First writing assignment

Ok, so i just finished my first writing assignment for my creative writing class. I was supposed to either write about a person I saw in passing or about an overheard conversation. This is the product:


The young guy at the marble shop.

I had arrived in Omak the day before, after driving a day and a half from Denver. I had been eager to visit my mom for several months and now I was sitting in the new bistro talking about my next few months as a lighthouse keeper with my mom and Jeff. During a casual pause in the conversation, i glanced out the window across the street at a half filled marble and granite store. Its not uncommon to find stores in such condition here in Omak, a farming town on the edge of the reservation. As my mom starts discussing generators and estimated fuel consumption, a guy, no more than 25 steps out of the marble shop. He is dusty and covered in contruction grime, the odds and ends of his work have left specialized markings on his outfit. I quietly chuckle that people pay a hundred dollars for a pair of jeans that look like his. His hair is a dirty blond, or is that only the dust clinging to his locks.

The three of us finish our meal and walk over to the marble shop, my mom is hoping to find ideas for a kitchen makeover. As her and Jeff discuss proper colors and edges, I find myself drawn to a yellow lab laying in the corner next to a 12 inch circulr saw. I am staring at him as this young man walks between us towards a work bench. Behind him trails the cologne of cigarettes, sweat, and lumber. He seems to have the eyese of a 'drifter', one who does a job long enough to experience it before mvoing on. I wonder if his gypsy spirit has brought him to Omak, or this is where he is from, but has yet to find home. We walk past a slab of thulite, native only to this region, and I imagine the story of his life and its future drawn out in the features. Although upon close inspection one sees cracks, dents, rust stains, or unappealing lins, the beauty is only striking when you see the whole slab. It makes me think of how I was at first turned away by the smell of cigarettes, but now found myself romatacizing him as a gypsy.

This particular chunk of embedded rose quartz is craggy and spotted, its edges well defined. This spot represents his time when he will be on the volunteer fire lines for the wildfires that rage through this area. He says he does it out of duty, or to save lives, however he is really trying to define his own boundaries. Trying to find that distinct line between what he is and what he shouldn't be. This dark green smudge speckled with black dots is from his youth, cooking meth and 'finding' himself. The white waving line that fades in some spots and is bold in others represents the common thread he held on to since a child, to beat another man for an offense is acceptable, to strike an animal or child is unforgiveable. The black and brown splotches thrown about seemingly at random are his reminders of intentional malice and feigned ignorance. He neglected his sisters cries for help to save her from their father. He claims that baby isn't his, but he knows the truth inside and it scares him. He spent the last of the hundred dollars he stole from his boss on a fifth of whiskey.

Although the dark and brooding parts are overwhelming at first, I am amazed by his life as a whole. I believe it was Aristotle that said one must not judge a person to be flourishing or not by glancing at only aspects of their life. Instead to judge if one has truly 'lived' you must examine the whole of their life, including the way they died.

My fingers, previously tracing the lines of the granite now run off the course hewn edge.