Exercise 11 - Character
The girl was painfully young. A pointed nose was buried in the
book cradled in two thin, coarse hands. Clear blue eyes heavily edged
with dark circles were fixed on the heavy pages, pages crammed full of
cramped prose. A stack of similar books sat on the faded green park
bench beside her, pinned down and protected from the breeze by a large
Guatemalan canvas bag, the sort carried by every other high school
student in those days and in that place. Chestnut hair straggled
loose from a once-neat single braid, often blowing into her sweet
sixteen year old face. She ignored it, blocking out the world.
The park was noisy, with children screaming on the swings and
ducks squawking in a sunlit pond. Harried mothers ran after their
muddy daughters, threatening dire retribution, and a college kid had
set up with his guitar on the bench across from hers, offering sad
Irish laments to the autumn air. His eyes occasionally rested on the
girl, and the music would pause, as if perhaps he considered walking
over and offering some study help. Before he made up his mind, a
fairly clean child (except for exceptionally dirty hands) ran past
him, to drop a frog on the girl's book, and shout with glee, "Mommy,
mommy, look!"
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