peer response

Closely read, critique, and offer revision and editing suggestions for  at least 4 of your classmates’ original creative nonfiction pieces.  Offer line-by-line suggestions in parentheses, specific areas that  require revision, and a 100-word balanced summations with your  assessment of the strong components for each of the submissions you  review. Your 4 peer responses must not devolve to generic praise (e.g.:  “great job, Jimmy”). The purpose of this workshop is for you and your  classmates to offer detailed feedback regarding what works/does not work  in the original pieces of writing. Story is below

Cough Syrup and a Pillar

I don’t know which sounded worse: the sound of my fist hitting the green, metal pillar or the curse I screamed with it. I don’t know which hurts more: my heart or my hand. Either way, she’s driven off happily, content with our ending. Leaving me with a kiss on the cheek. I don’t have a car, so I’m stuck sitting here on these concrete steps glad there’s no mirror. Trying to chase her on foot won’t help. I want to say I’m glad she can’t see me like this, but she’s the only one who can fill this void. The sun is shining down on the camp’s fields, but darkness seems to be the one surrounding me.

The dent in the pillar has been here a year now. Kind of hard to replace too, since it’s attached to such a large building. She’s still gone, more so since she stopped answering my texts in November. Seeing her every morning at camp got me out of bed last summer. Those blue eyes would make my heart melt when they met mine. Saying goodbye had been guaranteed, but the chance of control made me think otherwise back then. But control decided to go on vacation that day.

“You can’t lose your cool like that!” Nick yells as he ran over from the other end of the driveway, ripping off his sun glasses to look me in the eye. He’s about to know how that pillar feels if he doesn’t shut his mouth. Call it the Holy Spirit, but something is holding me back. My fist is ready to fly again, but it’s only gasoline for the fire. He can shake his head all he wants at me, but my tears will accept me. 

Turning to look inside the dining hall, Nick’s not there. Hasn’t been since last summer. But right there is where he told me to take my chance and ask Emily out. He offered his truck, money, whatever I needed to make the date possible. I never told him how he made me feel that day she left. I was a child throwing a tantrum. I had given my usual, “Sorry, I know.” What he had said was right, but my ears had hated his words when he gave them

Jake has panic on his face as he runs outside to meet me. His eyes meet mine and my job depends on what he says next. Having a breakdown over a girl is one thing, having it in front of your boss is another. “It sucks. But you can rest in your pain, or your joy. You won’t be happy, but you’ll have joy.” Pain sounds like good company, but joy is the friend I need.

Jake welcomed me back to camp with a smile and a hug. Only joy on his face. If I didn’t know God’s grace before, I know it now. We talked about my year, her leaving, and how I relearned to live without her. I don’t want a relationship this summer, but I know me. Without an anchor, I’ll be lost at sea. Having him for a mentor would keep me at bay.

Emotions are in the driver’s seat, but they are not taking me to her. I thought letting them have their way would show my passion and lift this burden, but I’m crushed on these steps. I’ll tell her about this and she’ll know the affect she has on me. Not tonight, maybe weeks from now, I’ll say, “I didn’t handle our goodbye too well,” and she’ll believe we can make this work.

Nick had told her what happened. Disappointment is all she had. I was not allowed to text her until I was home. When we would talk, every word I sent made me anxious. Every interaction with her made the already thin ice crack. Talking to her was like talking to a complete stranger, not someone I spent the summer getting to know. My grip on her had to be ripped away then. So, God did. He fought the good fight when my heart lost. Letting go is cough syrup and He’s the mom putting it in your mouth on a spoon. You’ll squirm and wrestle, but He’s tougher than He looks. It doesn’t go down your throat easily, and the taste lingers. But as I rub my hand on this dent, I see it’s stuck here, but not me.