Writing personal essays drill 1: a character sketchTo my eyes, there was no man as handsome as him. To my best knowledge, he was the only one in town who wore black sun glasses. There was not a single gray hair on his head. He had a big belly that no one would attempt to attack. He looked awesome in his dark blue suit and shiny black shoes. He was my ideal man.
Coming back from his office, he almost always had a package of yogurt. Did he love yogurt so much? I am not sure. During holiday seasons he used to buy pills for stomach ache in advance and placed them on a shelf. One of us always ran into them. In the evening of one of those days, he grabbed my hand and walked to a watch shop. Even when he finally put a watch around my wrist and paid for it, I hardly believed that he was buying one for me. At the age of eight I became a watch owner. Don’t imagine a Mickey Mouse or Snow White type of kid’s watch. It was a real one with twelve numbers and three needles. Worrying about jealousy which might arise from my siblings or cousins, I did my best to control my exuberance and concealed the brand new watch under long sleeves. But, I still wonder why he did that all of sudden. Was I his favorite? I doubt it because my mother told me that he refused to see me when I was born. Why? Because I was the second girl that my mother brought to the family. Imagine how she must have felt after the painful delivery. I was born with a sin--an unwelcome baby girl. But, guess. I had a healthy little brother then.
On my lucky evenings, I heard him playing his accordion, a shiny blue one, or his mandolin. It might have been old pop songs. I don't remember. But how exotic was the sound coming from the mandolin attached to his big belly! He was a lady’s man, and my ideal man. Then he stopped working. His hair was still black, but I rarely saw him in his fine dress. He spent most of time at home. No more package of yogurt in his arm. I only stared at the accordion and the mandolin on the shelves. But did it matter? We jogged early in the morning. Well, in fact, he only walked. But did it matter? We breathed in cold and fresh air together then.
He became more withered like a weak tree. His hair was still black. Where did his big belly go? He moved very slowly, and one day, stopped moving altogether... Where is his mandolin now?
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