Running Scared

[Ell]

She runs as fast as she can. Afraid to look back. Maybe they're gaining on her. Can’t stop yet. One more block and around the corner.

Only when she starts wheezing does she dare slow down. Stumbling, turning, running backwards now, she takes a look back from where she's come. Eyes straining. Are they still following? No one there. Finally safe.

Heart still pumping hard, breath coming in great pants, she leans over, hands on knees trying to quiet the wheezy, coughy feeling in her chest. Hot, dusty, and sweaty, her undershirt and blouse clinging to chest and back, hair plastered in a greasy mat on her forehead. Slowly, her breathing eases and she feels a cold clamminess take over. She'll have to change as soon as she gets home.

Why is this happening? It must be her fault. Once this week, twice last week. Why?

She'd been walking to school by herself for about a month. The previous year, she'd walked to school with her older cousin. This year, her cousin was attending a different school. But that was okay because at the age of seven, she felt grown up and perfectly capable of walking the six blocks on her own.

It started a few weeks ago. A group of two or three boys started calling out to her. “Hey, you. Yeah, you! Hey chink. What're you doing here?” At first, she just ignored them. Stupid boys, she told herself. But she was afraid, too. They were older. Maybe 11 or 12 years old. “If I ignore them, they’ll stop. Sure, they’ll get bored or tired or something and just go away.”

But they were there again the next day. Now, it was “Chinky, chinky, chinaman, chinky, chinky, chinaman. Hey, chink, why don’t you get outta here.” She walked faster, daring not to look at them. Then one of them picked up a small rock and threw it at her feet. Startled, she jumped and let out an involuntary yelp, not unlike a frightened pup. She started to run. The other boys took this as a sign to join in the fun. In no time they were picking up stones as fast as they could and throwing them at her from across the street. Funny, they never crossed the street, but continued their heckling and stone throwing from the other side. They could easily have crossed in a few strides. Maybe that extra distance made it seem okay to them. She was just some anonymous, stupid chink from that distance. Not a frightened, young child.

Today, more of the same. So humiliating. So shameful. She lets herself in the backdoor. "How was your day?" "Fine." Quickly to her bedroom, she closes the door and resolves to take a different route home tomorrow.

 

[Martin]

Powerful stuff, I really liked it. You really conveyed her feelings, at first naive and lateron apprehensive.

I especially liked the ending where she tells her mom (?) that she's 'fine' - that is so recognisable and so true!

Kudos - very well done in such a short space.

Cheers

 

[Ell]

Thanks, Martin. It's probably the most personal piece I've shared in a public forum.

ell

 

[Martin]

Hmm, reading it and looking at your avatar, I must ask - are you Asian yourself?

Cheers

 

[Wabbit]

Thanks for sharing that. As Martin said, powerful stuff

I wonder, is it part of a larger work?

 

[Martin]

Oh, good question.

Cheers

 

[Ell]

Hmm, reading it and looking at your avatar, I must ask - are you Asian yourself?

Yes.

I wonder, is it part of a larger work?

Perhaps. I've kept a a journal with anecdotal stories/memories over the years. It's mostly for my own benefit, but I've been letting bits and pieces out every so often. Most are in no shape to share - just idle ramblings really. One day I may get up enough nerve to put things together as a cohesive whole.

I find it much easier to write rants and opinion pieces.

 

[Martin]

I would never have guessed (especially from your name and current location). It's funny how people will always manage to surprise you.

I hope our positive (though, in my case, amateuristic) comments will help you in getting up enough nerve - I'd love to read more.

Cheers

 

[Crystal]

Mathilda: Is life always this hard, or is it just when you're a kid?

Léon: Always like this. ...

That was what first came to me after reading your writing here.

My best wishes for you, Dear Ms. Ell

Sincerely,
Water-Crystal

 

[Ell]

Thank-you, lovely WaterCrystal.

 

[direstraits]

Excellent work, Ell... I really liked it! I've always liked writing with the Asian angle on it, and in this case it worked out brilliantly (for me, at least).

ds

 

[StillILearn]

Startled, she jumped and let out an involuntary yelp, not unlike a frightened pup.

I particularly loved this line, Ell. And I love it that you were and are able to express the little girl's loneliness and humiliation.

I'm not qualified to critique your work, but I can say that I found it to be both powerful and moving.

So here goes -- I'm commenting here on all three of the posts you made. I'm taking them as a whole:

First, there is loss. And regret.

The father has died, and what is more, all opportunity of asking him about the mother is now gone. There is no record left anywhere of who or what the mother was. Delicacy (or timidity) had prevented the daughter from pushing her father for information. She didn't take or make the opportunity to salvage some fragment or memory to hold onto. And now her father's funeral sees her facing her own mortality.

But, the daughter is left with a sense that something of her mother's spirit survives in her. And she has been left with another gift. She has been given the ability and the desire to record her thoughts, emotions and experiences for her own children to pass on to their children.

So the mother has not been lost after all. The daughter has preserved the essence of her mother -- in herself -- for future generations.

 

[sirmyk]

When reading this, I felt like I was running myself. Short sentences. Like quick breaths. Great stuff... here, Ell.

 

[leckert]

Nice, Ell! I really like the mood you set here. The fragmented, paniced opening really put me there.

She runs as fast as she can.

they were picking up stones as fast as they could

I think these two could be more descriptive. "As fast as she can" doesn't really tell me anything, and doesn't draw me in.

breath coming in great pants,

I also get a distracting image here of a pair of pants spewing from her mouth. "wheeze... Hey, great pants!" Maybe a less cliche metaphor would be less distracting and more descriptive?

I think it is awesome that you have shared this obviously intimate writing with us. I think it could be part of a very interesting story!

Thanks!

 

[Ell]

Thank you all for the comments. They're much appreciated. It's almost a year since I wrote this, so it's interesting to see how I feel about it now. Time for a revisit and revisions.

leckert, wheezing 'great pants', huh?

And Still, you got me. I'm glad I conveyed what I wanted to you.

ell

 

[StillILearn]

It'll be interesting to see if your writing loses any of its immediacy in the rewrite, Ell. Will you put it up here and let us see?

Completely off subject, but I'm thinking here of Martin Amis saying that he wanted never to write a line that anybody else could have written. Thats a pretty huge aspiration -- overwhelmingly huge if you ask me. I could never hope to attain those heights, but I certainly am glad that he does!

Sorry -- I digressed.