Composition 1

I was supposed to write a narrative essay for Composition 1 about something rebellious I did. Considering my boring life, (>.<) I couldn't think of anything rebellious or interesting enough, so I strung together memories of my blighted childhood (kidding), a hated blue dress (I think it's pretty sweet now), an anecdote from naomi's dad, and a prank I borrowed from a friend.

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Warning! This essay is over a thousand words long. Don't even attempt to read it if you are sleepy.

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Here goes...

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The little girl was 5 years old. She stood on tip toes in the children’s playroom, at the edge of the balcony, and peered down into the mass of people. From there, she picked out the figure of a scrawny little boy from the sea of bowed heads. “Momma,” she said, “I want to join Brother David inside the big church,” her short, chubby finger pointing to the little figure downstairs. For a moment, Momma looked as though she was going to object, then she nodded reluctantly. “I’ll bring you next week. But promise me that you will sit still and not talk.” The little girl nodded solemnly.

A week later, the little girl found herself on the church pew sandwiched in between Momma and Brother David. Dad was up on stage talking. He had been talking for a long, long time. The little girl whispered to Brother David. Momma shot her a look. Then, she squirmed around and made a face at the boy behind. Momma put a warning hand over her knee. For 5 whole minutes, she sat still, with an uncomfortable urge to scream welling up inside of her. Impulsively, she wriggled off the church pew. Momma stood up, grabbed the little girl’s hand and marched her outside. The little girl knew what was coming. Her round eyes welled up with tears as a heartbroken wail burst forth from her lungs. Momma firmly bent the little girl over her knee and gave her bottom a good, hard smack.

I sat upright, smiling like a doll and behaving like a saint, with an uncomfortable urge to scream welling up inside of me. Dad had married yet another couple off today. And, out of courtesy, they invited the preacher, his wife and his kids along to the wedding dinner. It didn’t matter that we had not the fuzziest idea of who they were. All that mattered was that I had been dragged away from my best friend’s birthday party to the fifth boring sit down dinner in the span of two weeks. And the worst part was, I didn’t even dare to suggest otherwise.

Sometime after the Lotus Leaf Fried Rice and a long time before dessert, I excused myself and fled to the bathroom. I glowered at the girl in the gold gilded mirror. She was wearing a sweet baby blue dress with ridiculous polka dots scattered around it. The empire waistline made her look fat. “How could any self respecting 12 year old allow her mother to talk her into wear such a babyish dress?” I stormed as I pulled at the frilly lace around my neck, and rumpled up the skirt with vengeance. Then I saw it. In the corner of the bathroom lay a crumpled dollar bill.

A brilliant idea came to me. I rummaged through the miscellaneous things in my bag and found what I was looking for - a tube of UHU glue. For a whole minute I stood staring at that yellow tube, gathering up the nerve to be naughty. I knew it was now or never, and I decided that today was now. So I swiped the dollar bill. With a racing heart and a trembling hand, I plastered it with glue and stuck it to the floor. At that very moment, I heard footsteps. Feverishly, I hid the glue and pretended to wash my hands.

An old lady entered. Her perfectly styled hair was snow white, and her gold bangles jingled as she strolled in. Almost immediately she spotted the dollar bill. From the corner of my eye, I watched as she bent over to grab it. I wondered vaguely if the glue had dried, then - Rip! I closed my eyes and bit my lip to stop me from laughing out loud as I heard it tear. She cursed. I choked and scuttled out of the bathroom. By the time the old lady stalked out, still cursing like a sailor, I was 20 feet away, composedly admiring the bronze statue of a horse in full flight.

I did not want to go back into the restaurant again. So I found myself heading back to the bathroom. The dollar bill was still there, ripped straight down the middle. I cleaned up the mess as best I could, all the while stifling my gleeful laughter. Goaded on by my own success, I took out a dollar bill from my wallet, and placed it in the corner of the bathroom. Then I grabbed the tube of glue and emptied its contents on the floor around that ill-fated dollar.

I stood back and admired my handiwork. The dollar bill sat inconspicuously in the corner, and the polished floor gleamed innocently. I retreated behind the toilet stall to wait for my next victim. She did not take long in coming. As I waited there, scarcely allowing myself to breathe, I heard a rhythmic “click clack” of high heels as the unknown stranger marched in. The footsteps slowed down. And then, I saw them. Gorgeous turquoise pumps with mean 6 inch heels. “One more step,” I prayed silently. Then very slowly, the unknown stranger lifted her right foot and lowered it right onto the pool of glue. My breath came out in a rush.

Casually, I flushed the toilet and sauntered out, just in time to see the owner of the gorgeous pumps trip over her own feet, lose balance, teeter, and fall. There was a sharp crack as the 6 inch heel snapped and skidded smoothly across the floor, coming to a rest at my feet. Fascinated, I dragged my eyes from the severed heel and stared at the lump of dress and hair on the floor. She laid there, like a limp rag doll, the dollar bill still clutched tightly in her right hand. But best of all was the humongous gap of pale skin between the torn seams on the bodice of the once gorgeous dress. Slowly, she turned her face to me. My jaw dropped. It was the bride.

On the way home, Dad, Momma and Brother David couldn’t stop talking about the bride. There had been a holy silence as she entered the restaurant sobbing and limping on one and a half pairs of shoes. The gaping hole in her dress would be the talk of our town. No doubt, I reflected meditatively, the best day in her life had turned into a nightmare. But as for me, I had never felt better.

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Made it? Congratulations!