Personal Narrative: The Writing Process

“Dad, can I go over to Ambers’ house to study tomorrow?” Our daughter Catherine asked the question, from about halfway up the stairs. Only her face could be seen as she peered at my husband hopefully, over the banister. I looked over at my husband, knowing what he would say, before he spoke. “Ask your mom.” My husband said to her, while glancing at me, expectantly. I smiled at him, knowing why he was telling her to ask me. He had worked all week, making the long drive from our home in Ashland to his office in Richmond and was hoping I would drive her to her friend’s house, so he could relax at home. My daughters’ hopeful gaze turned toward me, as well. “Madre?” She didn’t bother repeating the question. I hid the little sting of pain, that I always felt when she called me that, behind a smile. “What time are you supposed to be there, and do I need to bring you over and pick you up as well?” She nodded as she answered me. “Yeah, her mom can’t do it today, but I told her I would help her with her math.” Catherine had always made high marks in her school studies; it was something I was exceedingly proud of. “Yes, I’ll drive you, but make sure your phone is fully charged.” I have always been protective of the kids, and it was a long standing rule that they didn’t leave the house without a way to contact me. “I will.” She called out as she went the rest of the way up the stairs, disappearing from my view.

She reached over to the table beside her and grabbed the glass of ice water, sipping it before placing back down where it belonged and diving back into her computer again “Starting when I was around 3, I always had a constant obsession with one boy band or another. I jumped from one teen heartthrob to another over the years. Most of my conversations with my mother from about age 5 'til my early teens revolved around “my future husbands” as I called them.” Her fingers moved nimbly as the story began to unfold, “I would describe the life I plan to lead with them or the children I wanted to have. Within these conversations with my mom or grandma, they always managed to throw in things like ‘What if you bring home a girl instead’ or one would say ‘Well I can’t wait to meet this husband’ and the other would shout ‘or wife’ from the other room. At the time it made me mad and I would always respond with things like ‘MOMMMM I LIKE BOYS STOPPPPPP’ and storm out of the room. When I look back, I often wonder if they were trying to brainwash me or if they just saw something I didn’t, but it was a sweet way of reassuring me no matter who I love they would always accept me. At the time I never thought anything of it, I liked boys, boys were cute and that’s what the world had taught me. Girls like boys, boys like girls, and

“Hello Branden, your mother has talked a lot about you.” Awkwardness flooded over me, but neither him nor my mom seemed to notice I was silent while they talked, trying to decipher what

I’m not sure if you’re mother gave you all the details of the meeting we had for the arrangements, last week?” Actually, she didn’t at all. The funny thing is that she’s been acting really weird lately after their meeting.

“Sapphire, I believe it is time you learned a little about you mother.” Her tone is very soft and gentle, but I would be less stunned if she had slapped me across the face. It is an unspoken rule in my family to never discuss my mother. When I was younger I was convinced that she was a felon because she was never reminisced or discussed. If I have even ever seen a photograph of her, I was unaware of who the image contained.

I was limping in front of him, and I stopped in my tracks. Louis didn’t notice I stopped and ran right into me. “Why did you stop walking Bailey?” Louis asked as he walked around me with his head down. “Louis please stop walking past me. You don’t know where the room is. Even if you have watched me.” I was still trying to stand in the same spot. “Bailey please don’t do this. I can’t do this.” he turned around with tears in his eyes. “Louis please don’t cry. I can’t deal with people crying. You of all people should know that by now.” I could feel the tears rolling down my face. “Bailey why are you crying? It’s not helping this situation.” he was walking back towards me. “Louis I stopped walking because I was scared.” I looked up as he got to me. “Why are you scared? I already told you I wasn’t going to hurt you. And I already told you that I didn’t want to hurt you in the first place.” he was looking down at me with a smirk on his face. “Louis, I still don’t know you. What am I supposed to think?” the tears kept streaming down my face as I looked down at the floor while I

“Why don’t you two get some rest?” He says, “I’ll keep watch for a while.”

“It is nice to meet you as well,” she politely responded. I don’t know how, but afterwords small talk persuaded between the two of us. Well, small talk that 15 year olds can have. The two of us were so engaged in learning about each other and becoming friends that we walked right past the place that Patria had to go. We retraced our steps and said a brief goodbye. I stood there for a small moment, accidentally overhearing Patria getting scolded for talking to a boy. I didn’t see the problem, I was dedicated as dedicated to Him as she was.

“Is this how you're going to be for the rest of the night?” asks John.

“I’m fine, but there is something I and your father need to tell you,” my mom said, looking at my dad and then looking at me. She put her hand on her stomach. I could spot that face from a middle of a crowd. It was the face they gave me when they had something that is good for them and maybe for me. I gave a look on my face saying that i understood if they wanted to tell me something. My dad put his arm over my mom and said,

Grandmother eyes were opened wide. “Claire, I’m only going to tell you my opinion on your father because your

“You know that I do not permit back talk in this house,” she continued, eyeing her sharply. “You have a dreadful penchant for it, but I suppose that was your late mother’s inheritance. Still, such things cannot be abided. I am the authority in this house, are we clear?”

“We’re almost there.” my mother replies with an even tone, but I can tell that she’s annoyed by the way she’s wrinkling her brows. Hmmm…. What can I do for entertainment… Then I look over at my sister Emma,

Jordyn rested her forehead in her hands. Her twin was going to keep prodding her for information. “Yes, I have a lunch date with the mystery man.”

“No need” he grinned, “We will be right back in there as soon as we finish eating.”