As I said earlier, I chose to write about a scene that a friend of mine told me about her father who has Alzheimers. After, rethinking, rereading and rewriting it, as many times as I could, I finally could finish and be proud of it. Below it, will be my teacher's comments. She and some classmates all seemed to like it, and I hope you would like it, too.
Claudia,
I like to comment right in the piece as I read, giving you a running commentary on my reactions as a typical reader and also as your instructor. It's a good way for you to see the effect of your words on readers as the piece unfolds. It allows me to make suggestions too.
It's been a pleasure working with you. Keep writing!
All my best, Ann
Mr. Alzy
The situation at this point has become unsustainable. He wanders around the house without pants on. Some sense needs to be brought to this man, I think. Cute is when a child runs around the house trying to flee from an unwanted bath. However, when a 65-year-old man exposes his business as if it needs to breathe.... (wish I knew your relation to him)
"What is going on with you? Don't you have shame? Why are you not wearing you pants?" I said.
He looks at me intrigued with my question and slowly goes to the closest bathroom. Seeing his reflection in the mirror, he fixes his few chunks of hair left, unbuttons down his shirt, and buttons it up again. Still can't define what is wrong.
"It is a hot day today, woman! Don't you see?" he screams impatiently.
I give him the pair that I have set so neatly on the bed an hour before. He grabs it from my hand, but motionless, stares at me. I help him to get dressed thinking that he was still there with me. Needless to say, I lose him while struggling for some dignity. (not clear who is struggling for dignity, and that's quite touching, so make it clear)
I shake my head and cry, even though crying makes me tired and doesn't offer me a solution.(well put) After six years since the diagnosis, a smile is not seen on my face any longer. I have turned into this unrecognizable and bitter wife. (fine paragraph reflecting harsh realities)
Has he become a stranger to me, or have I become a stranger to him? His presence is noticeable at some moments of the day. At others, he goes so away from me, from everybody, from everything, that he forgets his way back.
He keeps calling me "darling," which is a substitute for my forgotten name. He continues talking about the girl he married forty years ago and about how much he misses her. He still can not see that she is the one taking care of him on a daily basis.
He enlightens me with stories about our past. After the (pants) incident, I sit him in his favorite spot and search for a book to release the air.(not sure what the book is for) He calls for me, tries to get close to my ears, and confesses.
"She was beautiful and pure, but she was reluctant to marry me. She was engaged to her ballet classes and dreamed of having an affair with Baryshnikov, with no eyes or time for a Marine."
Fragments of the beginning of our life together are revealed to me little by little. His perspective of me as a young ballerina amazes me. That girl died a long time ago. She (has) wrinkled and has headaches--those kinds that (only) just a mother with a daughter living abroad can have.
She metamorphosed from a butterfly to a bug, no longer allowed to spread her wings. (well put!) As if he knows about her inside secrets, he says:
"I love you, my darling. I will always do." And kisses me on the cheek.
(A powerful piece, Claudia. You combine events with your narrator's reactions in such a way that we get to experience what it's like to live with Mr. Alzy. You've selected two strong events to illustrate this—the pants episode and the recollections of the younger wife. You have a unique way of capturing and expressing things, so I hope you have gained the confidence to keep writing while you've gone through these lessons. Do keep going! –Ann)
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