memoir paper
Jennifer M. Stone
Justin Mundhenk
English 1101
September 15, 2014
My Independence Day
“If I don’t get up now, he is going to kill me,” Keeps playing over and over in my head. As I lean against the 1940’s solid oak door that my boyfriend of nine years had just thrown me into- I have to focus, so that I do not lose consciousness, I hear my three year old Benjamin Lee saying, “Momma wake up! Why are you sleeping?” I realize that I must have passed out. He rubs my cheek with his hand. I can smell the blueberry pop tart that he has just eaten. I open my eyes and try to focus. The events of the last hour come rushing back into my head that is now bleeding. My boyfriend just chucked me across the room like a used piece of aluminum foil because I did not get to do all of the laundry that day. He wanted his favorite button down shirt and jeans.
“What’s her name?” I say to him in disbelief as he smokes his badly rolled homegrown cigarette. As I looked up at him I could see the fresh scratch marks across his shoulders. I want to get upset about it- but it has happened so many times before. I reach over to try and comfort my son in his red “feetie” pajamas. I put my hand through his brown curly hair. I can smell the green apple shampoo that I washed his hair with the night before. It was at this very moment that I decided to leave him for good,
I realize then that my head is still bleeding. I reach my hand up to touch it and can smell the blood itself. It smells like an old penny. When I drop my hand down to wipe the blood on my jeans, my son starts to scream bloody murder.
I try to stand up, but cannot. I realize that he is blocking the doorway.
In a menacing manner he yells, “I dare you to leave me!!”
At that moment, there is a loud rapping at the front door. I hope and pray that it is a police officer or a sheriff. But, what I see when I open my front door is just as good. It is my 50 year old next door neighbor Maggie with
Justin Mundhenk
English 1101
September 15, 2014
My Independence Day
“If I don’t get up now, he is going to kill me,” Keeps playing over and over in my head. As I lean against the 1940’s solid oak door that my boyfriend of nine years had just thrown me into- I have to focus, so that I do not lose consciousness, I hear my three year old Benjamin Lee saying, “Momma wake up! Why are you sleeping?” I realize that I must have passed out. He rubs my cheek with his hand. I can smell the blueberry pop tart that he has just eaten. I open my eyes and try to focus. The events of the last hour come rushing back into my head that is now bleeding. My boyfriend just chucked me across the room like a used piece of aluminum foil because I did not get to do all of the laundry that day. He wanted his favorite button down shirt and jeans.
“What’s her name?” I say to him in disbelief as he smokes his badly rolled homegrown cigarette. As I looked up at him I could see the fresh scratch marks across his shoulders. I want to get upset about it- but it has happened so many times before. I reach over to try and comfort my son in his red “feetie” pajamas. I put my hand through his brown curly hair. I can smell the green apple shampoo that I washed his hair with the night before. It was at this very moment that I decided to leave him for good,
I realize then that my head is still bleeding. I reach my hand up to touch it and can smell the blood itself. It smells like an old penny. When I drop my hand down to wipe the blood on my jeans, my son starts to scream bloody murder.
I try to stand up, but cannot. I realize that he is blocking the doorway.
In a menacing manner he yells, “I dare you to leave me!!”
At that moment, there is a loud rapping at the front door. I hope and pray that it is a police officer or a sheriff. But, what I see when I open my front door is just as good. It is my 50 year old next door neighbor Maggie with