As I was making my way up the stairs to Vic’s room I kept thinking on how I would find her, perhaps with her make up running down her cheeks after so many tears, or her hair all messed up into little tornadoes after spending the day in bed, or maybe she would just be sleeping. Victoria was such a surprising person that you never quite knew what to expect, not even after five years of friendship did you ever knew her the sufficient amount. Therefore as I came face to face to her pearl white bedroom door, for which she had fought without mercy, I preparerd myself to be the supportive friend who always knew the right things to say.
This was a thing that I never got tired of doing no matter what, after all the years of sharing ice creams, late night phone calls, and break up advices from her part I hadn’t yet figured out how to be the friend I knew she deserved. She never seemed to care if I said the right things, she was always unconditional and as long as she laughed all the bad things could be put on hold. I tried to eavesdrop first, even though I knew it wasn’t right, I wanted to see if she was busy or perhaps some signal that might indicate me how to approach the situation. As I pressed my ear to the doors, I heard the whispers of the night, the silence of the wind it was as if in the other side there was nothing but the endless night and so I decided to take things slow. I took the doorknow with my left hand and pushed the door with the palm of my right hand and tried to open the door with the greatest care as possible in case she had fallen asleep.
The end our road that is life, is death and the second we begin to live, we begin to die. A rendition of death and the loss of a loved one is expressed in two different lights in Dylan Thomas Do not go gentle into that Good Night and Anne Sextons for Eleanor Boylan talking with God. Both express the fear and vulnerability of losing someone you thought should live forever Thomas message is an ...
It was not quite what my insticts were expecting, beyond the door there was nothing but darkness, at least thats what appeared at first because of the contrast of light and dark between the hallways and Victoria’s room. But as my eyes adjusted to the darkness ahead of them I could make out Victoria’s red head and her figure sitting on top of her queen size bed with her laptop sitting on her laps. Suddenly her head came up and if you were fast enough you could see a focus look before a smile was formed. And there she was sitting crossed leg in the left side of her bed, which was her favorite part and you could notice this because that spot was lower than the rest of the bed as if someone had been sitting there for years. Her laptop lighting giving her all the light possible to make her the only visible figure in the room. Her sheets were scrambled as if a hurricane had just passed by, her curtains were all closed and everything seemed to be ready for a good ngiht sleep except the tiny pixie-like person in the room. She looked as if she had landed there by mistake but had realized this was the place she belonged to and had been waiting for her entire life. Her hair was tied up into an onion-like form but somehow disformed because of her strange uneven hair cut causing some hairs to fall from the to the tail. Instead, they fall into her shoulders touching the tips of her light green tank top, which run down enought to avoid showing any skin above her hips where her dark blue ripped jeans began.
Since we had met Victoria had always been the simple kind of girl despite all the luxuries she received at home. Her father, Dr. Winslet, had moved here from New Yersey after Vic’s mother had died in a terrible accident. Those were very hard times for Victoria but she managed to get pass through them and even though I know sometimes she feels the loss of her mother greatly and worst of all is the fact that that is the only pain or soft spot of her that she would never let anyone get close to. Her mother and daughter relationship had been like watching two best friends hanging out. They would go shopping together, watch the same shows, and even have the uncomfortable boy talk that many mothers avoid. But when the accident happen she became a train wreck in silence, at school she would appear silence and rejecting everyone’s pity by saying she was fine/ It was a time of denial. As the time passed she learned to hide that pain better and now is only visible to her and not always when she wants to. It has become the secret hidden treasure that everyone forgets but know that is there in myth but sometimes gets forgotten.
According to a popular saying,schooldays are the happiest days of your life. Is there any truth in this? Answers to this question are bound to vary greatly from person to person. A person’s answer will depend on how happy the person’s schooldays actually were and on how happy the rest of his or her life has been since. To give a really true answer to this question you have to be fairly close to ...
Now it has been three years since this tragedy and she lives with Dr. Winslet in a two story house. he has tried to give her all the materials needed for her to make a living and his unconditional love, but the life of a doctor can be sometimes complicated. At the beginning I wondered why only two peole lived in such a big house but with time I learned, and so did Vic, that sometimes the house might had to be shared with a new girlfriend. But we also learned that no matter what would happen Victoria would always be the only valuable woman in her father’s life.
Her voice suddenly brought me back from my train of thoughts and all I could do was pay attention to my best friend.
“Hey! Come in, come in, whata re you doing here?” She asked in her surprising voice.
“I just thought I’de come and see how u were doing after the break up”
“Oh, I’m doing fine, nothing to worry about.” It was tipical of her to always use the bravery call of arms. I was about to discuss this with her but decided not to.
“Well are you going to stay standing there in my door or are you going to ocme in and sit?”
Just then I realized I was still holding the doorknob and standing agaisnt the door, I then turned and went towards my favorite seat on her room. Although that was a little difficult since there were a million places in which you could seat. Her bedroom was a big rectangular with a wall that was full of windows and a double doors balcony exit. Her bed was at the left of the room and in the right there was her bookshelf and a little couch she had bought in a second hand store because she had fallen in love with, or so, she had said. There was a big standing lamp next to couch for her reading time and infront of the couch was her desk, for which she harldy used since she preferred to do her assignments in her bed or downstairs in the kitchen bar. In front of her bed was her little make up table and her television. Her room was a perfect portrait of her personality, her walls were a royal red with curtains that enjoyed a mix of pearl and brown. Her furniture was a combination of antiques with modern european,
Everything (he kept saying) is something it isn't. And everybody is always somewhere else. Maybe it was the city, being in the city, that made him feel how queer everything was and that it was something else. Maybe (he kept thinking) it was the names of the things. The names were tex and frequently kid. Or they were flex and old or they were duro id (sand) or flex san (duro), but everything was ...