Before you review this, know that this was a HIGH SCHOOL PAPER that I wrote with a BOGUS PROMPT.
It had to be short, and realistic...kinda.
I couldn't be all out on this. I had to bore it down a bit.
Two years, five months, three weeks, four days, and sixteen hours. That's the amount of time that I had been in the only serious relationship with any man besides my father. His name was Peter Mann. If his name wasn't interesting enough, his resume made up for it. He's a football star, super scholar, valedictorian, C.E.O. of a from scratch company, and luckily for me at the time, single. My parents always told me that even if you see the situation as an impossible choice in life, God will work overtime to make it fated. It’s probably the only useful information they had ever given me.
As I grew up, I believed it more and more. You see, the odds were always stacked up against me. For one, my parents both lead dangerous lifestyles and lost rights to me when I was in secondary school. Secondly, if not apparently, I was never the prettiest child. Never did I believe I would bloom into a delicate lily, for I was convinced I was going to be a ragweed for the rest of my natural life. Then, at last, one summer while I lived with my grandmother, I grew, swelled, slimmed, stretched and rounded in all the right places. I became a very attractive young woman, which made all the girls at school hold on to their boyfriends. My parents' words rung in my ears and became a steady beat in my eager heart.
My intelligence was next on the roster. As it is hard to believe now, I used to be a very ditzy, naïve child. Due to lack of instruction I could tie one shoe and struggled with the other. My aunt, who I then later lived with through to college, thought the shoes became a problem, and almost considered home school due to utter embarrassment but, finally settled on getting me one Velcro shoe to replace the tricky one. I would also talk to strangers as if I'd known them all my life and forget things as if people hadn't said them at all.
The next semester I wanted to make a change to become a more focused, intellectual, me. It didn't quite happen that way though. Instead my grandfather died a week after school came back into term. My grandfather and I were very close; because our personalities were almost parallel. He forgot a lot of things; I would remember them for him, when he had trouble tying his shoe; I'd help him with his tricky one. We were each others linking piece of the puzzle in this wide world. I had a hard time getting over his loss. Therefore I subconsciously developed a spiffy case of obsessive compulsive disorder. Everything I had, had to be in order. From my locker to my underwear drawer, all things were color coded and alphabetically in place, or sorted from biggest to smallest; even my number two pencils were in numerical order. It took him to leave me for me to realize that I knew all the things everyone else did, I just needed a push to organize it all. With this God given epiphany, I became a first-rate student. Even came in top of my class. But that's not the way Peter and I met.
After graduation, the world seemed more exaggerated than the four walls of my secure, limited high school classrooms. The sizes were terribly incomparable. I moved out of my aunt’s house on a full scholarship in the fall while the monkey of confidence that usually attached itself to my back, stayed at home as I walked out of the only place I was sure of. I knew at once that I would have to use the things I had learned to make it here. I was good at a lot of things, on account of my organizational skills, which made it hard to figure out what to study in college. I could sing and play a variety of instruments. My dad was a gambling musician; I learned everything I knew from him. Though I’d always considered it to be a hobby and not a profession, I cherished the only gift my father could give me. Writing was another one of my strong points. I had some novels published in high school, and was editor of the newspaper staff. I had to admit, being a writer scared me a little because my mother got addicted to stimulants trying to create literary masterpieces. My choices exhausted and with little time on my hands, I had to try something new. I want out on a limb and signed up for a pottery class combined with an art class, and a business class. At that time it was just to fill in the space I had between now and the future.
As time went by, it became second nature to mold the clay, spin the wheel, harden the clay, study the piece, paint the piece, and repeat. I had never in my wildest dreams though that art would become one of my passions. There was no organization in art at all; it was complete fluidity of thoughts and feelings placed in a container. I made my things with parts of me that only faith could explain. I could never describe the full feeling of having my two hands on clay and make it into something within me. It was as if an invisible hand was reaching over my shoulder and helping me. It makes a part of me feel existent.
After my pottery course finished, I packed all my creations in a large cardboard box and I set some up on display in my dorm room for decoration. I soon started my art course, which also seemed to be like me and my grandfather; linked together with me. Sometimes my art friends would come over to compare thoughts about artists or ideas about pieces. They often asked to buy some of the things I had on my shelf. I offered them for free, but they insisted on buying them, and continued to say they were of professional quality. I brushed their comments off and by the time I had finished the course, the majority of my projects were sold off. I was happy to have the pocket change, so I would take the weekends and make more pottery.
My business class came after my art class ended. That's when I met Peter. He first appeared to me like a Greek God. Tall, built, a butternut brown complexion, curly hair, strong jaw line, and a smile to kill. He was a business major, unlike me, who was just taking a beginners course. I learned a lot during the class days and took strong interest in economics and such. One day when class ended, a green paper air plane landed on my desk. I looked in the direction that it came and there was Peter smiling ear to ear and gesturing for me to open the plane. I took the hint and slowly unfolded the plane. "6:30, Park, I'll be there. Will you?" I was now, without my knowledge, smiling like an absolute goofball. Completely flattered, I walked across the room to him and answered him, "I would love to." It was like a fairytale from then on. Never would I have imagined being asked out by such a great guy. Being that I didn't have parents and was always passed around or argued over, I never felt wanted. I trusted my heart on this, and for the first real time in my life, the sign on my heart said, “Open.”
Peter and I hung out all the time, studying, going to movies, walking to classes, celebrating holidays, you name it, and we were there, together, for almost three years.
In the time me and Peter dated, we had always pursued our own dreams as well. I opened up a pottery shop, which quickly turned into a franchise of shops, where all the pottery was created by me. My dreams were coming true completely. Peter opened a football memorabilia shop. It skyrocketed into a major sports corporation in only a year. God made me successful, happy, and together with someone I loved. Seeming as though great things weren't built to last, the next words sounded like a death sentence. "I have to move overseas." I almost lost my balance and took a seat on a nearby stool. "Oh my goodness! How long? Where? When do you leave?" I was regurgitating words too quickly for answers. All the feelings of abandonment came back to me in an instant, and I was scared of where this was going. Peter smiled then answered my questions with a question. "Will you marry me now, and come with me to live?" Taken aback yet again, I burst into hot, salty tears and said the words in my heart loud enough for the world to hear. "And yes I said yes I will Yes."
We had an ivory wedding, with horses, candles, and a canopy, like a dream. I set up an import/export for my business overseas, so I could freely make pottery internationally. Peter and I moved, said our goodbyes to loved ones, and began our new life. The next year, we had a child, months later, we had another. Like an overplayed hit on the radio, we didn't stop having children. That is until I had seven beautiful, intelligent children. I never thought as a child I would have any of the luck, fortune or fate I had throughout my life. Looking back now, I feel foolish for doubting myself, and often find myself thinking, "What if. . ." Then I sit back and remember my parents' words and now the words I speak to my own children, "Even if you see the situation as an impossible choice in life, God will work overtime to make it fated."
