Eighteen-year-old Jenny awoke early one August morning and climbed out of bed before
her big blue eyes were quite open. The hard wooden floors felt icy under her bare feet. Rushing
to her window pushing back the pink cotton curtains and lifting the aging wooden pane, she
inhaled the aroma of lilacs from the blooming tree below. She saw a small patch of dark clouds
threatening to block out the morning sun on the horizon. There was frost on the ground covering
her mother's flower bed. "No," she thought to herself, "nothing is going to ruin this day."
She turned and worked her toes into velvety slippers then headed towards the bathroom.
After filling the bathtub nearly full with warm water and bubbles, she slid in. With a thin,
outstretched arm she switched on the stereo sitting on the vanity nearby.
Her anxiety-ridden mother was downstairs preparing a large breakfast for her family
and other friends and relatives that had come to visit early this morning. Her mind was cluttered
with last minute plans and preparation. She felt her eyes begin to swell up with tears and she
became overwhelmed with sorrow when she noticed her husband hurrying down the stairway
with an armload of luggage, followed by her younger son Matthew carrying a desk chair. Today
her daughter would be moving out into her own apartment in the city to attend a university. She
dreaded this day for years, ever since she discovered how independent and grown-up Jenny had
become throughout her teenage years. She turned away from the scene and faced the sizzling
skillet again. Placing several thick slices of bacon into the pan while shielding her eyes from the
splattering oil, she turned the meat repeatedly and began to weep.
Jenny pulled herself up and out of the antique claw-footed bathtub. She wrapped her
...