A view from the bridge

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  • Publicado : 23 de septiembre de 2010
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Descriptive Essay

Youth
The first time I saw her I was eleven years old. It was at our beautiful country house on the South, where my large family – althought regularlly scattered arounddifferent places of the country – would share the anual joyous reunion for the three months that make up the hot season that is summer. Mom had gotten the usual welcoming dinner together which, year afteryear, she insisted on making it all herself. Indeed the exquisite banquet consisting of five different hot meals and a variety of sauces and cold side dishes all made out of scratch by one single personwas tough work. As soon as I heard the first knock on the door I jumped up and ran towards the door and opened it with expectaction and wondering who out of all my relatives would I see again first.But when I opened the door, the two people standing were no relatives of mine. A man around forty something stood on the doorway, his clothes looked ragged and had paint stains on differentplaces,however, my attention was drawn to someone else - the young girl with a yellow summer dress his arm was protectively holding. I would be lying If I said I had ever seen a prettier shade of blue thatcolored someones eyes. It wasnt just blue, it was a sky blue with patches of light green that failed to hide the youthful innocence her serious look tried and pink plump lips that stayed pursed togetherexcept when briefly greeting with a “hello”. She gazed at me fixedly, and i realized that most boys my age would consider her intimidating. My mom ran and greeted the man and explained he had paintedthe back wall while I was at grandpa’s, and that I should treat the Lexingtons in an appropriate way since they were good people. But I barely listened. When they had left I took time to ask herquestions. I got to know she lacked education, but read books I had never heard at school, and she was indeed very intellectual. She was so feminine and elegant even for someone so young, and her witty...
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