Lesson 6-Simile/Metaphors- Brandy

Lesson 6, Part 1


1.          Momma hated sinners.

In the presence of the faithless, Mamma built a fort of stone around her children and gathered
the words of scripture like they were both weapons and moats.  She inoculated us against the
plague of sin.  As for the sinner himself, he was ebony ink on a freshly washed apron.  She’d
rather throw out the apron than risk the ink rubbing off on her children. 


2.          She was unhappy.

Emma was allergic to joy.  She shunned anyone who tried to shield her from the rain with a
smile.  It was her calling, her mission in life, to be a martyr for disappointment.  She wore her
battle wounds with pride. 


3.          He was self-conscious about his weight.

George’s fat entered the room long before his body crossed the threshold.  Before every
conversation, he was not unlike the alcoholic standing at the podium, “Hello. My name is
George.  I'm fat, as if you couldn't tell." He fully expects to see those in the audience
leave the room, repulsed by his appearance.  He yearned for others to see through his
layers and yet, they were protection too.  Every encounter was another moment stretched
across the spinning target, his own thoughts were the arrows. 

4.          My father was quiet.

Dad watched and he worked.  He loved with his hands, his wink, his gestures, but words
were a foreign language for him.  They were an unnecessary and overrated extravagance,
like gardening in your Sunday suit when an old pair of overalls would be more appropriate. 
Though he didn’t say much, a wink from him was praise, and eyebrows furrowed meant I’d
crossed the line.  An invitation to work along side him, a gesture and a shake of the head
toward the direction he wanted me to follow was all he needed to let me know he regarded
me as an equal, that he trusted me.  When he did speak, it was the daily workings of the
farm, monosyllabic comments about the neighbor’s dead cow, the feared bankruptcy of
his friends.  For Dad, using words to describe emotions was like climbing a six foot ladder
to reach a twelve foot roof but his love, shown in other ways, made me feel tall enough to fill
in the gap. 

5.          He was mean.

Justin sat in the corner, dead still, plotting his revenge.  He wore his anger like a rain slicker,
deflecting love for fear of drowning. He preferred drowning others for fear of a simple hug.  The
other kids gave him a wide berth for fear of retribution.  He cut through the playground like a
motor boat and left crying children in his wake.  He saw insult before words were spoken, perhaps
even before the thought was formed.  And yet, he was right.  His fits of anger and assault were
barbs on his surface but in the end, he was the victim of his own intentions. 

6.          My brother has a drinking problem.

Andy hid his habit well.  About as good as a five year old on the middle stair, hiding behind a one
inch spindle.  If he was too drunk to see us between the railings, then it must stand to reason that
we can’t see him.  Without his liquid blinders, he was a sensitive guy, funny too.  But his clown
nose was no longer plastic and his self-insulting jokes ceased to draw our laughter.    He’s the
comedian performing in an empty theatre, laughing at himself as he tells his final joke.  Meanwhile,
his family and friends make funeral arrangements. We gather for a living wake in remembrance
of the brother and friend who has ceased to exist, but since he's sitting among us, we toast him with
homemade iced tea, hoping he will forget his pain like the grieving mother can forget the reason
for her tears. 



Part 2:

1.          

George needed routine like he needed air to breathe but found he was choking on the fumes of his dreams, long dissolved in the worn path between work and home.

George felt like his life had been a waste, like he was a man arriving home with no memory of having driven, no proof of his journey except the clicking of the odometer marking the miles he’s traveled. 

He traded his family for the promise of a retirement watch, a cruel joke to demonstrate the stolen minutes of his children’s lives.   

2.          

Katie regarded the sun as a parasite soaking her last ounce of water and energy merely to keep itself alive. 

Katie felt as if she has survived a trek through desert sands and, in the dizzying heat, thought she dreamt of cold iced tea and good soaking of rain.  The mirage was just that, the reflection of the sun off the smooth, tar flavored driveway. 

Katie blew on her plastered bangs in vain, sweat forming an iridescent coating on her ivory skin that masked the sight of her muscles weeping.

3.          

Kim Su’s made her way through the swarm of two legged ants clamoring for the best portion of leaf, the most coveted position in the food chain of the Academe. 

Kim Su was so deafened by the drone of students in panic, she couldn’t hear the cries of her own uncertainty. 

Kim Su was torn like a child of divorce.  Her dream or her parents’, she felt, must be chosen at this very moment.  Her father’s words clearly heard in one ear, while the notes of her own song were drowned out by the rising volume of her fellow students, fighting their own battles of will.

4.          

Victor squandered his summer in protest against the image of his life as a cog in the wheel of a useless and unappreciated agency. 

Victor relished in his momentary disregard for motivation.  He rationalized what he could but somewhere, deep inside, he knew he could never get those moments back.  Still, he missed the non-judgemental way his soap friends regarded him. 

Without real expectations from real live family and friends, Victor became the wayward teen he once was.


5.          

Sandy felt the worries that lifted from her shoulders like spirits of the dead are said to rise after their last breath.

Sandy was a child on her last day of school, or a teen after finals.  She basked in her newfound sense of calm and resignation. 

Sandy felt like a guilty man after confession, her spirit rising from the release of worries from the past few weeks.