Friday, February 20, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
even MORE creative non-fiction :)
For the Love of Dresses
‘Yeah… I’m a size four’ I thought. I leaned forward with my arms crossed, just as the sales assistant had instructed. I tried to remain silent and relaxed. But I could feel her tugging on the ribbons and with every cinch I felt as though the world was imploding around me. Was I going to be able to breathe after this?
“So when’s the big day?” she inquired politely.
“Well I’m not officially engaged,” I said.
“Oh… well how long have you been dating?”
“Not very long,” I couldn’t lie.
“Don’t jinx it!” my mother quipped. “It’s better not to talk about it because we’re not sure when he’s going to ask yet.” Nice save.
She made one final tug and then delicately tied the bow at the bottom. I stepped out of my room and onto the little platform covered in tacky red carpet. The mirrors seemed to be playing tricks on me. I knew I stood there a poor university student but somehow they reflected a princess. I turned to the side to get a glimpse of the back. Every bead seemed perfectly placed, the lace so refined. Turning back I caught a glimpse of my hand in the mirror. The empty space on my finger was just a reminder of my deception. At least now it was true that I was in love, just not with any man.
My mother stood in the background chatting with the other mothers. I could see she was enjoying this; perhaps a little too much. I let out a sigh as I stepped down from the platform. I grabbed my mother’s arm and pulled her into the dressing room where she proceeded to unlace the ribbon that was mercilessly holding me captive.
“Don’t worry mom,” I said, “someday we’ll get to do this for real. But for now my love affair will have to be with a dress.”
I looked at the dress on the wall one last time. It hung so lifeless and with out form. I wished I could take it with me. But unfortunately my deceit could not justify the eight hundred and eighty-eight dollars. So we left the store and tried not to look back.
‘Yeah… I’m a size four’ I thought. I leaned forward with my arms crossed, just as the sales assistant had instructed. I tried to remain silent and relaxed. But I could feel her tugging on the ribbons and with every cinch I felt as though the world was imploding around me. Was I going to be able to breathe after this?
“So when’s the big day?” she inquired politely.
“Well I’m not officially engaged,” I said.
“Oh… well how long have you been dating?”
“Not very long,” I couldn’t lie.
“Don’t jinx it!” my mother quipped. “It’s better not to talk about it because we’re not sure when he’s going to ask yet.” Nice save.
She made one final tug and then delicately tied the bow at the bottom. I stepped out of my room and onto the little platform covered in tacky red carpet. The mirrors seemed to be playing tricks on me. I knew I stood there a poor university student but somehow they reflected a princess. I turned to the side to get a glimpse of the back. Every bead seemed perfectly placed, the lace so refined. Turning back I caught a glimpse of my hand in the mirror. The empty space on my finger was just a reminder of my deception. At least now it was true that I was in love, just not with any man.
My mother stood in the background chatting with the other mothers. I could see she was enjoying this; perhaps a little too much. I let out a sigh as I stepped down from the platform. I grabbed my mother’s arm and pulled her into the dressing room where she proceeded to unlace the ribbon that was mercilessly holding me captive.
“Don’t worry mom,” I said, “someday we’ll get to do this for real. But for now my love affair will have to be with a dress.”
I looked at the dress on the wall one last time. It hung so lifeless and with out form. I wished I could take it with me. But unfortunately my deceit could not justify the eight hundred and eighty-eight dollars. So we left the store and tried not to look back.
more creative non-fiction
Names have been changed….
A Day in Prague
While they were climbing the steep hill that led to St. Vitus’ cathedral in Prague, Elder Beck began to seriously regret the decision to bring his bag.
“I’m sorry you guys,” he mumbled, “I know President Russell told us not to bring bags. I can’t believe I left it there!” The worst he could imagine was that someone had stolen it.
As they approached the cathedral and nearby Prague castle they noticed an unusually large crowd. “Huh, that’s funny,” Elder Beck said, “there weren’t this many people here before.”
They all seemed to be congregating around something. A deep sinking feeling rushed into his heart. “oh no…”
They ran in for a closer look. The crowd was standing in a large circle and everyone looked on in the same direction. Elder Beck immediately recognized the object of their attention.
He knew what he had to do. He slowly approached one of the Prague royal guards.
He cleared his throat, “um excuse me…”
“We cannot talk to you right now, there is a bomb threat. Can’t you see that!”
“Yes… well… that is my bag…”
“What!! You come with us!”
The guards grabbed a hold of him and hurriedly dragged him to the interrogation room not far from the cathedral. The room was suffocatingly small and Elder Beck could barely see past the bright light that was dangling back and forth over his head.
“Who are you?” They shouted.
“I… I’m American, I’m serving as a missionary in Russia and I’m here to renew my visa. I just left my bag here on accident I swear!”
“If you are American show us your passport!”
“I don’t have my passport.”
“What do you mean you don’t have your passport? Where is it?”
“I don’t know….”
The guard slammed his fist on the table and leaned in closer, attempting to garner some new information from Elder Beck’s eyes. “You don’t know?? How do you not know where your passport is?”
“Well, we all gave our passports to some lady in the airport… we are supposed to meet her at six o’clock tonight to get them back… but I don’t know who she is or how to get a hold of her. ”
Unfortunately for Elder Beck this all sounded very suspicious. However, after another series of interrogating questions the police finally realized he was just a dumb kid who had forgotten his bag and let him go. As the police escorted Elder Beck back outside, he mumbled shamefully, “So… am I going to get my bag back?”
The guards said, “oh yes… you’ll get your bag back.”
Meanwhile, back at the cathedral the crowd was continuing to grow. They watched the mysterious bag with eyes wide open, anticipating a grand explosion or an exciting arrest.
With a push from the guards Elder Beck began the long lonely journey to the center of the crowd. Somehow the hundreds of tourists who had gathered managed to remain deadly silent. Elder Beck had only the laughter of his fellow missionaries to comfort him as every eye focused on the seemingly ignorant American. He hung his head and watched the ground, counting the cobble stones as he went along.
A Day in Prague
While they were climbing the steep hill that led to St. Vitus’ cathedral in Prague, Elder Beck began to seriously regret the decision to bring his bag.
“I’m sorry you guys,” he mumbled, “I know President Russell told us not to bring bags. I can’t believe I left it there!” The worst he could imagine was that someone had stolen it.
As they approached the cathedral and nearby Prague castle they noticed an unusually large crowd. “Huh, that’s funny,” Elder Beck said, “there weren’t this many people here before.”
They all seemed to be congregating around something. A deep sinking feeling rushed into his heart. “oh no…”
They ran in for a closer look. The crowd was standing in a large circle and everyone looked on in the same direction. Elder Beck immediately recognized the object of their attention.
He knew what he had to do. He slowly approached one of the Prague royal guards.
He cleared his throat, “um excuse me…”
“We cannot talk to you right now, there is a bomb threat. Can’t you see that!”
“Yes… well… that is my bag…”
“What!! You come with us!”
The guards grabbed a hold of him and hurriedly dragged him to the interrogation room not far from the cathedral. The room was suffocatingly small and Elder Beck could barely see past the bright light that was dangling back and forth over his head.
“Who are you?” They shouted.
“I… I’m American, I’m serving as a missionary in Russia and I’m here to renew my visa. I just left my bag here on accident I swear!”
“If you are American show us your passport!”
“I don’t have my passport.”
“What do you mean you don’t have your passport? Where is it?”
“I don’t know….”
The guard slammed his fist on the table and leaned in closer, attempting to garner some new information from Elder Beck’s eyes. “You don’t know?? How do you not know where your passport is?”
“Well, we all gave our passports to some lady in the airport… we are supposed to meet her at six o’clock tonight to get them back… but I don’t know who she is or how to get a hold of her. ”
Unfortunately for Elder Beck this all sounded very suspicious. However, after another series of interrogating questions the police finally realized he was just a dumb kid who had forgotten his bag and let him go. As the police escorted Elder Beck back outside, he mumbled shamefully, “So… am I going to get my bag back?”
The guards said, “oh yes… you’ll get your bag back.”
Meanwhile, back at the cathedral the crowd was continuing to grow. They watched the mysterious bag with eyes wide open, anticipating a grand explosion or an exciting arrest.
With a push from the guards Elder Beck began the long lonely journey to the center of the crowd. Somehow the hundreds of tourists who had gathered managed to remain deadly silent. Elder Beck had only the laughter of his fellow missionaries to comfort him as every eye focused on the seemingly ignorant American. He hung his head and watched the ground, counting the cobble stones as he went along.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
creative non-fiction
“The branch president wants you to bear your testimony.”
“Today??”
“Yes he will call you up once the meeting starts.”
“But… I don’t speak Russian. I can’t…”
“Look, you’re a missionary, you are supposed to testify, what did you do for three months in the MTC?”
“I don’t remember…”
I was terrified. There was no way I could get up in front of a congregation of Russians on my first Sunday in Russia and bear my testimony. What was the branch president thinking? They probably figured they’d get a good laugh out of it.
I struggled to pay attention to the announcements, catching snippets of words I knew. When all of a sudden I heard the most familiar and dreaded of them all, my name, “Cestra Pyerkinz.” It was my signal to go up to the front… that along with the hundreds of eyes suddenly staring at me.
I stood at the podium. My shaking arms were sending vibrations into the old wood and rattling the microphone causing an uncomfortable clicking noise. I let go of the podium. Everyone was looking at me. I knew they were just waiting for the American girl to mess up, to say something funny like new missionaries always do. I took a deep breath. I began to speak, honestly not even knowing what was coming out of my mouth. Surely every word was incomprehensible, muddled and confusing. I could feel the tears coming. It was certainly not because I felt the spirit, although I was prone to let them believe that. I was mortified, embarrassed, and the stress of moving across the world was finally coming to the surface. I had to sit down. I quickly ended my speech and ran back to the seat next to my companion. I was ready to burst into sobs. I could have called the mission president right then and there. “Send me home now!” I would have said. “I can’t do this! I can’t learn Russian!”
But just as I was loosing all hope, I looked up with tears welling in my eyes. I saw the branch president. He looked back at me. It wasn’t much to be sure, but he smiled at me and he held up his thumb. I saw the word “molodyets” (“Good job”) move silently across his lips.
I smiled back and almost magically the tears subsided. I pulled my notebook out of my bag so that during the meeting I could write down all the words I didn’t know. After all, if I was going to be in Russia for fifteen more months I better start learning the language.
“Today??”
“Yes he will call you up once the meeting starts.”
“But… I don’t speak Russian. I can’t…”
“Look, you’re a missionary, you are supposed to testify, what did you do for three months in the MTC?”
“I don’t remember…”
I was terrified. There was no way I could get up in front of a congregation of Russians on my first Sunday in Russia and bear my testimony. What was the branch president thinking? They probably figured they’d get a good laugh out of it.
I struggled to pay attention to the announcements, catching snippets of words I knew. When all of a sudden I heard the most familiar and dreaded of them all, my name, “Cestra Pyerkinz.” It was my signal to go up to the front… that along with the hundreds of eyes suddenly staring at me.
I stood at the podium. My shaking arms were sending vibrations into the old wood and rattling the microphone causing an uncomfortable clicking noise. I let go of the podium. Everyone was looking at me. I knew they were just waiting for the American girl to mess up, to say something funny like new missionaries always do. I took a deep breath. I began to speak, honestly not even knowing what was coming out of my mouth. Surely every word was incomprehensible, muddled and confusing. I could feel the tears coming. It was certainly not because I felt the spirit, although I was prone to let them believe that. I was mortified, embarrassed, and the stress of moving across the world was finally coming to the surface. I had to sit down. I quickly ended my speech and ran back to the seat next to my companion. I was ready to burst into sobs. I could have called the mission president right then and there. “Send me home now!” I would have said. “I can’t do this! I can’t learn Russian!”
But just as I was loosing all hope, I looked up with tears welling in my eyes. I saw the branch president. He looked back at me. It wasn’t much to be sure, but he smiled at me and he held up his thumb. I saw the word “molodyets” (“Good job”) move silently across his lips.
I smiled back and almost magically the tears subsided. I pulled my notebook out of my bag so that during the meeting I could write down all the words I didn’t know. After all, if I was going to be in Russia for fifteen more months I better start learning the language.
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