FinaldraftBullockJoia.docx

FinaldraftBullockJoia.docx - Joia Bullock Mark Wasserman LA...

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Joia Bullock Mark Wasserman LA 110 OL7- English Composition: Narrative Storytelling May 20, 2016 The Yellow Room A gust of wind blew around Lena as the train approached, sending a slight chill up her spine. She hadn’t been home in 7 years, not since the accident, not since her father’s sudden death; being home reminded her of that night every time she shut her eyes. Snow started to fall as the corny Christmas tunes played through the speakers near her stop. Lena held her ticket tight in her hand as she looked around wondering if she should just make it run for it. Seven years was a long time, so many things had changed and she wasn’t sure that she was ready to see the empty look in her mother’s eyes that held the silent blame towards her for the death of her father. Lena was almost 25, with nothing to show for it. Most girls her age would have a beau, but she was unable to love a man. No man could come close to the love she had for her father, a love that she was certain she had ruined. After she took her seat, she reached into her satchel and opened the card her mother sent every year around this time. The card always smelled like some sort of Yankee candle and was filled with an invitation to join her family for the holidays. Lena annually declined the invitation of course, but with her best friend out of town this year, she couldn’t fathom the thought of
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spending the holidays alone. No more running, it’s not your fault Lena, YOU CAN DO THIS, she thought to herself as she slipped into a 3 hour slumber awaiting her stop. Lena’s family lived on the outskirts of Manhattan, just 15 minutes from the city. As she stepped out of the train station, she took in the greasy smell of hotdogs from the vendors on each corner and the piercing cold air of New York’s winter. It’s just for the holidays Lena, you can return to Ohio once this is over with. With a look of anguish brushed across her pale face, she whistled for a taxi and decided to face her fears. The tire’s let out a loud screech as the driver came to abrupt stop, almost passing Lena’s childhood home. The house didn’t look quite the same, the landscape was horrible, mainly since that was her father’s hobby. The grass was a faded green color, the paint on the house was chipped and there were these hideous gnomes guarding the front porch. Without notice, Lena’s hands began to quiver and her body grew weak as she rang the doorbell, dreading what was soon to come. The anticipation of the fake smiles and the ‘how’s life?’ conversations made her turn numb, she knew that this was a mistake; the loud thud of footsteps approaching the door signaled that it was too late for her to turn back now.
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