Artist: Keep on PushingTracks :
Album name: Time Life Series Rhythm and Blues
The Impressions
Please Can You Read My Story?
It is for English and I'm 15 (if you care!!) It looks long but it's not that hefty ! Please give tips and general feedback, but nothing too harsh! Thank you :D
I sat alone in that hut for roughly an hour just soaking up her presence. It was her sanctuary, her get away, which none of us were allowed to use. It stood just metres away from the house, but it stood alone and disconnected from the rest of the family, built awkwardly upon the sand looking out onto the sea. Only she knew what was in there. She went in there to paint when she needed to let off some steam, and if there was a storm, she would stand inside and simply watch the crashing waves and the destructive winds from the tinted window. She found this very therapeutic. Most of the time she was not in it, and it had a rusty padlock which swung from the latch that my brother had spent many an hour trying to thrust open with tools he had formed from shells and twigs bound with seaweed.
My mother was a very hidden and reserved woman, and since her death, we all felt more grief than most families would have done because we felt frustratingly incomplete - we never got to know her properly. She never let us. There were many things she kept to herself; her happiness was often false just to please her family and community. She seemed especially disconnected from me. I was the alien, the stranger, the imposter. I had the dark features which stuck out like a sore thumb in comparison to my other siblings who had striking fair-hair and pale skin. She was light, and so was he. Therefore just one look at me revealed more about my mother than she would have liked anyone to have known.
Once she had gone, her belongings were gathered together and many went into storage, some were sold. The key, the rusty key which was married to the padlock lived in her doily drawer. I knew this because it was me who had to set up the table, and me who had to pretend I hadn’t seen that ancient key even though I always wanted to just run through the pebbles and unleash her secrets. But I never did.
My personality was just as much of a traitor to her as my looks. As she vanished, so did her rules and ways. I was inside that hut just one week after the funeral. It brought me comfort, as it did her, to be inside. It was her shrine; it settled my mind and provided calm. Shells hung from the ceiling which chimed in the breeze which seeped through the wall’s slats. Boxes piled up to the roof in rows and took up a third of the room. An easel stood next to the window - the window which couldn’t be looked through externally. Pictures of seagulls, colourful parasols and beach scenes were nailed to the wall. It was dark and damp inside, cobwebs glistened in every corner of the room, the air was musky and it took a while for my lungs to adjust to the thickness of the air. One box lay on the floor, with its lid flung open inviting me to take a look inside. I closed my eyes and blew away some of the dust that coated the contents.
Little grains of sand stuck to every item. There was a palm-sized fossil which wound round like a coil and about 7 little shells which were pinkish-metallic in colour. There was one miniature muscle, and a very dry sea anemone shaped like an out-stretched hand with many fingers. A couple of the shells had holes in them with hooks thread through into earrings. I took out my studs and slid them in. A small container at the bottom of the box was stained with some sort of oil, I twisted off the lid, trying not to get my hand greasy, and uncovered a beautiful deep blue gemstone engraved with the letter ‘L’ on it. I carefully sealed it back inside its case and placed it underneath the fragile sea anemone. I pushed the cardboard box to the side with a craving to discover more. There was one box amongst that third of the room which caught my eye. It was made out of wood, rather than card, and it had dark streaks and swerves, as wood does, with those occasional dark brown patches like moles. This box was buried in deep, wedged between others, giving support to the whole structure. I just knew I wanted that one; it alarmed my conscience like gun. I stood in silence just listening to the gentle rolling of the waves drawing in and pulling out in a soothing and regular pattern, almost programmed to perfection.
I peered through the window and looked up at the moon which had replaced the sun I had seen the last time I had looked. The evening was peaceful, and crickets sung in harmony inside the palm trees. A cloud floated across the moon and pulled up on the other side. The water shimmered in the moonlight, and glowed in the dark. I took three boxes off the leaning tower, and put them beside me on the floor, then another one, and stepped over to get to the one I sought. It had about five boxes on top and five below. I cautiously took the top five off, one by one, and snatched my wooden beauty. Again, I clambered
over more boxes and sat myself down on the floor. The box was sealed with brown tape; I used the back of my earring to score it open.
A cloud of dust wafted out of the box like a mystic genie. It was a box full of faded photos, something that was rare in our family; she didn’t like to keep memories. The majority of the sleeves were orange, reading ‘Kodak’. In fact, all but one was orange. So, naturally I reached in for the grey one and held it for a second. It was terribly thin, perhaps containing only one or two pictures. Thinking nothing of it, I opened up the flap, not knowing I was in reality opening up a lifetime of questions. I pulled out the photograph and my mum’s long locks and smiling face stole my attention instantly. I had never seen her looking quite so happy in my whole life, so care-free and cheerful. But then my attention diverted to the person she was with.
A tall, dark man who looked foreign stood next to her, his arm tightly around her waist and beaming at the camera. My pulse rose and started pounding in my chest, I flipped the photo around and read the date. 1979. The year before my birth. Suddenly the missing pieces of the jigsaw fell into place when I was least expecting it. The picture fell out of my hand as I looked out onto the shore. It was at that moment I realised the motive behind my mother’s silence, and it was at that moment that many unexplained things became quite clear.
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