Body Portrait Exercise

This is yet another exercise from my Creative Writing: Nonfiction class. You’re supposed to draw a self-portrait of yourself (whole body; no head-shots). Add in every single detail about yourself such as the color of your hair/eyes/skin, birthmarks/scars, anything and everything.

I’ll admit I did not actually draw the picture. I have a scar under my chin and I decided to write about that right away.

Enjoy.

         I have a lot of scratches and bruises on my body. There’s a bruise on my right wrist where one of my Autistic children at work bit me, there’s a bruise on my right knee where I fell on a patch of ice, and there’s a paper cut on the tip of my left index finger from one of my textbooks. There are more marks on me from various things and overall clumsiness.

However, those marks will only stay for a little while and soon the story behind them will be no more. But there is one mark in particular on my body that will never go away. It’s a mark that only I know about unless I willingly tell people about it because no one can see it.

Seven years ago, I was at my cousin’s aunt’s house for my cousin’s birthday. She had a lovely house. It was large, big enough to be a mansion (according to my 14-year-old self). My sister and I were in awe at the large kitchen, spacious living room, and beautiful dining room.

The backyard was just as fantastic. There was a wide wooden deck leading to a large area of luscious green grass big enough to run a few laps. A large volleyball net covered most of the yard, but the biggest attraction was the in-ground pool complete with a Jacuzzi and waterfall. It was the beginning of July so naturally we spent the whole day in the pool.

While the adults were setting up the tables on the deck for presents and cake, all the kids were playing in the pool. My sister, cousins, and I repeatedly jumped in the pool all at once trying to make as many waves as we could.

My older sister, younger cousin, and I stood at the edge of the pool ready to jump. My sister counted down and when she got to three, all three of us jumped into the pool; except my foot slipped on the wet concrete and I face-planted onto the ground landing on my chin.

“Rachel!” My sister screamed mid-air in a panic right before she landed in the water.

I sat up on the ground in a daze. I didn’t cry and I didn’t think anything too serious happened. I was just confused. I can’t describe the pain because I don’t remember how much pain I was in. I don’t know if there was no pain at all or if it hurt so much that it just felt numb.

My sister immediately hopped out of the pool and rushed to my aid. She stared at me in horror informing me that I was bleeding a lot. I told her I was fine, but when I touched the bottom of my chin with my index finger, my finger was covered in blood. Then I started to panic.

My heart beat faster, I started to get light-headed, and I wondered if I was going to somehow die from the loss of blood. I had never been hurt that bad before.

I walked over to my mom to show her my chin and before I knew it, all my cousin’s aunts were swarmed around me tending to my chin. They cleaned it up for me and put some cotton balls over it taping it on with a band-aid or two. It wasn’t a large cut, but it was deep.

“She’ll most likely need to get stitches.” One of cousin’s aunts’s stated to my mom.

I stared at my mom panic-stricken. There was no way I was going to be getting stitches. My mom shook her head trying to reassure me. However, when we got home my cut still wouldn’t stop bleeding. My mom called the doctor just to get it checked out, hoping it wouldn’t get infected.

Needless to say, I ended up having to get stitches. That was when I cried.

The doctor put in about five or six stitches under my chin. He talked to me while he stitched up my chin in an attempt to distract me. He asked me questions like how my summer was going, what grade I was going to be in the following school year, the type of questions you get asked when people don’t know you personally. It was hard to talk to him while he was working on my chin, but I was just thankful he was trying.

I was also thankful the cut was under my chin where I didn’t have to see the stitches or the needle; then my anxiety would have really spiked. Due to the Novocain, I didn’t feel anything, except for the occasional tug of the thread going into my chin. Overall, it wasn’t a bad experience.

After a week with a band-aid on my chin, I went back to the doctor to get the stitches removed. After that, it was as though nothing had ever happened.

I have a small scar underneath my chin. No one can notice it unless I tilt my chin up and point it out to them. Even then, they have to look really close to see it.

I don’t mind having a scar on my chin. It doesn’t bother me and it’s just another reason that makes me unique from everyone else. It gives me a good story to tell.

Photo Exercise

A little while ago I posted an Object Exercise which was a writing prompt from my Nonfiction class. I thought I would share the prompt with all of you in case you wanted to do it yourselves. Well, here’s another prompt from my class.

The rules are easy enough: pick a picture from your past (childhood, recent, whenever) and tell a story based on that picture. Now, this is nonfiction so that would mean telling the real story behind the picture, which is what I had to do. Of course, you could always modify the rules and write a fiction story based on a real picture. Maybe start off nonfiction and then make a slight change and see what could have happened. Play around with it.

Here’s mine. Enjoy.

Kris (left), Peter Pan (middle), and me (right)
Kris (left), Peter Pan (middle), and me (right)

            Every time I look at this photo, I get butterflies in my stomach. My sister (left) and I (right) met Peter Pan for the first time in our lives and it was without a doubt one of the best moments in my life.

Peter Pan is a celebrity, a hero, a figment of the imagination. He lives in a place called Neverland which is located on the second star to the right and straight on until morning. I have never been to Neverland, but it’s a place I’ve always wanted to visit since I was a child.

In August 2014, my sister and I had the opportunity to go to Disney World with our cousins. We had gone to Disney two years before, but I never got the chance to meet Peter Pan because we couldn’t find him. When we decided to go again I told my sister, “I have to meet Peter Pan.”

After a few hours walking around Magic Kingdom and asking quite a few workers where Peter Pan usually stood, we finally came across him by accident.

“Kristen, there he is!” I stopped short and grabbed onto my sister’s arm, staring in awe at my favorite celebrity 20 feet away.

She pressed her hand up against my back and pushed me towards the continuously growing line to meet the man in green. “Then get in line!” she panicked, knowing the workers only allowed a certain number of people in at a time before Peter Pan would have to go on break.

We hopped in line just before the line was closed; we only had three people standing behind us. We were under a wooden tarp with wooden fences around us keeping us in line. Trees surrounded us making us feel as though we were inside Peter Pan’s tree house in Neverland.

As the line inched farther along, I started to shake. I began to get hot flashes. I didn’t know if that was from the 85-degree Florida heat or just nerves. My guess was the latter.

When there were just a couple people left ahead of us in line, I urged to tell Kristen that I didn’t want to meet Peter Pan anymore. I was panicking too much inside my head and he was fun to watch from afar. However, I clamped my mouth shut and stuck it out until we were next.

I nearly had a panic attack.

Peter Pan flagged us over with a wide grin on his face. He was animated; bouncing up and down, constantly shifting his weight with quick movements, and his facial expressions contorted like a cartoon character. He sounded just like the Peter Pan I know from the movie and he looked like him, too; not just from the clothes, but his hair and face as well. Of course, that could have just been me being star struck.

“You should come to Neverland with me. I’ve never had girls there before… well, besides Wendy. You two can be my lost girls! I’ve never had any lost girls before. You’ll be the first ones!”

Peter Pan rambled on and on, Kristen giggling at his mannerisms and me smiling and nodding trying to take everything in.

“Hey, you wanna crow with me? You look like you’re good crowers!” Peter Pan stood up straight, cupping his hands to his mouth and then bellowed. Kristen mimicked him playing along while I gawked at him like an idiot.

We then took our picture with him where he put his arms around our shoulders. I smiled at the worker taking our picture with my camera beaming. I couldn’t believe Peter Pan was touching me.

“You’re shaking.”

I continued to smile at the camera even though the woman wasn’t taking pictures anymore. I didn’t know who was speaking, but it sounded like a man so it must have been Peter Pan. I ignored him, not knowing how to respond. I didn’t even know what he was talking about.

I gave him one last hug before retrieving my camera from the park employee and Kristen and I exited the outdoor tree house. I turned on my camera again and started going through the pictures to find the ones of Peter Pan.

“You know, his face was practically kissing yours when he noticed how much you were shaking… and you didn’t even answer him.” Kristen informed me laughing at how nervous I had been.

My mouth gaped open. I couldn’t believe Peter Pan had been that close to me. I couldn’t believe I didn’t talk to him. I couldn’t believe I didn’t crow with him. I finally met my favorite Disney character and I was scared stiff the entire time. I was so embarrassed, but I was laughing at myself at the same time.

Then I started to cry.

Kristen stopped walking and stood in front of me. She stared at me in horror wondering what was wrong.

I smiled through the tears and shouted, “I met Peter Pan!” finally letting it all sink in.

Object Exercise

I had my first assignment in my Creative Writing: Non-Fiction class. It was a writing prompt and we had to write a true (hence non-fiction) 2-page story about an object that reminds us of someone or something; some sort of memory.

I thought I would share the exercise with all of you in case any of you writers want to give it a go. I enjoyed doing it and the writing came very easy to me. Here’s mine at 690 words. Enjoy.

image

I love jewelry. I really do, but I don’t wear it as often as I would like. Being a preschool teacher, it’s hard to wear jewelry to work just in case a child decides to play with a necklace around my neck or even to tug at an earring and rip it out. So I don’t even bother.

I do have a lot of jewelry, though. I have many dangling earrings; a few necklaces are that dear to me, and a lot of bracelets that I can’t wear because my wrists are too small. I wear them on special occasions and certain holidays when I get dolled up every once in a while, but there’s one bracelet in particular that I never wear.

Despite my wrists being too small I can actually wear this bracelet and I used to—all the time. It was a pretty bracelet and went with just about any of my clothes despite the blue gems. It was small—my size, with alternating round silver and blue gems. Blue is my favorite color and I always liked silver more than gold. Of course, it’s so old that the silver has tarnished and doesn’t sparkle like it used to.

In the middle of these gems were six silver blocked beads, each one baring a letter; R-A-C-H-E-L. I had never had a piece of jewelry that had my name on it, so I was excited when I got it for my 10th birthday. It was personal and I felt as though the bracelet officially belonged to me.

My aunt, Theresa, gave me that bracelet as my birthday present. She gave my two older sisters each a similar bracelet when they turned 10-years-old, so I was kind of expecting something like it; yet, I was still surprised when I opened the small box. Auntie Theresa’s friend made jewelry—whether it was a hobby or it was her job, I don’t recall—but my aunt asked her to make something special for her three nieces for their first double-digit birthday.

I wore the bracelet all the time, even to school. Then, two years later, just two days after my 12th birthday, Auntie Theresa passed away from a sudden brain aneurysm. She was only 32-years-old leaving her husband and two daughters (at the time ages 3 and 1) behind. It was a shock for everyone and certainly a tough time to get through. I kept a closer eye on my bracelet since then, but continued to wear it in her memory.

Then, one day at school in art class, I felt my wrist—I was always touching and playing with the bracelet. The bracelet was gone and I could feel my face flush.

“Where is it, where is it?!” I demanded in alarm.

“Where’s what? Where’s what?” My friend jumped up from her seat only panicking because I was. She looked all around the floor because I was on my hands and knees searching for something she didn’t know what to look for.

The bracelet was on the other side of the art room. It must have fallen off when I went to the sink to wash my paint brush and rinse out my paint cups. For the rest of the day I left the bracelet in my pocket. The clasp wasn’t very good and it fell off a lot at home, but I never imagined it would fall off anywhere else. It was that moment I realized if it fell off at school or someplace else, chances were I’d never find it again and it would be gone forever, just like my aunt.

The bracelet has been sitting in my jewelry box ever since. I want to keep it safe with all my other jewelry. I take it out and look at it every once in a while, but I don’t wear it anywhere in fear of losing it; even if it is just around the house.

Maybe one day I’ll get the clasp fixed and get it shined once more. In the meantime, I’ll always know where the bracelet is and I’m able to keep it near and dear.