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Friday, August 31, 2012

Portfolio Piece #5: Old

Trying a little something new.  Something I’ve wanted to do for a while.  For the next few days, I will be posting the pieces I submitted for my Writing Minor Portfolio.  They are all from classes I took Sophomore to Senior Year at Keene State College.  Most of them are memoir in nature, but a few are slightly different.  These are pieces I love, but know still need work.  If you would like to know more of the stories behind the pieces, let me know and I will be happy to share!  Also, any and all constructive feedback is always welcome – just because these were the final versions to be submitted doesn’t mean that they are perfect.

Oh, and also?  These are mine.  Do not steal them.  Thanks.

A Dream Story Written for Cooking, Eating and Dreaming, Written Junior Year
It had been more than a decade since I last saw Jon.  He used to know me better than anyone, and was the passion of my youth, but I rarely thought of him.  Lately, he had been lurking in the dark corners of my mind, a reminder of who I once was.  Making me nostalgic, and regretful.  My heart ached for him.
I was sitting on my bed when he appeared.  His clear blue eyes and dimpled smile reminded me why I once loved him. 
“You look old.” I say. 
“I am old.” he says. 
“You always were.”  We laugh, my head resting on his familiar shoulder.  I feel at home.  “Let’s get out of here,” I murmur into his shoulder.
“OK.” he mutters to my ceiling.
We are sitting at the RHO meeting, when he introduces himself.  He turns to me and loudly questions my being in college at my age.  “Oh, hey now!” Jana says, her voice issuing an unspoken warning, as she fixes an intense gaze from her scary eyes at him.  I am touched that she defends me.  There is laughter around us, but my heart hurts a little.  I thought he would be proud of me.  I look at him, trying to hide the embarrassment and pain in my eyes.  His face turns apologetic, and he takes my hand in his.  He nods his head towards the door, a signal of his desire to leave.  I smile.
We walk by the pond, two old friends, arm in arm.  “I miss you.” I say to the clear blue sky and the sparkling water.  He melts my heart with his smile, warmth creeping from my belly out.  I snuggle up against him as a breeze kicks up.  His soft lips press against my forehead and my heart drops.  “You know I don’t like it when you do that.  It always means goodbye,” I say to his chest, inhaling the scent of sandalwood oil and pipe tobacco.  He steps away, his face tired.  “I know,” he says as he fades away.
I am left alone and confused, the warm autumn day giving way to chilled blue twilight.  I feel old and run down.  The water has lost its sparkle, and I feel empty.  I meander through the deserted campus, leaves whirling around me, a melancholy soundtrack playing in my head.  As I enter my room, the emptiness of it makes it difficult to breathe.  I climb onto my bed, and smell the sheets, but his scent is gone.  My heart aches with disappointment and loss.  I slide in under the covers and try to sleep, hoping to see his face once again in my dreams. 

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