|
Don’t Judge
Me, or Judge Me… Sexily By Elizabeth Foreman __________________ Examining the
past of one's own art is not just important; nay, I say it should be required by
the Norse gods! For how can we as writers grow if we cannot joyfully laugh at
our past prose exploits? How I ask you? HOW?! Case in point:
this evening, I came across some of my elementary school work in an old box. One
item of particular interest was an old story I wrote in the second grade. The
story, which told of the perils of a young girl named Marilyn, had a thick plot
full of twists, turns and dramatic irony. I will sum up the story with this
basic summary: Marilyn runs
away from home but she doesn't mind being homeless because she likes camping
(apparently in the streets). Winter is on its way, so she needs more clothes to
be a hobo fashion dynamo, or a hooker. (The details here were sketchy at best.)
She only has exactly $20.50 and so she has to go to the bank where, incredibly,
this seven year old girl not only has an account but enough money to get an
entire new winter wardrobe (because who needs to pay rent when you love street
camping?). She gets some new clothes and then decides being a street bum kind of
sucks but at least she looks good. Then, for some unknown reason, she buys a
book and goes home where her mom and she have this reunion which consists of
talking all day. Sure the
character development left something to be desired—like character
development—but the moral was great: being homeless isn't as bad when you look
good doing it. Funny how relevant this story is to my current existence—a case
of art imitating life. Marilyn and I share the same affinity for fashion and
camping. But we also realize that at home you don't have to pay rent and you
have indoor plumbing. I'd have to say that is the ironic twist-something which
every good story must encompass. I also have
another piece, a poem I wrote about my dad (in his pre-medicated days) when I
was about five. The fantastic poem reads as such: my dad, my dad
he's always
mad he's never
ever, ever glad so please
don't make me sad
That cut is
totally the first track on my rap album. Looking back
on the past does mean facing up to some hard truths (like my childhood lack of
knowledge about the banking industry) and some deep, enduring scars (why didn't
I have a rap album when I was seven?!), but the rewards of contemplation far
outweigh the devastating trip down Repressed Memory Lane. Now, if you'll
excuse me, I have $20.25 burning a hole in my pocket! ____________________ Elizabeth
Foreman’s unequalled love for cake once spawned the following poem by famed
philanthropist and Defenestration staff writer Luigi Fairbanks: Miss Foreman,
please, save some for me, I’d like
another slice! You’re
eating all my birthday cake, which isn’t very nice. |
(c) Defenestration Magazine, 2004