Personal Narrative - Renewed Love for My Sister :: Personal Narrative Writing

Personal Narrative- Renewed Love for My Sister "The essence of life is to be found in the frustrations of established order." -John Gardner "God, Kris, you are so disgusting!" I made a noise like a rhino in heat as I opened my mouth to reveal the large piece of orange gum that hung precariously from my tongue. "Thanks a lot, E. You're the one that called it an orange slug." We both let out an uproarious laugh and quickly quieted ourselves. The geriatrics nearby were looking at us again. Our stifled laughter was still loud enough to make passersby wonder about our sanity, and that was just the way we liked it. "Wait, wait! Do it again, but open your eyes wide; like you did the first time." I concentrated hard for a second, then with my eyes as wide as I could make them, I dropped my jaw and flicked my tongue wildly in her direction. I then snapped my mouth shut and blinked heartily. I licked my lips and tasted the sweet, artificial-peach flavor. The "slug" rolled around gleefully in my mouth as Erika and I chuckled at the various mallrats screaming and laughing in the opposite corners of the food court. "What a bunch of fucking losers!" Erika said as she flopped the middle part of her "tri-hawk" to the right side of her head and looped the barbell in her tongue through the two lip rings that protruded awkwardly from her mouth. A putrid scent was carried our way by crowds of people that were walking by us. I could taste the stench in the air. "Let’s get up and walk around. The Cookie Guy said it would take thirty minutes or so." We’d ordered a cookie for my mom who had just had knee surgery. The "Cookie Guy" in question was a good-looking, nice guy who had helped us. It was more than a little strange to tell him that I wanted a giant cookie that said, "We love you, Mommy!" I thought about telling him to write something like, "Welcome back from the state pen. Thirty-five years is a long time, Daddy" or "We love you, Elvis," but in the end, I decided against it. We followed my suggestion and walked up the mall to the Deb Shop. Even from thirty feet away it reeked of perfume and cheap, polyester fabric. As we closed the distance between ourselves and the store, the sheen of the predominantly sparkly clothing temporarily blinded us with a bright reflection of the healthy orange glow emitted by the fluorescent lights perched high above.