I Opened My Eyes

When I was a senior in high school, one of my English assignments was to write a story with a moral to it. As is a habit of mine, I whipped up the first draft of this the night before it was due and typed it up during lunch.

When I got to class, I let other classmates read their stories first, and listened to far too many that opened with, “Once upon a time there were some bullies.” It seemed every story was the same! Finally, I got tired of hearing the same story over and over again, so I raised my hand to read my story. This is that story.

I don’t know how I survived. My calendar told me it’s been three years, but in my mind and in my heart I know it was an eternity.

I loved city life. The excitement was so great that I could never sit still. So many sights, sounds, and smells to take in! I had lived there my whole life, and after all those years I knew that there was so much more that I had to see.

My mother died when I was a baby, so I never had a woman’s influence. My father and brother were the only family I knew. We had the best of everything, my father made sure of that. He didn’t want us to have to struggle. How ironic. He worked so hard for us to survive and he’s the one who didn’t make it. Strange the way things happen.

I came here when I was fifteen. The two day trip in a dingy old train didn’t thrill me, nor did the poverty-stricken town I ended up in. An old, austere woman approached me on the platform and instructed me to follow her. The only time I had met my aunt was in old photographs, but I could tell that the years had not been kind.

I didn’t talk much at my aunt’s farm. She had chores for me, which I did. I wasn’t happy about them. I didn’t exert myself, but I didn’t complain. I knew I had nowhere else to go. The monotony of the days meshed them into one. One long, dreary day that lasted three years.

Every morning I go down to the river to get water for the day’s washings. This particular morning I was more tired than usual, so I laid my head in a tuft of grass and closed my eyes.

When I opened them a few minutes later, everything seemed to have come alive. The trees, the flowers, the sky – they all seemed to have faces. I splashed water on my eyes and looked again, but the faces were still there. Everything had such a vitality that I never noticed before!

I couldn’t help but notice an unusual little flower sticking out of the grass. To anyone else it would have been an ordinary dandelion, but because I had never taken the time to notice it, when I finally did, it was unusual. It seemed to have a personality. This flower was so intriguing that I knew I had to keep it or I would regret it. As I was putting it in my pocket, I heard my aunt calling me. I opened my eyes, splashed some water on my face, and ran toward the house.

While I was cooking supper that evening, I went to wipe my hands, and I noticed the same little flower embroidered around the edge of my apron. It was as if my dream had come alive.

“What are you smiling for?” my aunt asked. “You’ve been here for three years and not once have you been pleasant about anything, so why start now?”

If only she knew.

Here I am after yet another three years, but it seems like no time has passed. Not a day goes by when I don’t notice birds singing or new flowers growing. My chores give me a wonderful opportunity to see different things around me. To anyone else, they are the same, but to me, every day brings something new . . .

After I read the first paragraph, my teacher stopped me and pointed out to the class the way I just jumped into the story, skipping the “once upon a time” type intro and immediately drawing you in. I remember being annoyed at the interruption. Once I finished my story, the entire class was quiet – very different from the clapping and cheers that everyone else got. After a full minute, one person said, “Wow!” I guess they liked my story. I buried my head in my hands. It was the first writing assignment of the semester, and I was worried about how I was going to top that. After all, aren’t you supposed to get better at something as you get further into a class?

I’ve been trying to write more, as I’ve really fallen out of the habit since my schooling days ended. I hope you enjoy this, and I’ll try to write more.

Other Posts Like Me:

• Bedtime Stories – East of Eden
• Writing About Myself
• I’m Not Like the Rest of Them
• Damn You, Harry Potter
• Auditory Overload