stepsisters and one stepbrother. That explained the photographs I found in Dad’s planner. I asked her about my “actual” dad. She said he had to leave her because it was for the better. Why did he leave me?
2005
It was a beautiful summer night. I was fourteen and I just graduated from elementary school. I was wearing a dark pink dress that fell just above my knees. Grandma was telling me how she wanted a picture with me under the dim lights. Grandpa was flipping through the restaurant menu when she grabbed him by the arm towards us. Dad was holding the camera steady as he counted down to three. The light flashed as I was pulling her closer.
A few months later, mom hung up the phone. It was Grandma. She was back from the hospital. She has cancer. Lymphoma or Hodgkin’s or whatever it is. It’s cancer. Mom’s hand started to reach for mine, but I didn’t want it. I didn’t let her hold me.
2008
“I don’t think you’re old enough,” quipped my uncle as he jokingly offered me a bottle of Corona. I told him it’s too cold, and yes I was only seventeen. We were watching the playoffs. The Giants were playing. I was busy pretending to keep my eyes glued to the game, but every time I turned, there she was. Noemi. She was lying under a red blanket on the couch next to Mom and Damien. Damien hadn’t left her side for hours. His pointy black ears occasionally twitching at every slight move Noemi made. The Giants scored. The room erupted in yells and applause. No barks. Noemi was smiling, her thinning face glowing. Damien looked on, his eyes drooping with emotions we weren’t allowed to show.
A few weeks later, Eli Manning was holding a silver trophy as red, white, and blue confetti were falling from above. “See Noemi, I told you they’d win. I told you, I told you,” Mom cried, her tears trickling down onto the remote control.
2011
It was 3 a.m. and I couldn’t sleep. My best friend, Kimberly sent me a text that left me frozen for a couple of hours. I wasn’t a good friend, apparently. Or in her words, I was “a shitty reason for one.” Just a year ago, similar words of honesty showed up on my phone from the first boy that broke my heart. It was the first of many things. It was the end of many, many more.
I just turned twenty-one a few weeks before, but I didn’t feel like popping champagne bottles. Messages of “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” on my phone, on my laptop, and on birthday cards were screaming reminders of the many shitty reasons to be twenty-one.
2012
“He never left you,” Mom said clutching my hand. I was staring down at the table, avoiding her gaze. “He came back when you turned one. He held you, but you kept crying in his arms.” I looked up. I was trying to control myself, but I couldn’t help but smile.
Roxanne,
There are certain lines/images that I especially like in this piece and I will start there: the tress bearing down on you in the first section; the dog’s ears twitching with emotion that the people were not allowed to show. I would call both of these beautiful examples of defmailiarization. You’re defamiliarizing the experience of deep grief which is, I think, impossible to capture in plain words–impossible to directly describe. But you are capturing it in images (the dog’s protective stance and twitching ears) and what I guess I would call abstractions (the trees bearing down). IT’s really beautiful and, for me, some of the most moving writing in this overall sad and very moving piece.
I wonder if you thought at all about threads between the episodes? What are they? If you have thought about them, could you name them, perhaps in revision play with how you employ them? And if you haven’t thought about them, think about threads–words or phrases, images–that you could more consciously weave through the piece. For the moment, such threads aren’t quite emergent enough, I think.
This piece reminds me very much of the piece by Biss and Bresland, “Ode to Everything,” in terms of mood and atmosphere. You might watch that one again (it’s on the Viewings page); since it has been published as a video, the imagery that threads the piece becomes, I believe, more apparent. So even though it’s broad (an ode, after all, to everything), it strives to create those threads that tie it together. What are they? How do they work? Answering these questions for yourself about the Biss piece might give you ideas for your own piece.
You know, even though this piece is sad, you chose to end with a smile, which I love,. It feels authentic, not contrived, and is a good move, I think.
The tense change in the past paragraph in the section 2005 isn’t quite right. I believe if you want to change to present tense, you need to do it earlier, right after your mom hangs up the phone, so it’s like you’re remembering your mom’s words from that moment in present tense, stressing their immediacy.
These are my initial comments. Let me know if you have questions. I think this is a gorgeous first draft and I look forward to seeing what you do with it. The visual and lyrical (poetic) qualities of the writing are striking. Keep those qualities alive. Pick your sentence structure issue from the reading and see how you might put it to work as you revise.
Thank you for your work on this, Cheryl
Well, this ended up longer than I expected! In this piece, I wanted to convey this sense of loss or losing something. I used a timeline format, but I started with the earliest memory I could remember as oppose to the year I was born. The years aren’t in some sort of pattern since everything happened randomly. I picked out the memories that had the most impact on not only my life, but me as a person.
Each year has a different kind of loss. There’s the loss of innocence that’s imminent in seeing Nala die. There’s the loss of self-confidence in 2002, when I became aware that not everyone likes me or love me. There’s the loss of hope for my sick grandmother, and at the same time, the loss of the childhood bond I had with my mother. From all the many things that died and ended, I learned and I grew as a person.
As for the title, I chose an active verb because I still am losing and I’m still learning. I am still unsure about the verb tenses I used. I used the past progressive because I thought there would be more movement. Or maybe I should’ve gone for just active verbs? I don’t know which would be more effective in painting the image for the reader.
Overall, I’m not completely satisfied with the technical decisions I made for the writing itself. I do hope it’s effective enough to convey that theme of loss that I’m trying to go for.
Roxanne,
My intial interoretation was that these were memories you wish your biological father could have shared with you had he not left. But after reading your cover letter (and the title, haha) I see what you were doing. I really like this, Roxanne. The loss in each section is very vivid, and really spoke to me as a reader.
The only thing that I was confused about was Noemi. Is that your grandmother? A baby? A crush? Either I missed something (which is totally possible) or it needs a little explanation. Maybe it’s vague on purpose, in which case, leave it.
Don’t worry about the technical decisions getting in the way of the sense of loss –I felt it! I think your choice in tense was smart. It did feel compelling.
Great job!
Matt Graves
Dear Roxanne,
I really loved this piece and my favorite lines has to be in your ending. 2012-“He never left you,” Mom said clutching my hand. I was staring down at the table, avoiding her gaze. “He came back when you turned one. He held you, but you kept crying in his arms.” I looked up. I was trying to control myself, but I couldn’t help but smile. Like Professor Smith stated above in her comment, I really liked that although this is a sad piece, you ended it with something as simple as as a smile. I really, really love your underlying theme of losing and learning, and how you were able to grow with each loss (as you state in your earlier comment.) Perhaps you can emphasize a bit on how you have grown as a person from these losses? Also, just another thing I thought about, the Giants won again just the past year (four years after their 2008 victory)…maybe you might want to tie it back? Anyways, this was an amazing piece and I think there’s a lot of different directions you can take it!
Sincerely,
Catherine C.
Hi Roxanne,
Your piece was great and full of emotion! I can’t believe how many similarities we share, and I’m so sorry that you had to go through so many heart-breaking moments; but, I guess that’s what makes a person grow! I loved the way you described the births of the kittens, the way you held one up and walked to the forest. I even loved the way you said how the little creature died because it “slipped,” since I can feel the sense of sadness that sprout out of your heart. SImilar to you, I moved to the U.S. when I was eight (turning nine) years old. At that time, I didn’t speak any English, and could never pronounce “cookie” correctly. However, I also made a really good friend, and she helped me a lot through my elementary school years. I was really surprised when you said that you later discovered that the person you’ve been calling “dad” wasn’t actually your biological father. Similar to this, my mom told me that the person that I’ve been calling “dad” wasn’t my real father either, since my real dad died from a plane accident when she was pregnant with me. However, unlike you, my mom and the guy that I’ve been calling “dad” since I was two or three divorced later on; my real dad never had a chance to hold me…I’m really glad that you discovered later on that your dad actually went to see, after all, the father-daughter bound is pretty hard to break!
I really like way each of your paragraphs flow. I can really feel the loss from each piece; however, I can also feel the empowerment from each stanza as well. I think the experiences that you’ve went through made you who are today, and you will only get stronger. Your piece was very beautiful and I really enjoyed it. I guess the only part I was a little confused was when Noemi died. I wasn’t exactly who or what she is, but I figured it’s probably your dog or cat. Everything worked well together!
Good job!