Tug Of War
3rd response-- page 434
Author's Note: This is my third response to my independent book, and in case you were wondering, I am going to start putting the page of the book that I am currently on. In this poem, I tried to do the question, bridge, answer technique that Mr. Johnson tought us. I took a quote that Owen Meany says in the book, which is the main inspiration from this piece, and chopped it up, using it as the bridge. I also predicted a bit at the end of this poem, so the ending is not 100% accurate. Anyway, enjoy!
You silence us--
With words unspoken
We follow.
We follow.
You preach to us--
What only God knows
We listen.
You scare us--
With what's to come
We deny.
You tell us--
It has to happen
We refuse.
You say
Follow things through
If you care see it--
To the end
Finish it.
So you leave us--
To fight your battle
We let go.
Unknown Fate
As a reader, you can't help but notice foreshadowing. If it only happens once, its not so clear, but if it repeats over and over, we get the message. In a Prayer for Owen Meany, there is some heavy forshadowing that puts Owen in the past tense.
John Weelright talks about Owen in almost every page of the novel, but at some points, he finds himself alone, or thinks about what Owen would do or say in a certain situation. Being God's Instrument, Owen adores the country in which he lives in, and would to anything to keep it thriving. At one point in the novel, Johnny is alone for one of the first times on New Years Eve, and describes that Owen "was in a warmer climate.". The emphasis on the "was", and all the talk about the Korean war going on before this sentence, it is easy to assume that he could be fighting for his country at that moment.
Another theory is that Owen is already dead. He did happen to have a "vision" of his headstone, including the date of his death, so maybe he has accepted it, and taken residence under the very headstone he invisioned. Whatever the reason, the death of Owen Meany seems very possible in this novel, and only time will tell.
Owen's Flaw
Author's Note:This is my first day responding to my novel, A Prayer for Owen Meany. There's not much to say, so I hope you enjoy!
In the novel A Prayer for Owen Meany, Owen is without a doubt the strongest character. He is the one that John Weelright looks up to, the one who shocks the town of Gravesend to no extent, and the one who hangs in the balance. This small, wise boy with a voice like no other, is God's Instrument. One would think that no one can take control of him, but throughout the novel, we see that that is not true. Three women, by the names of Tabatha Weelright, Barb Wiggin, and Mitzy Lish made their mark on him.
Tabatha Weelright was more of a mother than Owen had ever known, and he adored her. All he wanted was to impress her, and he did just that, up until he took her life. At that point, every woman he seemed to come in contact with was not so nice. Barb Wiggin, an ex- flight attendant, is a perfect example. She mocked, teased, and flirted with him, using his pre-pubescent body to her advantage. That is one of the only scenes in the book where the weakness in Owen shines through.
Mitzy Lish wasn't any better, her ignorant comments and laughter caused Owen to spit an innapropriate comment to her, and because of that, he lost an important part of his life at school. It seems as if after he lost the only women in his life, the rest of them took pieces of him also. Though Owen has God on his side, sometimes, there's nothing you can do about women.
Author's Note: This piece is my final creative piece for the novel, A Prayer for Owen Meany. Though it's on the longer side it didn't take me long to write, because this was a true event, and something very emotional for me, and very close to my heart. Instead of normal perspective, I wrote like John Irving by writing in my mom's perspective, but the main character is me. It was pretty challenging trying to write what she was thinking, because I didn't want to make it sound like I was the world's best child but not like she hated me either. This is new for me, so please tell me how I did! Thanks!
I hear the click of the lock, and the front door swings open. I take a break from my furious packing to feel the nausea in my stomach. I'm prepared for her to run in bawling, to throw herself in my arms and beg to stay, or to scream until she’s out of breath and slam the door on the way to her room. Surprisingly, all I hear is silence and a small sigh as her backpack slides onto the floor.
"Hey sweetie, how was your last day?" I ask, worried that I might have said the wrong thing.
"GOOD, I GUESS. THEY THREW A GOING-AWAY PARTY FOR ME." I can hear how tired she is, and the way that she sounds so much older than 5th grade. It always surprises me, those random things she says that reminds me of what a special daughter I have. "MR. ARMSTRONG BOUGHT DONUTS FOR THE PARTY TOO," she added, and I chuckled to myself, because this reminded me that she's only 11, and still has forever to grow up.
"Well that was sweet of them. Did you get everyone’s phone number, so you can stay in touch when you leave?" I reach the bottom of the stairs, and turn to face Sophie, sitting on the couch hugging a pillow. She has a note in her hand, and tears start to fall as her lips turn up into a smile.
"MELANIE WROTE THIS FOR ME," she sniffles matter-of-factly. "I'M GONNA MISS THEM SO MUCH," her voice breaks, and the tears flow heavily. I'm torn between reassuring her for the umpteenth time that everything will be fine in Wisconsin, she'll make new friends and have more fun than she believes; and telling her the truth, breaking down and saying that she can cry, because she is leaving and may never come back. I sigh, and slump down on the couch next to her, pulling her in for a hug. I stay silent, and listen to her cry because I'm just the one who's on the sidelines; she's the one playing the game.
**
"WHICH SEAT?" Sophie asked, shuffling down the isle of the plane.
"14 A and B, so you can get the window seat." She arrives at the row of chairs, and adjusts her bag before sliding in and plopping down. I squeeze in next to her, pushing my purse under the seat in front of me, and take out my phone. Almost instantly, Sophie pipes up.
"CAN I BORROW THAT BEFORE WE TAKE OFF, I JUST WANT TO TEXT A FEW PEOPLE TO TELL THEM I'M LEAVING," her hand shoots out, and stays there, impatiently waiting for the shiny black device in my palm.
"Hold on let me text your dad. Sophie, how many people actually have phones at your age?"
"MELANIE AND MARSHALL. THEY’RE ALL I NEED TO TEXT. IT WILL BE FAST I PROMISE," her hand retreats, but stays open on her thigh, waiting.
"Alright, alright. Here." I hand her my phone, and settle in, ready for a long ride to Wisconsin.
**
The automatic door opens, and a blast of icy March air comes through. I see Sophie shiver, and scowl, not used to the tediously long Wisconsin winter. We haul our bags behind us, and trudge through the parking garage, looking for our car.
Once inside, I turn on the heat, and start down the long twisty exit ramp. For one of the first times today I see Sophie smile, and put up her hands.
"IT'S LIKE A ROLLAR COASTER," she laughs.
"A very slow roller coaster," I add. We drive off the ramp and onto the road, pay for parking, and leave the airport altogether. The snow on the side of the highway is black, misshapen and ugly, a rush-hour eye sore. I get off on an exit close to the highway, stopping for gas. We pass small neighborhoods, run-down and old. As we pull in to the gas station, I ask, "So, how do you like Wisconsin so far?"
"ITS SO… OLD!" she sighs, totally serious, and tunes the radio, trying to find something to her liking. I start to laugh as I exit the car. Pulling out the pump, I think about what to say back as I re-enter the car. It's my own fault, it's only been about 10 minutes, and the cities near the airport aren't the best judges of the state in general, but her statement still made me laugh nonetheless. I get back in the car and put my key in the ignition.
"Sweetie, were not close to home yet. Places by the airport aren't the best, and frankly, we moved in the ugliest season. Just give it a month or two, it'll brighten up." And with that, we head toward home, toward a new perspective.
**
I tread lightly into Sophie's room, about to wake her up for her first day at her new school, but I pause. She looks so calm, so peaceful, so unaware that she is somewhere far from where she was a week ago, a month ago, a year ago. I wonder if she will ever be this content after I wake her up. Will the kids like her at school, will she have problems with fitting in? Questions circle in my head like a merry-go-round, ones that are never answered, but never fade. I should know better; we've moved before, and everything turned out fine, but I can't shake the what-if's. I brush all of these feelings off, knowing Sophie will have enough for the both of us, and lean down to whisper in her ear, "Time to wake up and get ready for school." She mumbles a little, and stirs, before jolting out of bed, proving my point.
"WHEN DO WE LEAVE?" she asks, and I can tell she's holding all of her protests back, along with all of her pleads and whines to stay home.
“8:00, so you better get ready now." I give her a kiss on the cheek and walk out of the room, closing the door behind me.
At 8:00 sharp we leave the apartment, and pull out into a crisp morning. In the corner of my eye I see Sophie fidget nervously, holding back tears. She always cries when she's nervous. I just wish that she would somehow realize that it won't be as bad as she thinks, because it never is. "You'll be fine Sophie, just remember, don’t be shy, kids want to be your friend as much as you want to be theirs." Apparently I said something wrong, because the tears behind her eyes come through, and slide silently down her cheeks.
"I JUST DON'T KNOW ANYONE, AND--" she pauses, knowing that anything she says will be something she's said a million times before. Instead, she sighs, and faces the window.
We arrive at the school, and instead of joining the rest of the kids out on the playground, we head inside, towards her new classroom. Her stature changes as she enters the classroom. She stands a little taller, and wipes the tears away from her face. I haven't given her credit for how strong she is, but seeing her like this reminds me that I would never have been able to do this when I was her age. What kind of parent am I to tell her it will be okay, when really I have no idea, but then I realize a good parent. I take her hand as she speaks to the teacher, unable to hear anything they say to each other, too engulfed in my own thoughts. I come back to the present just long enough to hear her say she will be right back, and to watch as she leaves the room, leaving me and Sophie alone for the last couple minutes before the bell.
"SHE SAID THE BELL'S ABOUT TO RING," Sophie said, voice shaking. I look down, and see her start to fidget with her coat, her shirt, anything that kept her busy.
"Just remember, if you feel like you’re about to cry, pinch yourself, and you'll think about something else." As if on cue, she pinches her arm, almost desperately, but only to have the opposite result happen. Tears flowed heavily now, just as the bell rings. I watched kids file in; avoiding her eyes, almost knowing that it was not a moment they could butt into. With that, I knew it was my time to go, so without saying a word, I gave her a quick hug, and fled the room, before guilt could persuade me to do something else.
As I left the building, I thought about our future here. I realized that though it would take time, things would return to normal. The picture in my mind of my little girl scared and crying among a sea of strangers would be exchanged for the picture of Sophie laughing among friends. In time.
Skipping Stones
Author's Note: This is the first response I did to A Prayer for Owen Meany, and I talked about a scene towards the beginning of the novel. I felt like the message was really strong, I just hope my organizational skills were clear in this piece, enjoy!
Some people go through life floundering, getting by with little or no passion. Though it gives us some satisfaction, we never get a chance to really live. Others, like little Owen Meany, find something to love, to believe in with each fiber of their being, and that powers them through life. The stronger the feelings, the more insurace that life will be filled with, well, life.
Owen Meany, the novel's main character, believes he is God's instrument. By reading 26 pages, the only real knowledge of that is from looking at the back cover. The reader now knows that from the first page to the last, he will have a passion for religion, and for God. Like most passions, it began when he was a little boy. The first scene where we really see that is the scene where Owen and his best friend John skip rocks at the river. John has no difficulty with throwing the rocks into the water, but Owen, being described as "unbeleivably small", is only able to throw his rocks into the mud just shy of the river."There is a certain small satisfaction to the sound the rocks made when they struck the mud flats, but the water was more satisfying than the mud in every way." This was the way John described the scene, but when taken out of context, it explains much more.
A river flows for miles and miles, gallons of water all traveling to the same place, to something bigger. In contrast, mud does not compare. The satisfaction of living your life to its most potential is much greater than not giving it a second glance, which is what the author is trying to tell us, but after a serious conversation between the two young boys, something big happens. While having a conversation about John's M.I.A father, Owen shouts the words " Your dad can hide from you, but he can't hide from God!" and with that, throws a rock into the river, with suprising force coming from his weak frame. With such powerful emotions, he was able to make it to the river, and with such powerful emotions throughout life, that river will carry him until the very end.
Owen Meany is a curious character. He is small and innocent, yet his faith in God is more powerful than most people expect. His physical strength did not allow the rocks to make it to the river, but his religious strength did not fail him. This metaphor stretches far out to all corners of our civilization, if we believe in something hard enough, we can do it, and if we trust in something strong enough, our life will reflect that.
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