Maybe Later Essay -- Personal Narrative Creative Writing Essays

Maybe Later She’s sitting there, a blown-out shell as hulking and vacant and lifeless as the enchanted castles of my beloved fairy-tale stories. The television cries for attention, but her eyes refuse to acknowledge even its blatant wail. Behind tinted glass—is that smudged dirt or a protective coating?—eyes finally flutter open, the first sign of life. Are they blank? Do they beg for help or scream of past and present pain? I can’t say—I haven’t the courage to look. The world rotates around its axis three times an hour and I run with it. â€Å"Soccer cleats, water bottle, there you go.† â€Å"Fine—I’ll be there in an hour.† â€Å"Okay, groceries, post office, soccer practice . . . hmm . . . what do you want for dinner?† Family members dance around the kitchen in the ultimate test of agility to avoid tromping on another’s toes. â€Å"There’s nothing to eat!† â€Å"Love you—bye!† â€Å"Come back here! Pick that up right now!† A slap of the cupboard door, dashed kisses, and a sprint for keys—trip! crash! yell! A mad cacophony—entirely normal, unsettling, and dear. Grandma sits there. She has not moved. The eye of the storm? Or merely forgotten by time? Dad and I walk away from it all sometimes, releasing frustration in fruitless lament. Sometimes we laugh bitterly. Sometimes his words are a painful reminder of a happier and more carefree time. â€Å"I just had to get out of the house. Usually I can take it—but tonight!† His stride slows in failure. â€Å"I never wanted you to realize how different she is. I tried—I hoped you’d never recognize her illness. And pretending used to work. I’m—I’m sorry you have to see it now. She used to love to visit, you know, and you loved her back.† I strain to remember lost time and attitude... ...te and poofy dress waving a crystalline magic wand and saying the magic words as I am instantaneously granted love and patience and relief from guilt and dread. But there is no magic wand or sudden connection of love and understanding. There is no resolution of perfect peace. I stare at these words and am instead startled, not by supreme happiness or tranquility, but by a resilient hope. The world does not end with this page. I will push print and the world will go on, and I will continue to create my world. â€Å"Happily ever after† is unnecessary. Instead, maybe I will sit down next to her and simply speak. Tonight maybe I will kiss her cheek as she goes up to bed. Maybe I will hold her hand as she struggles up the stairs or joke with her, whether she understands or not. This is no end, and there doesn’t yet need to be—I’m still trying. to Current Contest Winners