Cleansing (Creative Writing and Symbolism Piece)

            On the shore before a long wooden dock, sits a suitcase. Beside the suitcase stands a girl whose brown hair and eyes exactly match the color of the ratty piece of luggage. Squinting in the sun of the late afternoon, the girl silently reaches down and grips the cracked leather handle and, with a sudden mighty heave, moves the suitcase over one of the thick boards of the dock and it lands with a thud. Heave, thud. Heave, thud. She makes slow progress, taking only one board at a time until she reaches the very end of the dock, where she kneels down ceremoniously, lays the suitcase on its side, and clicks open the rusted clasps.

            Without a flicker of expression on her face, she sits down on the edge of the dock, her feet dangling inches above the dark, cold water. From inside the suitcase, she pulls out a small cloth bag—her makeup bag. She unzips it, pulls out her blush, extends her hand over the undulating black waves, and drops it. It lands with a gentle plash, sinks for a moment, then disappears from view. After watching it for a moment, the girl reaches back into the makeup bag and pulls out a tube of black mascara. Plash. A bottle of foundation that was always a shade too dark. Plash. Eyeliner, eyeshadow, lipstick, and more cascade into the dark depths, followed at last by the bag from whence they came.

            Her face unmoved, an image of perfect serenity, the girl reaches back into the suitcase. This time, she pulls out a stack of neatly folded clothing, which she balances carefully on her lap. With a quick flick of her wrist, she sends the top article—a red summer dress—flying gracefully into the air, where it twists once in the wind before landing soundlessly on the water’s surface. The red darkens to crimson as the water soaks each thread, until it finally disappears into the blackness. A black pencil skirt, a sequined tank top, a leather jacket, a pair of dark-wash jeans, and a cashmere sweater follow close behind, bobbing on the waves for a few moments, then sinking.

Her pile of clothing now gone, she rummages around once more in the suitcase, finally locating the soft leather cover of a journal. She carefully unties its soft brown strings, and flips through the creamy pages, filled with her tiny, delicate scrawl. Without hesitation, she takes one cover in each hand, flipping the book upside down over the edge of the dock and giving it a few firm shakes. From between the pages flows a river of photos, ticket stubs, love letters, postcards, drawings, and pressed flowers. The thin sheets dance elegantly downward, until they are swept away by the coursing tide. Then, with a sickening plunk, in drops the journal.

The girl sits, empty-handed. The sun has vanished and the night sky now matches the icy blackness of the water. Yet the girl does not shiver. Her face remains calm, even subtly pleased, as she places her right hand on the now-empty suitcase and gives it a little push. Seconds later, the ripples have cleared and the night is silent, but for the roaring whisper of the waves below.

With equal silence, the girl lies down on the rough boards of the dock and closes her eyes. As she gently drifts off to sleep, the pearly moon, caught between crescent and full, paints her still features with a soft, white light that fills every scar, erases every imperfection, and infuses her face with the clean glow of the peaceful.

The Loman Family: Hopelessly Caught in the Movements of History

This image, the cover of a movie version of Death of a Salesman released in 1985, subtly illustrates one of the main themes of the play: as America’s definition of the so-called “American Dream” changes during the 1950s, the family dynamic and stability of the Loman family crumbles. Willy has his arm around Biff, connecting the two characters, while Happy has his arm around Linda, making them a distinctly different pair. Meanwhile, both Happy and Linda have their hands on Willy’s shoulders, symbolically holding him forcibly down along with his adventurous view of life. Biff sits slightly apart from the family unit, apparently unable to reconcile with his father, and certainly not with his mother or brother, with whom he has no contact. Finally, Biff frowns while Willy, Linda, and Happy smile peacefully, as if he cannot swallow his position in life or the qualities of his family.

This positioning reflects the tensions in the actual text of the play: half of the family (Willy and Biff) cling desperately to the idea of the “traditional” American Dream, while the other half of the family (Linda and Happy) generally embrace the Dream of the 50s. This difference in goals and aspirations indirectly causes all of the Loman family’s problems—the members of the family are divided into two distinct groups based on their ideal version of life, yet they attempt to unite out of a sense of familial responsibility. It is this continual, if silent, conflict that eventually leads to the destruction of this pitiable family.

            Yet before analyzing the specific characters and events of the play, it is imperative to have an understanding of the definition of each version of the American Dream. The traditional pre-1940s-50s Dream, I daresay the original American Dream, was that with some hard, physical labor, a full supply of common sense, and a mountain of determination, a man could achieve self-sufficiency and even prosperity. It was this dream that drove thousands of enterprising farmers westward during the mid- to late-1800s and gave them the courage to brave unexplored and often dangerous terrain to build their houses, plant their farms, and sustain their families. This Dream meant freedom—freedom from past personal mistakes, from the complexities of modern life, from the stench of the ever-growing cities, and from the increasingly rigid social structure of the heavily-populated regions of the country. The “new” Dream, which really took off around the 1950s, was quite different. Intelligence and a cunning mind for business replaced manual labor as the catalyst for success, the focus shifted from expansion and sheer determination to community and familial stability, and unlike the previous decades, social position was a daily concern.

            The individual members of the Loman family reflect  one of these two views. For instance, during one of his typical hallucinations, Willy frets over the bare garden outside his house, declaring “Oh, I’d better hurry…I’ve got to get some seeds, right away. Nothing’s planted. I don’t have a thing in the ground” (116). Willy is obviously not a farmer, yet it is significant that in his moments of great mental strain, he reverts back to this traditional “farmer’s” Dream of self-sufficiently. Additionally, at Willy’s funeral, Charley states that Willy “was a happy man with a batch of cement” and Biff remarks that “there’s more of him in that front stoop” that he had built himself “than in all the sales he ever made” (129). Willy’s fondest memories and the fondest memories his family has of him all involve physical work or activity—he is not meant for the social complexities and intangible work of a salesman, but rather for hard work, from which his true sense of success and happiness derives. Additionally, Biff reflects his father’s Dream through his lack of success and focus in business and also through his exclamation of “Screw the business world!” (64). In a conversation with Happy, he dreams of the personal freedom of the original American Dream, saying, “We should be mixing cement on some open plain” (64). Like his father, Biff longs for a concrete (no pun intended) sense of success and challenge of manual labor.

            Unfortunately for the Lomans, Linda (and, by extension, Happy) have differing goals. Linda’s American Dream is the Dream of the 50s: familial stability (a permanent home, reliable and respectful sons, financial security, and a general appearance of success) and domestic peace (59). For this reason she and Happy (who dreams of being accepted by his father and, appropriately, keeping everyone happy) constantly play peacemakers, searching for that ever-elusive stage of comfort, tranquility, and being respected by society.

            For these reasons, the Lomans are a family tragically caught in a turning point of American history—the transition between the “old” and “new” American Dreams. The pressure and animosity of this historical transition rip apart the family’s proverbial seams, and the irreconcilability of the two pursuits of happiness eventually ruin the happiness of all.

A Stroll on the Beach

Left, right, left, right. Four turns and I’m at the Cove. As I walk along the pebbly beach waiting for the perfect sunset shot and blowing on my fingers to keep them warm in the near-freezing weather, I mull over four years’ worth of memories at this place: barbeques, bonfires, driftwood forts, a botched set of senior pictures, and even an ill-planned, rain-soaked, midnight adventure. As I relive these pleasant memories, it suddenly occurs to me how much of my life is dependent on my friends. Almost none of my most cherished memories, my favorite activities, or my loftiest plans would be as appealing without the presence of my friends who, for the most part, have been a part of my life since elementary school.

Part of me is content and happy that I have had such wonderful people in my life for so long, but part of me is also apprehensive at this thought. What happens when I’m not around them anymore? The idea of living without the near-constant influence of certain people seems as inconceivable as the snow on the driftwood beside me, but the fact remains that very soon it will be a reality.

I have never thought of myself as dependent before—I have no problem doing things alone and I don’t collapse if my social life slows down. Yet in spite of my introvertedness, I realize that my friends are what give my life color and humor, and quite often they are the reason that endless weeks of school are bearable. A select few, specifically, who have encouraged me during the worst days of my life thus far, have proven themselves to be genuine friends—never dismissive, never vindictive, always understanding.

It is as I contemplate their endless list of admirable qualities that I decide to make a two-fold New Year’s resolution (something I rarely do). First of all, I want to let those friends know just how much I love and appreciate them. I only hope that they feel as blessed as I do as a result of their love.  Secondly, I am not going to live with a mindset that says “all of this will end very soon,” because even though it is true that our constant closeness will come to an end in the near future, I don’t want anything to inhibit me from growing closer to these people. I will not use it as an excuse to pull away and attempt to protect myself from the sadness that will accompany graduation. Instead, I am going to accept the fact that, come May and June, I will have several breakdowns and will cry and mourn for the ending of this volume (it has been way too full to be called a “chapter”) of my life. No matter how hard it is, life will go on, but I refuse to let it end early by distancing myself. My resolution, then, is to live an exciting, love-filled, adventurous, involved life with the people I love and to enjoy every second of it, rather than worrying about the future.

At that moment, as if it approved of my decision, the sun finished setting and I realized that I could no longer feel my fingers or toes. So, memories and resolutions swirling around my mind, I headed home with a thoroughly content and optimistic mood and the car heaters turned up full blast.