This piece is to be read from the viewpoint of someone who is about nine years old, I am reflecting back on the younger years of my life.
I wish I remember what it felt like the first day I went to “real school” where I left the house and stared at all the trees in the neighborhood on the way there. Trees of all different sizes, some wide enough to fit 20 kids in their branches, others were slim and linky (sorta like your pinky finger bones). I wish I could have thought of all the things I wanted to do back then, how I..I wanted to be an actress…someone like Halle Berry for instance. I’m not fond of exotic foods, fancy dinner plates and shoes that only look nice but pinch the sides of your feet. No, I like to well…write stories fill them up in notebooks that I keep in every room of the house and every car ride. I would write about dragons and how much we paid for the McDonald’s hash browns. I’d go on and on about cityscapes and beaches, both places I had never really been to but in my mind it was all REAL.
It’s too bad that these stories of mine got shuffled between bills and all our houses we once lived in, a couple of them were pretty okay…well I thought so.
Sometimes the people at the convenient store would be my special characters, each one had purpose, destination and meaning. There were older ladies who wore beige tights with worn down black shoes. There were families piling things into the cart, each one going different directions all over the store.
Now that I think about it, I’m not sure when I’ll stop writing. But maybe I’ll be a teacher or a librarian or a….um what’s the name of the job again…
That’s it, I want to do what Eliza Thornberry ‘s mom does.