One, Two, Eleven and Back to Five
My parents used to say that I was a big girl now and could clean up my room by myself. Yet, when we went to the restaurant, I was too little to sit without a booster seat. I never could figure out why I was too big for somethings and that same day be too little for others. With this story, twenty years later, I think I figured it out. If you are eleven years old, how can you be ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two or even one? Pondering that statement, I seen myself when I was eleven in a classroom full of kids. Sandra Cisneros' "Eleven", she states, "When you are eleven, you're also ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, and one." What helped me figure out the meaning to this quote was the comparisons that she used to describe it, "The way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside each other, each year inside the next one." This quote made me think, what exactly I was feeling into a simple sentence. Little Rachael seems confused on how old she should be after a confrontation with her teacher. She insists that there is a part of us that is still one, two, three, four and so on. As I was reading, I felt a
The next school year I was then twelve. I started speaking aloud, my finger pressed hard against the book, following all the words carefully. "The red sweater's still sitting there like a big red mountain," and "it's hanging over the edge like a waterfall. To the end I read, and finally it was over. I couldn't concentrate on the passage. Feeling like a million minutes had gone by, she finally approached me. Even though I had no more problems reading in class or girls picking on me, I still remember it. My heart sank and little butterflies were fluttering, fluttering around. It was just about my turn to read a passage in the history book aloud, my whole body felt different. I became good friends with Jill, the girl with the blonde locks that I can still see swaying from side to side as she skipped away from me last year. I was terrified each and every time. She grabbed my purple folder out of my hands, and she flung it across the hall. Scared that I was going to mess up, read the wrong paragraph or not read fast enough. As she skipped she sang, "Stacy and Steve, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g," over and over until I could no longer see her. I was walking down the beige corridor, but the girl who teased me with constant tormenting attacks, was walking in my direction.
Common topics in this essay:
Stacy Steve,
Little Rachael,
Finally Bell,
Cisneros' Eleven,
,
ten nine eight,
eight seven six,
seven six five,
eight seven,
nine eight seven,
six five,
seven six,
nine eight,
blonde locks,
ten nine,
paragraph read,
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Acceptance Essays
