Vaudeville Girls.
My name is Margaret Ingrid Forrester and I am 92 years old. I usually spend my time sitting on the porch watching the endless fields stretch out before me, the birds flying overhead, the wind blowing, rustling the leaves of the old oak tree. That tree has been here longer than I have. Oh, don't get me wrong, I didn't always sit here enjoying the rolling hills and the distant mountains of West Virginia. Believe it or not, I used to be a traveling dancer with the Vaudeville Girls. But, of course, this was years ago. Before I met Harry.It was 1926, I was 17, and being a girl who's life's ambition was centered around the graceful stars of Hollywood, it was no wonder that when I heard that the Vaudeville Girls were coming into town, I couldn't refrain from begging my father for permission to go see the show. Father worked in the bank and being the stubborn man he was, I knew it would take a lot of coaxing before he would even consider the idea. He didn't approve of such "nonsense" (nonsense was the word he used when he referred to any element of entertainment). Mother said that a girl my age could be wrongly influenced and it wasn't lady-like to be a dancer. But I knew I had to go, if only for 10 minutes, I had to see their beaut
We moved that summer to a large farm in West Virginia. The house had 6 bedrooms, a living room, a dining room, a large kitchen and two bathrooms. It also had a lovely porch with a swaying bench. Harry wanted to have a large family. There were two barns in the back. I don't visit them anymore. But Harry and I used to sit there forever watching the stars through the cracks in the roof. About 4 years later, Harry decided he'd fix those roofs, after a rainstorm had passed through the state. And that's how it happened. He was climbing down the ladder, when he slipped. The doctor said that nothing could be done because he had landed on his head. I cried and denied it. I couldn't believe how such an innocent act as climbing down a ladder could take a loved one's life. I guess we'll never know why, it must have happened for some reason. As I walked home with Eliza that night I decided the only way I would be able to follow this dream was to runaway. And so I did. I packed my bag and left a note on the small wooden counter top in the kitchen. I do regret that I was never again able to hear my mother's humming as she washed the dishes, nor smell my father's pipe.
Some common words found in the essay are:
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Approximate Word count = 1189
Approximate Pages = 5 (250 words per page double spaced)
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