XxBeccaRollrxX
Bluelighter
i wrote this for a class and i am thinking about using it for my college application essay. (one of the essay choices on the common app. is just to write anything) anyway, i would really appreciate any comments, criticisms, suggestions, or insights. If you read it (thanks) and like it, tell me. If you hate it, tell me. Please. Thanks
Becca
I wake up and call B. In the sea of Cs, there may be only a handful of Bs that I'll ever meet. B is anyone who is capable of carrying an intense, intellectual, and witty conversation. B and I fit together, but not too well so that you can't tell our pieces apart. B is preferably a good-looking boy, and idealistically, B has a car.
I wake up and call B. I've slept in and the sun's rays have leisurely awoken me, seeping through my hand embroidered curtains that I brought back from Prague. After much thought, I dress myself in my worn-out shirt that still reeks of Downy Fabric softner, my newest pair of sneakers, and my favorite purple drawstring skirt even though it's rapidly tearing at the slits at both sides.
B had been expecting my call and he comes over posthaste. He honks his Cabriolet convertible car horn as I exit my house with only a pen as my baggage. Everything seems heavy today. I've been thinking too much recently, and thoughts are shackled to my ankles as I pull myself into his car. There is no verbal exchange between B and me as we ride up the scenic highway. The wind purrs by our ears and B pops his favorite Tricky tape into the archaic machine. We sway our heads to the dulcet beat, and just as the notes to my most cherished song subside, B parks the car by the side of the road.
From out of his trunk, B retrieves his backpack. He straps it on and hugs me hello. B and I always prolong our hugs for a couple extra seconds. I like the way he smells. B and I make small talk, as most people do, while we amble our way through the inert grassy trail. I'm glad I remembered to wear my sneakers today. The grass is especially grassy and the dew has not yet evaporated from sunrise's early tear drops.
B and I maneuver our bodies through the conjoined jagged rocks that now stand in our path discouraging most from proceeding. We trek on. B tells me I look good today and I laugh. B thinks I look good every day. B tells me I will be happy when we get to where we are going. I never doubt B. He always impresses me. That's why I wore my purple skirt today.
The leaves of the trees bend forward and point to a clearing I can see we are approaching. I become anxious and I ask B if we are there yet. He grins. I wonder what's in his backpack and just as I contemplate whether I should snatch it off of his back and see for myself, B opens the branches of a semi-canopied tree to reveal his slice of heaven.
I look over the lily-padded pond that seems to have been barren of people forever. B takes a blanket out of his bag and we sit under the willow tree as her branches dance on the surface of the water. B has taken me to his secret place, the place where he goes to get away.
I love secret places, especially since I've never had a permanent one. Someone always robs me of my secret place even before I can decide on where to sit. B knows my love of beauty but most importantly, B has trusted me with his secret. Because of this, B is a B. He knows he's special.
B and I watch the wind brawl with the bugs. The willow branches have provided us with a suitable netting and B tells me to wish on the ladybug he found on my cheek. I do, and then I ask him what he'd wish for. B sighs and starts to play with my hair. We discuss our aspirations. B doesn't want to be anything when he grows up. He wants to be B. I know he'll be all that and more. I want to tell B that I'm scared of what is beyond the lily pond. I want to tell B that I'm afraid of tomorrow. I want to tell him I'm terrified of leaving the canopy. But then the wind whispers assuredly and I forget what I was going to say. B does that to me too, except he doesn't have to whisper, when I am with B, tomorrow doesn't concern me.
There is a raspberry bush on the left end of the pond. Every berry seems to be perfectly ripe. B and I feast with the birds as the sun starts to melt its way over the horizon painting the sky with its watercolor masterpiece. B has helped me forget all the stresses of yesterday and taught me not to fear the stresses of tomorrow. B and I are living today as it drowns its way through the clouds. I do not say anything, but still B shushes me. He knows that my mind is restless, like always, and that I am only half concentrating on the work of art above our heads.
I rest my head on B's stomach and we watch the stars poke their way through the abyss. I inhale the moon. B and I pretend to point out accurate constellations and discuss what's "out there." B tells me he thinks my father is an alien. I tell him I might be, too, and we chuckle together. B and I bask in each other's warmth as the evening chill prances over the stalked grass off in the field. I smell the clouds. I drink the starlight. I swallow the cricket chirp, and lick the waves crashing upon the pond bank. I taste the torch of the lightning bugs and I feel full. B takes me home.
Becca
I wake up and call B. In the sea of Cs, there may be only a handful of Bs that I'll ever meet. B is anyone who is capable of carrying an intense, intellectual, and witty conversation. B and I fit together, but not too well so that you can't tell our pieces apart. B is preferably a good-looking boy, and idealistically, B has a car.
I wake up and call B. I've slept in and the sun's rays have leisurely awoken me, seeping through my hand embroidered curtains that I brought back from Prague. After much thought, I dress myself in my worn-out shirt that still reeks of Downy Fabric softner, my newest pair of sneakers, and my favorite purple drawstring skirt even though it's rapidly tearing at the slits at both sides.
B had been expecting my call and he comes over posthaste. He honks his Cabriolet convertible car horn as I exit my house with only a pen as my baggage. Everything seems heavy today. I've been thinking too much recently, and thoughts are shackled to my ankles as I pull myself into his car. There is no verbal exchange between B and me as we ride up the scenic highway. The wind purrs by our ears and B pops his favorite Tricky tape into the archaic machine. We sway our heads to the dulcet beat, and just as the notes to my most cherished song subside, B parks the car by the side of the road.
From out of his trunk, B retrieves his backpack. He straps it on and hugs me hello. B and I always prolong our hugs for a couple extra seconds. I like the way he smells. B and I make small talk, as most people do, while we amble our way through the inert grassy trail. I'm glad I remembered to wear my sneakers today. The grass is especially grassy and the dew has not yet evaporated from sunrise's early tear drops.
B and I maneuver our bodies through the conjoined jagged rocks that now stand in our path discouraging most from proceeding. We trek on. B tells me I look good today and I laugh. B thinks I look good every day. B tells me I will be happy when we get to where we are going. I never doubt B. He always impresses me. That's why I wore my purple skirt today.
The leaves of the trees bend forward and point to a clearing I can see we are approaching. I become anxious and I ask B if we are there yet. He grins. I wonder what's in his backpack and just as I contemplate whether I should snatch it off of his back and see for myself, B opens the branches of a semi-canopied tree to reveal his slice of heaven.
I look over the lily-padded pond that seems to have been barren of people forever. B takes a blanket out of his bag and we sit under the willow tree as her branches dance on the surface of the water. B has taken me to his secret place, the place where he goes to get away.
I love secret places, especially since I've never had a permanent one. Someone always robs me of my secret place even before I can decide on where to sit. B knows my love of beauty but most importantly, B has trusted me with his secret. Because of this, B is a B. He knows he's special.
B and I watch the wind brawl with the bugs. The willow branches have provided us with a suitable netting and B tells me to wish on the ladybug he found on my cheek. I do, and then I ask him what he'd wish for. B sighs and starts to play with my hair. We discuss our aspirations. B doesn't want to be anything when he grows up. He wants to be B. I know he'll be all that and more. I want to tell B that I'm scared of what is beyond the lily pond. I want to tell B that I'm afraid of tomorrow. I want to tell him I'm terrified of leaving the canopy. But then the wind whispers assuredly and I forget what I was going to say. B does that to me too, except he doesn't have to whisper, when I am with B, tomorrow doesn't concern me.
There is a raspberry bush on the left end of the pond. Every berry seems to be perfectly ripe. B and I feast with the birds as the sun starts to melt its way over the horizon painting the sky with its watercolor masterpiece. B has helped me forget all the stresses of yesterday and taught me not to fear the stresses of tomorrow. B and I are living today as it drowns its way through the clouds. I do not say anything, but still B shushes me. He knows that my mind is restless, like always, and that I am only half concentrating on the work of art above our heads.
I rest my head on B's stomach and we watch the stars poke their way through the abyss. I inhale the moon. B and I pretend to point out accurate constellations and discuss what's "out there." B tells me he thinks my father is an alien. I tell him I might be, too, and we chuckle together. B and I bask in each other's warmth as the evening chill prances over the stalked grass off in the field. I smell the clouds. I drink the starlight. I swallow the cricket chirp, and lick the waves crashing upon the pond bank. I taste the torch of the lightning bugs and I feel full. B takes me home.
