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Hallo x
So, I suddenly felt like writing so here's a short essay he ho hu hi ha. I didn't really follow the prompt properly but it's fineeee. Rereading this essay, I think it felt a little empty but I'll work on that in the next one hehe.
You’re rummaging through an old tub of clothes from your childhood that your parents had stored away in their attic. As you search you find one particular piece that you remember as your favorite. When you hold it in your hands, you’re magically transported back to the moment you got that piece of clothing (birthday present, shopping with a parent, purchased with your own money, etc.). Write about that moment and how you felt when you received it. (Can be nonfiction or fiction.) (prompt prompt prompt)
An old cabinet; cobwebbed in one corner, dust filled in the rest. I grabbed the step stool and climbed up to get to eye level with the top shelf. In the back, I spot what seems to be a pink cardboard box, shoved behind folds of towels. I pushed away the towels and got my hand on the box. It was still in good shape despite the rip down its side that has been tapped up.
A creak echoed as I sat on the end of the bed with the box on my lap. It was labelled "Children's Clothes", on the lid. I lifted the lid off and inside was, as labelled, clothes of my siblings and I. Smiling, I rummaged through the piles and piles of clothes until I grasped hold of a bright yellow dress, patterned with daisies, and ended with scalloped lace.
The memories returned to me as if this dress had contained it all.
I remember being 11; so young and happy. We did not have much, in terms of money and possessions yet it never did bother me. Mum had always explained why and I remember nodding at the end of every sentence whether I understood or not. On the eve of my 12th birthday, I wished that mum would stop looking so tired and worn. That was all. An ordinary girl would have asked for a doll or a gown or a beautiful tiara to be put in her hair. However, I knew things like those were far from my reach.
7th June1985, I turned 12. The sun shone through my window, filling the room with a bright warmth. I stirred in my bed and awoke with a cat on my chest. "Good morning, Charlie.". We touched noses and I set him down on the floor as I got into my slippers. The two other beds were empty and made, so was the cot. Staring out my window, I assumed it was about 8 am. Normally, the other two would have woken up much later. Out I went, down our steep stairs and into the hallway.
I could hear conversations; dad, excitedly talking about cars to Quentin who was just as eager and Iva who was talking at tongue twisting speed to mum about cakes she wanted to bake. I almost felt a bit embarrassed to enter. I was always a shy girl, occasionally also around them. Breathe in, breathe out. They're just your family.
"Ellie!" A child calls from behind.
Recognising the voice in a instant, I turned and swooped little Marlow off the ground, giving her a tight squeeze. She smelled like the lilacs and freesia, growing in our garden. The ones dad and I had grown for Iva when she was just born. When they grew beautifully, we made them into strings of flowers and wrapped it around her cot. We did the same with Marlow's. Currently, she has strings of freesia, in pink and white that added fragrance to the room.
She refused to let her legs touch the ground when I tried to put her down so I carried her instead. As we entered the kitchen, a greeting of "Happy Birthday!" was yelled so loudly that I was sure the neighbours could hear it. The dining table had a spread that 12 year old me thought was fit for a king. Toast, homemade jams, a bowl of fruit jelly for each of us and a pitcher of raspberry juice made from the fresh raspberries the lovely old lady had given us earlier this week. The very smell of the food made my stomach rumble. I set Marlow down on dad's lap and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
"Mum, this is amazing." I said as I sat down, in awe of the spread. She smiled, looking up from her cleaning; her clothes were stained with what seems to be jam and her hair was messily tucked behind her ears. We all gathered at the table, eagerly waiting for for each other to be settled. Then, we began devouring. All of us had a nibble of everything and it was wonderful. The food, the atmosphere, the fun.
After the birthday breakfast, we huddled by the fire place for the gift giving. Each of them had little knick knacks that they had either handmade or bought. Dad, he was a woodcrafter and he gave me a miniature wooden rabbit and told me to put it by my bed. Quentin, 9 years old, gave an empty milk bottle and said, "now we can keep our pennies together". Iva and Marlow, my sisters, presented a beautiful bouquet of flowers that smelled like the very scent of spring. I loved it all. Then, there was mum.
"I hope you like it Elliot. I know it may be plain, but I thought it would look grand on you." Her hands shook a little as she presented it. I took it from her and smiled. Inside the brown paper packaging laid a beautiful yellow dress.
I remember being 15; older and aware. I remember plaiting each other's hair on the stairs. I remember going out in pairs on the days that were rainy, in our boots and coats. I remember watching the man at the market promote his goats. Each of the memories were made in the dress. The dress that had been made with love and care, nonetheless was still beautiful no matter the rips and tears.
"Ellie!" A child calls from behind.
Recognising the voice in a instant, I turned and swooped little Marlow off the ground, giving her a tight squeeze. She smelled like the lilacs and freesia, growing in our garden. The ones dad and I had grown for Iva when she was just born. When they grew beautifully, we made them into strings of flowers and wrapped it around her cot. We did the same with Marlow's. Currently, she has strings of freesia, in pink and white that added fragrance to the room.
She refused to let her legs touch the ground when I tried to put her down so I carried her instead. As we entered the kitchen, a greeting of "Happy Birthday!" was yelled so loudly that I was sure the neighbours could hear it. The dining table had a spread that 12 year old me thought was fit for a king. Toast, homemade jams, a bowl of fruit jelly for each of us and a pitcher of raspberry juice made from the fresh raspberries the lovely old lady had given us earlier this week. The very smell of the food made my stomach rumble. I set Marlow down on dad's lap and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
"Mum, this is amazing." I said as I sat down, in awe of the spread. She smiled, looking up from her cleaning; her clothes were stained with what seems to be jam and her hair was messily tucked behind her ears. We all gathered at the table, eagerly waiting for for each other to be settled. Then, we began devouring. All of us had a nibble of everything and it was wonderful. The food, the atmosphere, the fun.
After the birthday breakfast, we huddled by the fire place for the gift giving. Each of them had little knick knacks that they had either handmade or bought. Dad, he was a woodcrafter and he gave me a miniature wooden rabbit and told me to put it by my bed. Quentin, 9 years old, gave an empty milk bottle and said, "now we can keep our pennies together". Iva and Marlow, my sisters, presented a beautiful bouquet of flowers that smelled like the very scent of spring. I loved it all. Then, there was mum.
"I hope you like it Elliot. I know it may be plain, but I thought it would look grand on you." Her hands shook a little as she presented it. I took it from her and smiled. Inside the brown paper packaging laid a beautiful yellow dress.
I remember being 15; older and aware. I remember plaiting each other's hair on the stairs. I remember going out in pairs on the days that were rainy, in our boots and coats. I remember watching the man at the market promote his goats. Each of the memories were made in the dress. The dress that had been made with love and care, nonetheless was still beautiful no matter the rips and tears.
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