I sniffed and underlined a word three times.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't my fault. I needed to make her understand. Taking a deep breath, I continued writing. I urged her to remember the last time it happened. As the words flowed, the tightness in my chest eased. The tears dried on my face.
I sat up, curling my legs under me. The page resting on the hard cover of a book was filled with words crammed together in a continuous silver line. I re-read what I'd written.
The anger and hurt were palatable. Tears stained the page where they'd dripped unchecked. Holding the paper, I flopped back onto the pillows piled on my bed and stared at the ceiling. I watched the shadows on the ceiling cast by the bedside lamp, thinking, remembering.
I sat up again and crushed the paper in my hands. Tossing it to the floor, I pulled a fresh sheet and put it on the book. The smooth white surface was unmarred, clean.
I walked to my desk and slowly sharpened my pencil to the perfect point. Not so sharp it would snap or break, but not so dull it would produce a thick line, marring the writing. I lay back down on the bed, my cheek inches from my page and began to write.
I'm sorry I got so upset. Sometimes I say things I don't mean when I'm angry. I do love you. A lot. I just wish you wouldn't always take her side. I love you.
I continued writing, calmer now. When I finished, I added one last "I love you" and carefully folded the paper into a tiny square. I walked to my door and cautiously opened it. Listening to the sound of the TV from downstairs, I paused.
Knowing I was alone, I walked softly into the other room and lay the folded note neatly on Mom's pillow where she'd find it before she went to bed and realize that I wasn't really angry with her.
I was just angry with everything sometimes.
This post was inspired by the Write on Edge prompt asking us to write about a letter. When I was a kid, I used to leave letters on my mom's pillow every time we had a fight. I still feel most comfortable writing my friends and family rather than stumble over my words.
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12 comments:
We did underline words three times didn't we? It seemed like that was the only way to give our awkward, angry words any weight. I did the same thing, crumpling the first, sometimes even the second drafts, before the anger subsided and I could see things more clearly.
I love the way you captured this, it reads like a story, with a strong voice and flow, and that last line is so brilliant. Well done!
The cheek close down to the page! I do that when I'm writing like that, still!
I would do that! And I would also rather write out things than talk about them :) xo
Loved your piece! The picture you gave was so clear and fresh (especially the pencil-sharpening bit and, yes, the cheek close to the page -- I do that!). And I'm the same! I write so much better than I talk...sometimes it's just easier to get thoughts out in a letter. Loved it!
I love this. My daughter writes me letters that begin as hate mail and almost without fail end as love notes. I can feel her emotions morph from beginning to end. I love that she writes to me ... even if they are sometimes painful to read ... so that we can communicate through the rough spots. I write her back each time and save the letters from my beautiful, growing baby girl.
Great detail. I can picture this entire scene, emotions and all. Wonderful job!
Thank you!
I hope my daughter writes to me as well. Those letters are a treasure. I'm so glad you're saving them.
I used to think I did it because I'm nearsighted. Now? I don't know, but when I write longhand, I sit with my cheek close to the page.
Yes!!
I wonder why we do that?
Never twice, never four times, always three times. It gave it just the right amount of emphasis.
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