Personal Narrative-Pointer Finger

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Pointer Finger Sitting in a chair next Jill, my only cousin older than me we listen to the auctioneer ramble on. It was late and for some strange reason the door was propped open. The cold breeze blew through the door as if old man winter were trying to cool his soup. The smell of cigarette smoke danced with the smell of popcorn and hotdogs so closely than it was deliciously disgusting. The chairs we sat in were frigid and unwavering. You could have put your tongue to it and it would have frozen almost instantly. We were kids, I was six maybe seven years old and Jill was just a few years older. We played in the aisles; we laughed and giggled without a care. We were doing what kids do, having fun anywhere we could. My grandparents called us over and made us sit, we weren’t in trouble they just wanted us to stay put so we didn’t annoy any of the others in the auction house. As we continued to play Jill pointed her finger at me. “Don’t point at me, my momma ain’t dead,” I blurted out. Instantly happiness and joy turned to tears and uncontrollable sobbing. A sharp blow to the back of my head from my grandfather stunned me like a…show more content…
I could push it to the back of my mind like a box of old toys in the farthest point of the crawl space but it was always there. It wasn’t until my sister’s wedding that our paths crossed again. Twelve years had gone by at this point. I was in the wedding party so I didn’t get to see any of the guests as they arrived. It wasn’t until I was walking down the aisle with a bridesmaid that I saw Jill. Our eyes locked and I was taken back to that childhood moment all over again. It was her eyes; I could never forget those ocean blue peepers. I stopped instantly; it was like I was a victim of Darth Vader choking me with the Force not allowing me to move. “You need to keep walking” I read from her

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