Moment of Change - nonfiction
Mar. 7th, 2008 09:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
libra_travellerI wrote this for my screenplay class back in September, it's about a moment of change in my life.
The slam of my sister’s bedroom door still rang in my ears as I ran up the stairs. From inside my own room earlier that evening I’d heard my two older sisters laughing as they talked. I desperately wanted to know what was so funny and to be able to be in that room with them and share in the laughter. For the past couple of years every time I tried to join in on their conversations they would get annoyed and secretive. I kept trying anyways, they were my closest friends. This time was like every other, I went down to their room and knocked on the door. One of them shouted an irritated ‘what?’, and I stopped with my hand to the door. Why were they always like this? I hated how they reacted to anyone trying to break into their secret club. What was so special that they couldn’t let their younger sister in? Why did I even care? I didn’t need them. I thought about turning away, but I gave them a chance, I always did. I opened the door, took a step in, and asked what they were talking about. They both shrugged, I could tell they were pissed I was interrupting. Instead of resuming talking they sat silent in the room. I sat down on the floor waiting for them to continue chatting, and eventually they did, but it was stilted and they acted like they were too tired. I don’t remember what I said, but I wanted to add to what they were saying, but they got mad, and next thing I know I was storming out of the room.
I went upstairs, practically in tears. I started to run to my room, but my Dad asked me what was wrong. We went into the dining room and sat at the table. I told him how angry I was that my sisters kept excluding me from things. I could see him frowning over how sad I was. He had me talk about exactly what was said, told me to not give up in spending time with them. He said that sometimes they needed it to just be the two of them, but that it didn’t mean they didn’t want to be with me. I admitted that I wanted to talk with them because I felt like I had nobody else to talk to, no real friends at school, there was never anyone who wanted to spend time with me outside of classes, and that it hurt that my own sisters were avoiding me. Dad hugged me and told me it would be okay. I was at a new school and I’d make friends if I kept trying. We then started talking about other things, like what I was learning in school, how my writing was going, little things. He made me feel better.
Later that year my Dad had a heart attack and died. I stayed up late one night lying on the bed with the lights off. I just stared at the ceiling remembering little moments about him, times he smiled, or hugged me. Him just sitting in a chair at the table reading the newspaper. Or how I used to sit in the study listening to Moody Blues as he did some of his work. He’d stop and show me his powerpoint slides and explain what the technology he was helping to develop for the army would do. Or how after dinner he’d always go outside to smoke a cigarette and even though I was allergic to them, I’d join him on the balcony and ask him how work had been and he’d tell me some stupid joke. Mostly I remember the night before he died how he was sleeping downstairs on the couch cause his snoring kept Mom awake. I kneeled down on the carpet and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek and said good night. That had been the last time I’d seen him alive, because in the morning I woke up to my Mom screaming and found him fallen in the snow the shovel nearby. He just wanted to get to work.
As I lay in the bed I closed my eyes and made him a promise, one I planned to try and keep for the rest of my life. He had taught me how important family was, so I promised him that from now on I would not fight with my sisters and if I did I’d make it up to them. I promised I’d take care of them and my Mom, to be as strong as he was for the rest of us. And I promised I would never forget how important all the times we spent together were.
I kept that promise everyday. I would make sure that I would be nice to them, that I wouldn’t find fault with anything they did, and if I couldn’t help it, I’d try and keep it to myself. I learned how hard it was to be nice when you were hurting inside, but I knew we were all hurting so it didn’t matter, it was too important to waste in being lazy. So I was nice and I found a way to spend time with them without being irritating or pestering them for attention. Though I found out how important friends outside of family were to keep you going, I also learned how great it was to keep your sisters as your friends.
Seven years after I made that promise I found myself sitting on my bed in my room listening to my sisters laughing. Sometimes I would just let them be by themselves and just enjoy the fact that they sounded happy. But today I decided I was bored with my homework so I walked down the stairs and knocked on the door. I heard a ‘what?’ but I didn’t get annoyed. I just opened the door, and asked, ‘what I’d miss?’ They laughed and explained the joke while I sat down and we kept laughing all night. And when I finally left the room, there wasn’t a slammed door, there was simply a ‘good night’.
The slam of my sister’s bedroom door still rang in my ears as I ran up the stairs. From inside my own room earlier that evening I’d heard my two older sisters laughing as they talked. I desperately wanted to know what was so funny and to be able to be in that room with them and share in the laughter. For the past couple of years every time I tried to join in on their conversations they would get annoyed and secretive. I kept trying anyways, they were my closest friends. This time was like every other, I went down to their room and knocked on the door. One of them shouted an irritated ‘what?’, and I stopped with my hand to the door. Why were they always like this? I hated how they reacted to anyone trying to break into their secret club. What was so special that they couldn’t let their younger sister in? Why did I even care? I didn’t need them. I thought about turning away, but I gave them a chance, I always did. I opened the door, took a step in, and asked what they were talking about. They both shrugged, I could tell they were pissed I was interrupting. Instead of resuming talking they sat silent in the room. I sat down on the floor waiting for them to continue chatting, and eventually they did, but it was stilted and they acted like they were too tired. I don’t remember what I said, but I wanted to add to what they were saying, but they got mad, and next thing I know I was storming out of the room.
I went upstairs, practically in tears. I started to run to my room, but my Dad asked me what was wrong. We went into the dining room and sat at the table. I told him how angry I was that my sisters kept excluding me from things. I could see him frowning over how sad I was. He had me talk about exactly what was said, told me to not give up in spending time with them. He said that sometimes they needed it to just be the two of them, but that it didn’t mean they didn’t want to be with me. I admitted that I wanted to talk with them because I felt like I had nobody else to talk to, no real friends at school, there was never anyone who wanted to spend time with me outside of classes, and that it hurt that my own sisters were avoiding me. Dad hugged me and told me it would be okay. I was at a new school and I’d make friends if I kept trying. We then started talking about other things, like what I was learning in school, how my writing was going, little things. He made me feel better.
Later that year my Dad had a heart attack and died. I stayed up late one night lying on the bed with the lights off. I just stared at the ceiling remembering little moments about him, times he smiled, or hugged me. Him just sitting in a chair at the table reading the newspaper. Or how I used to sit in the study listening to Moody Blues as he did some of his work. He’d stop and show me his powerpoint slides and explain what the technology he was helping to develop for the army would do. Or how after dinner he’d always go outside to smoke a cigarette and even though I was allergic to them, I’d join him on the balcony and ask him how work had been and he’d tell me some stupid joke. Mostly I remember the night before he died how he was sleeping downstairs on the couch cause his snoring kept Mom awake. I kneeled down on the carpet and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek and said good night. That had been the last time I’d seen him alive, because in the morning I woke up to my Mom screaming and found him fallen in the snow the shovel nearby. He just wanted to get to work.
As I lay in the bed I closed my eyes and made him a promise, one I planned to try and keep for the rest of my life. He had taught me how important family was, so I promised him that from now on I would not fight with my sisters and if I did I’d make it up to them. I promised I’d take care of them and my Mom, to be as strong as he was for the rest of us. And I promised I would never forget how important all the times we spent together were.
I kept that promise everyday. I would make sure that I would be nice to them, that I wouldn’t find fault with anything they did, and if I couldn’t help it, I’d try and keep it to myself. I learned how hard it was to be nice when you were hurting inside, but I knew we were all hurting so it didn’t matter, it was too important to waste in being lazy. So I was nice and I found a way to spend time with them without being irritating or pestering them for attention. Though I found out how important friends outside of family were to keep you going, I also learned how great it was to keep your sisters as your friends.
Seven years after I made that promise I found myself sitting on my bed in my room listening to my sisters laughing. Sometimes I would just let them be by themselves and just enjoy the fact that they sounded happy. But today I decided I was bored with my homework so I walked down the stairs and knocked on the door. I heard a ‘what?’ but I didn’t get annoyed. I just opened the door, and asked, ‘what I’d miss?’ They laughed and explained the joke while I sat down and we kept laughing all night. And when I finally left the room, there wasn’t a slammed door, there was simply a ‘good night’.