There was a comment made in our first class that creative non-fiction is an expensive art form. For me, the interest in creative non-fiction comes from those moments in my life that have generated a lot of, mostly painful, emotion. Pouring yourself out on paper (or, the screen) can be a frightening process Some of the things Im writing about occurred long enough ago that the pangs have dulled, but some are still very fresh. Still others Im feeling my way through in real time right now.
At any rate, here is my essay for week 1. The prompt was to write an essay that ends with ".. and nothing was ever the same again." either literally or inferred.
I had always wanted a cuckoo clock. My parents had one in our living room that
they bought on a trip to Germany. I was
fascinated with the way the pine cone shaped counter weights slowly inched
their way toward the floor as time ticked on. The wooden characters dancing
happily on the hour, unaware that their jolly swirling would abruptly cease
when the counter weights ran out.
We had just hung up our very own cuckoo clock, purchased a
few weeks prior on our belated honeymoon in Germany. It ticked away pleasantly
as we headed out on our way to the Gorge for apple picking.
It was one of those idillic fall days; blue skies, slight
breeze, fantastic scenery. Were the air
a little more crisp it would have been just like fall in Pennsylvania, where as
a kid I had climbed the apple trees in my grandfather's orchard, daydreaming
about the day I would marry my soulmate.
We would live happily ever after, just like my parents did. Of course it
wouldn't be easy, there would be compromise and hurt feelings along the way.
Being 5 years into our relationship, Charles and I had a pretty decent handle
on these things. I was proud and excited. Charles was the first long term
relationship Id ever had. I was relieved when we got married; after 7 years of
being single I had wondered if I would ever be a bride.
We headed into the
orchard with a radio flyer wagon. Fall! Apples! I was excitedly calculating how
many apples we would need to make several quarts of applesauce. And pies! Charles
lifted me onto his shoulders to pick apples higher up the tree. As I looked out
over the orchard, queen of all I surveyed, I thought to myself “wow, I am so
lucky to have such a fantastic man in my life”
We giggled as I slid off his shoulders, he offered his cheek as I leaned
in to kiss him.
Not being the best at expressing my feelings, I sat in the
car on the way home trying to figure out how to tell Charles how totally
overwhelmed with happiness I felt. As I
lamely uttered something like “Youre a really wonderful husband” he smiled
painfully. After an awkward exchange
over dinner I knew something was really wrong. I confronted him about it when
we returned home.
“Youre not going to let this go, are you?” he said
“No,” I replied “Something is bothering you.”
Frightened and concerned,
I continued to press him. He sighed. After a few long moments he blurted
out,
“Its gone. I dont know
what happened. My feelings for you.... they're just... gone.”
If our cuckoo clock was still ticking I couldn't hear
it. My heart, like the counterweights,
had sunk to the floor as we both sobbed on the couch.
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