Suzie

“I'm 15 for a moment 
Caught in between 10 and 20 
and I'm just dreaming 
Counting the ways to where you are” 

The day I turned 15 I couldn’t wait until my 16th birthday. Then, I would finally be able to drive without my parents criticizing every turn or move I made; my mom especially. She treated me like a child and I hated driving with her. I hated being anywhere near her and we would fight. I was always told we butt heads because we were so much alike. Still, I was a lot like my father too and he would just half grin and nod his head back and forth in disapproval like he’d always did. But my mom, my mom, I hated my mom. I remember she would grab my chin and stair me straight me in the eyes with her devil eyes. She hated me. She was going to kill me with her devil eyes. 

My mom was my mom and until the glorious day, the day I finally would have freedom I would sneak out of my bedroom window at night. Sometimes I’d bring my friends out there too. It was like our own little special place where we could talk, get high and talk about boys we crushed on. We’d dream about our futures outside of high school and on that roof anything seemed possible yet we felt as though we were worlds away from everyone and everything. 

I don’t believe my mom, dad or anyone ever caught onto our little weekend ritual. Frankly, it wouldn’t matter if they did. I do know one thing though; I have never laughed liked I did nights out on that roof. So young and so naïve we were going to attend the same state college as roommates and were going to have the coolest room on campus. Our silly pipedreams got us through high school. Only three years away and we could hardly wait. At 15, three years, might’ve been a hundred. 

~ 

My mom called me on my 20th birthday while I was at college. She left a message on my answering machine to wish me a happy birthday. I didn’t return her call. 

I spent that night with my friends I met at college. Too young to celebrate at the local pub, they surprised me with a party in the basement of my boyfriend’s fraternity, Phi Kappa Sigma. I can still remember the stench of cigarette smoke, stale beer and vomit hitting me; WHAM in the face - making their way up my nostrils as I made my way down the dark and dingy cement cellar stairs. From the darkness below I could hear my wasted, inconspicuous friends and the others trying to remain quiet - an attempt to surprise me. 

The ‘dungeon’ was foul and nasty yet we spent most nights in his clutches getting trashed and stoned on some ‘new’ couch found hours before on the side of the road. Someone else’s recycled garbage became our treasure and eventually another’s. There must have been DNA samples from half the college on those ‘new’ couches by the time Phi Kappa returned them to the streets. Still, and despite how disgusting the place was, it was all we had until we turned 21. 

I’ll never forget that birthday, when later that night once the keg kicked and the music stopped, the house was empty and my boyfriend gave me the most ‘amazing birthday present,’ ever. Then, he passed out next to me taking the covers and my dignity with him. I got out of bed, slipped on my Gap jeans and favorite worn out Champion sweatshirt and opened the window. I crept out onto the roof and spent the rest of my birthday thinking about college graduation and the beginning my ‘real’ life; meeting the man of my dreams, working and buying a couch. 

The rest of that night I spent looking down from the roof and I started playing ‘connect the blue and red plastic party cups.’ The yard was decorated with tossed debris, empty beer bottles and cigarette butts which accumulated with every intoxicated passer by. Coming from the room above was a brother and some sorority sister he’d chosen for the night. Like the night before and the night before that, his familiar rhythm and rhetoric became as stale as the smell of the dungeon. 

That night, while looking at the stars I couldn’t help but think about my high school friends my parents especially my mother. I missed all of them. It seemed like a hundred years had passed since I’d seen them. 

My one wish was that they were all with me that night but birthday wishes don’t always come true. 

~ 

"I'm 33 for a moment 
Dying for just another moment 
And I'm just dreaming 
Counting the ways to where you are” 

My thirties flew by in what seemed like a blink of an eye. I had no real friend’s anymore; rather corporate ladder competition. Corporate ladder or not, it seemed all the women around me were having children. Commercials on TV: diapers, formula, baby shampoo �" various toys. 

I hadn’t seen my own parents in years nor ever had children of my own. In between business trips and my career I lost touch with them. My life had become one board meeting; one conference call after another and I lost sight of the important things in life �" friends and family. 

I took a day off the same day I saw in the mirror the reflection of a girl who looked a lot like me. It was that same day I came to grips with the reality that I was no longer the young vibrant woman that I once was. 

While splashing cold water on my face; I looked up at my reflection. That was the day I buried my mother; three days before my birthday. She had had cancer. My job kept me very busy and away from the hospital and I was unable to visit her or say goodbye. That was the same day I truly felt guilt. The same mother I couldn’t wait to get away from was now the one I couldn’t get back. The one I didn’t call back on my birthday. It hit me, WHAM in the face that she was gone. I could never call her or see her again. I haven’t cried like I did the day we buried my mother. 

Life went on. 

Two years later my father died. 

~ 

"I'm 45 for a moment 
Another blink of an eye 
67 is gone 
The sun is getting high 
We're moving on...” 

The day I saw my parents again was a day I’ll never forget. Neither of them had changed much. My father; exactly the same with his half grin and head nod just stood there looking at me shaking his head back and forth while my mom with her criticizing tongue commented on my entrance. And treating me like the child she always did she grabbed my chin in her hand, stared at me with her devil eyes put her around my shoulder and walked me through the gate. 

Lyrics by: Vladimir John Ondrasik

Reviews

[Dead]

Okay, I will be your online tormentor today. I will guide you on a journey through all of your stories faults, and leave you at the gift shop. Good, great? Lets move on.

Leaving comments on the sentence by sentence stuff first and then into theme and motiffs.

The day I turned 15 I couldn’t wait until my 16th birthday.
Interesting lead about character ambition. Bold and also in first person narrative, so the narrative should be a little bumpy, rather than stylistically distant.

 Then, I would finally be able to drive without my parents criticizing every turn or move I made; my mom especially. 
Typically in terms of baisic sentence structure you provide nouns and then verbs following in a sentence, unless saving a noun for mystery or tension. The mention of your mother is without tension and therefore undeserving. Grammatically speaking as well you should just use a comma anyway. Also in terms of basic diction you try to eliminate as many words as you can in a sentence. My remake of this would be.

I'd be able to drive; stop my parents nagging (some context to rise tension, feeling of pain, hope): especially my moms.

Note I added the colon because technically although related to the sentence it is unneeded, and this brings more attention to it. Note this is also a cliché, and you will have to make your character have some weird detail to be interesting to the audience.

She treated me like a child and I hated driving with her. I hated being anywhere near her and we would fight. I was always told we butt heads because we were so much alike.
Now onto the meaty part of this: details. Diction is weak here. Words like 'hated, fight, and butt heads” these are weak verbs, that are generic, and one being a cliché; that being 'butt heads'. Now aside from that just one cut. 'We would' should be changed to 'We'd'. Also, 'I was told,' by who? I have no indication of the social group of the main character. I have written many people that are crazed loners, to regular teens, and they come in more colors then rainbow sherbet. ( Yes, that quote was dorky, but I like sherbet ).

Still, I was a lot like my father too and he would just half grin and nod his head back and forth in disapproval like he’d always did. But my mom, my mom, I hated my mom. I remember she would grab my chin and stair me straight me in the eyes with her devil eyes. She hated me. She was going to kill me with her devil eyes. 
Still, is completely unneeded. I was a lot like my father is to be expected. In the first sentence not that you are like your father, but this diverges from addressing a quality about yourself to how he would nod. Changing passive to active voice, and therefore making the work more difficult to follow in time.
But, 'my mom...me,' I know nothing about the mother so I have to remain neutral and ignore the plight of the main character. 'She hated me.' Now this is very strong, and there is no cause to show for it in the writing thus far. All I know is that she treats the main character like a kid. The 'She... eyes,' bit is regular tactic in writing, repetition to provide impact; and this is also charmingly simple.

Now I am going to end my evaluation of structure here, and focus on motifs. Don't worry, I'll keep it short.


Now aside from the fact this is focused on a song. I will not bash your source material. I will state that mentioning this more covertly, like the character hearing this on her mp3 throughout the years would be more witty, and therefore not only provide your inspiration in the work, but allude to the fact that music is important to the character, and perhaps the author herself.

Now aside from that you mention familiar overarching familial tones, familiar in almost all stories. A resentment of the female character towards the mother is familiar to the Oedipus complex, created by Freud, by is understood in basic attachment psyche as well. The problem I have with all these instances is that they are all encompassing of everyday life for most average civilized men and women in the first world. I think we all have that stage were we are against our parents for the car, to drink recklessly, to meet with our friends; but with nothing specific to the main character I feel that she is a caricature more than a real human being.
Also, I find that the song is not technically correct. In the first stanza “Counting the ways to where you are.” the connotation is that the person sought is far away, or at least difficult to reach. The problem is that physically they are quite easy to reach, perhaps emotionally not, but there is no interest of the main character in which to bridge that gap between her and her mother. Therefore I find the main character not really capable of deserving the end reunion, and wonder why she leaves her mother to die alone from being stared at with devil eyes.

The themes stated are that of independence and an awakening from distance apart from the family, but in the attachment to superficial values and such, the main character at the end of her journey recognizes that family is everything and all to her.

The problem is in all stories there must be an antagonist that blocks the main character from achieving their goals, but here the character exclusively has nothing holding her back; not man or force of nature. Therefore I wonder why? Why if family is so important to her why she doesn't live close to them, and talk to them everyday? Why does she seem to like to hang out with friends with unhealthy lifestyles and a soulless unnamed corporation without a family of her own, or even seeing her old family? Is it pride? Hate for mother, and an equal dislike to the father that sides with her? I don't know. All I know is the mother has devil eyes, that drive the plot of the main character straight into a soulless depression to which she dies in.

Forgive me, for I am a pretentious douhebag and all, so don't take what I say to literally, but do you want to write for yourself or for others? Have you picked up a few books on style, found a mentor, or joined a workshop? Don't worry by the way about this review I do this to everybody, and I haven't has the pleasure of drinking mermaid tears before. Feel free to talk to me sometime, or block me.

Now that were done with the tour, you can take this as a souvenir. Cheers.

[Katie]

Cameron, thank you so much for your honest critique. I have never taken a writing class and haven't been involved in any writers groups so I appreciate your feedback and any suggestions. thank you.