My Mother S Bed example essay topic

Paper on Irony As children we make many idle threats and angry promises, never realizing the impact they could bestow upon our lives. At the age of fifteen I learned that lesson the hard way. The words my mother and I had exchanged during common adolescent-parent confrontations were now my reality. I had no parent figure in my life, and I was on my own. I remember sitting in the living room as she packed her things. I only remember bits and pieces of our conversation.

I am not even really sure it would be considered a conversation, I think it was mostly for her benefit and her conscious. She told me how I was old enough to make my own decisions and that her new boyfriend needed her more. Besides, how many times had I said I couldn = t wait to be on my own. She told me she = d keep all the bills up and give me weekly grocery money. Even though the conversation lasted over an hour that ='s all that I can remember except for her words as she walked out the door, Aol yeah, there ='s a gun under the bed and it ='s loaded. I = ll call you in a couple of days.

@ The initial thoughts were that of a typical adolensce; party, party, party, but then the first night began. I remember crawling into my mother ='s bed thinking about the party I would have this weekend and the many weekends after. Then I heard it: something stirring in the house. I jumped up and rushed to the windows as I looked out my eyes were enveloped in blackness, and my ears were drowning in silence. That ='s when I heard it; thump, thump, thump and I heard it again but faster. Fear was sucking the very life breath out of me.

I grabbed the gun and ran frantically from room to room while this sound pursued me getting louder and faster. That sound didn = t go away that night nor for many nights after. I slept with a gun under my pillow hoping to scare the sound away, but I soon realized my heart beating alone in the silence wasn = t afraid of my gun, just the emptiness. never got used to having that big house to myself but it got more tolerable. I counted the days until my sixteenth birthday, I would no longer be a prisoner to my home, I would be free.

My freedom finally came in the form of a 1986 Somerset and my drivers license. My life was at least becoming a little more normal in the social sense. I no longer had to lie to my friends parents why I needed a ride to so many places. When I turned seventeen, my life was pretty stable, I was a senior, had lots of friends, and I was mostly used to living on my own. I no longer had to worry about protective services taking me away and I had buried most of my thoughts of my mother in a deep lonely, angry place. Finally after two years of turmoil, I had adjusted and become content in my life.

I was glad I was on my own, and that I = d become my own person. The angry words I had exchanged with my mother no longer haunted me and the beating of my heart in the silence had become a comfort and no longer a terror. But, I think the final twist of irony came for my mother when she decided to move back in just before graduation. After she had been living there about a month she came to me and wanted to know why I didn = t want to spend anytime with her, after all I was her child. My only reply was, ANo, mother I am my own adult. @.