Divine Intervention

06Mar04
     When I came in quietly, checking on him, he had his back to me. He had a big bag of mothballs in his lap. He was throwing them at the wall. He was trying to make them stick in a pattern, but most of them fell on the floor.
     “Do your homework!” I yell as if I were in the hall near the bathroom.
     He knew I was at the door. He grabbed a piece of paper off his desk, wadded it up, and threw it over his shoulder. It landed at my feet.
     I picked it up and went down the hall. I sat on the top step of the stairs and opened it up and tried to smooth the wrinkles out. I began to read it. It wasan English assignment.

Kevin McDonald
English 2
November 10 2004

     Write about a place where you would like to go.
     “If I had my way I would move to another lifetime…”
     I’d like to live in a cave.
     I used to have this recurring dream where I used to live in a cave. I wore animal skins and made arrows with pointed tips. Then I would go out with other people in skins and we would kill animals and drag their meat back to the cave. The women would be there. They had been gathering berries and plants- and I few of them had caught a fish or two. They had made a fire. Then we roasted out dinner. Then I would wake up. I remember lying there thinking that I had that dream again. I wondered about it. I had never seen people who looked like that or did those kinds of things.
     I told my sister about it, and she said that I had been a caveman in a former life. I think my mom thinks I still am.
     Maybe I will be in the future. Maybe instead of college I’ll throw all my clothes away, hunt down an animal, kill it, eat it, and use the skin for myself. Then I’ll find a nice cave to live in.
     This would be my divine intervention that will keep me from that life where I wear a suit and work and live in cubes.

     If it weren’t for his handwriting, I wouldn’t believe it was his writing. He never did well in English- or much else, for that matter. I walked back down the hall and shoved it back under the door.
     I stood at the door for a minute. I heard the sound of mothballs hitting the wall. How did I get such weird kid? His sister was normal. It wasn’t like he was stupid. Maybe it was some kind of divine intervention that he could suddenly write a thing like that.

5 November,2003
Writing journal exercise- formed on above topic, and the words mothballs, in a cave, and i remember lying.

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