Our exercise for writing class this week is the run-on sentence. Here's mine. Whaddaya think?!
The clock clicks to 11:29 as she bursts through the door and I am struck by her beauty and the new smell of ‘young woman’ that floats in just behind her and all at once I’m transported to when she simply smelled of child and when asked, at 2 years old, what she wanted for Christmas, had so clearly and forcefully stated, “A pygmy marmoset monkey,” and shooting her mother a withering look continued, “and we do, too, have room because they are small!” and another vision of her floats into my consciousness – this time covered in fake tattoos, wearing only a jacket, ivory cabled tights and cowboy boots and comfortable in that outfit as only the young can ever be – and I find I am shocked by the woman that is pushing out the girl in a thousand new ways every day, every month, every year, and when she’s questioned about the dance and the boy I find an odd relief when I see the last vestiges of thumb-sucking manifest in a charmingly crooked smile as she simply says, “We had fun – goodnight!” and, whoosh, she’s come and gone, ever changing, still, again.