Word Count: 1074
A week before the date of my departure from my hometown to New York City I had received an email from Parsons Housing. I did not realize that I never sent in my immunization forms. I was a little nervous because the email did state that the deadline was due the next wednesday at noon, which was only in a couple of days. I knew that if I didn’t send it in time I would be denied housing and therefore would not be able to go to college. I immediately told my mom to set up an appointment with my doctor as soon as possible. The next day my Mom told me that my appointment was on tuesday. I thought to myself that’s perfect, I’ll get the papers needed and everything will be great. Tuesday rolled forward and I got in the car with my mom to go to my appointment. I hopped in the passenger’s seat and put my headphones in like I usually did and grabbed the handle to recline the seat back. I tried to relax, but I couldn’t shake the thought of something going wrong and me having to explain to my dad why I can no longer go to college. And of course, something went wrong. The doctor’s office didn’t have a record of the shots I had previously gotten so they had to test my blood to see if I had gotten the necessary vaccinations. I never really had a problem with needles but I’ve never gotten my blood drawn before. After they said they had to take my blood I was a little nervous, but I thought to myself it will all be worth it when i’m in New York living my best life. I walked into the room where my blood would be drawn. There was a big grey chair with armrests on both sides staring back and intimidating me. I sat down thinking to myself what the hell did I get myself into. The nurse looked like she was from latin descent and was slightly overweight. She wore a scrub with pastel flowers on it. She had a soothing voice but It failed to make me less nervous than I already was. She grabbed my left arm and flipped it over on the armrest. The intense smell of alcohol struck my nose as she wiped my upper forearm. She tied a strip of rubber around my arm and my vein poked out like a sore thumb. She tried to distract me by asking me questions about college, but I was so focused on her inserting the needle into my arm that I awkwardly forgot to answer her questions. The pain was sharp and then it started to smooth out. “This isn’t so bad”, I thought to myself. I could get through this. The color of my blood confounded me. It was a deep dark red that filled up the tube. She twisted it off and I was so happy that it was over. But I was wrong, this was just the beginning. The slightly overweight nurse took out another tube, then another, and another. I started to feel light headed and addled. I was so fixated on my blood filling up the tubes, it felt like I was in a haze. My stomach felt like I hadn’t eaten in weeks. Everytime the nurse asked me a question I would try to build up the energy to respond but physically couldn’t. I felt my eyelids slowly get heavier with every second passing by. That’s when all of a sudden everything went blurry and my head immediately dropped. I finally mustered the strength to tell the nurse that I felt like I was going to throw up. She quickly grabbed a trash can with a yellow Shoprite bag around the rim. I looked down at it and thought of the bright yellow sun, how beautiful it was. Then I pictured a meadow with valleys of flowers and butterflies. Reality quickly smacked me in the face as my gag reflex triggered and dry wheezing came about. I didn’t noticed until I looked up but my mom was in the room now. She came over to rub my back and asked the nurse if I would be ok. The nurse responded in a confid
ent tone and said, “Oh he’s fine, this happens sometimes to kids who are afraid of seeing blood”. But I wasn’t afraid of blood, I had seen my fair share of Stephen King movies to know what it looked like. I looked up, stunned at the fact that she was basically saying to my mom that I was a wimp. “It’s because I didn’t eat anything all day”, I said in an annoyed tone. I was ready to get out of here. I planted both my feet on the ground and slowly got up. My head was pounding with pain and my legs were shaking. My mom and the slightly overweight nurse helped me outside the room and sat me down in the reception area. They told us that we would get the results back by tomorrow, so I would be able to send in the documents to the school and everything would be fine. I thought to myself in relief that it was all worth it, I got through this traumatic event. My mom and I walked out the reception area into the bright yellow sun. I hopped in the passenger’s seat and put my headphones in like I usually did and grabbed the handle to recline the seat back. I was relaxing the whole ride back. I was a little nauseous, but the thought of me getting it out of the way made me ignore how bad I felt. Once my Mom and I got home, I flopped onto the couch and didn’t move. I could hear my mom in the other room shuffling through papers. “Brandon!” I heard echo throughout the house. I quickly got up and rushed over to where she was. There my Mom was, standing there with a paper in her hand. I got closer and took the piece of paper. It was my shot record with all the vaccinations. All the pain, the suffering from the doctors was all for nothing. I thought I had done something heroic today for a purpose, but what I needed was at home the whole time.
How did your experiences in Studio and Seminar inform each other throughout the process of writing and making Bridge 1?
In both Studio and Seminar I was able to prep my ideas and let a lot of them out. In studio we had to draw 100 drawings, and in seminar we had to write 50 true and 50 fake memories. Doing those drawings brought back a lot of memories and so did the writings. Both assignments triggered me to remember this vivid memory that I wrote about for the Bridge 1 assignment.
What was your intention for the final memoir, and how do you feel you conveyed that intention?
My intention was to convey a memory that I vividly remembered. I tried to start from the beginning and end the story at a conclusion. I did my best to convey that intention and I think I did it very well.
What did you discover about your work and yourself through revision?
I discovered that I make a lot of mistakes and I like to write down everything in my head as a rough draft. My revision helped me piece everything together and make everything more coherent.
Why did you choose to revise either the real or imagined memoir for your final draft?
The real memory was easier for me because I could add details the more I remembered things.
What risks did you take in this project? What risks did you decide against taking? Why?
I took the risk of writing about a memory that happens over a course of multiple days. I took this risk because I thought that everyone would write about a vivid memory that only happens on one day in one setting. I wanted to be different. I decided to not take the risk of hyper detailing everything as I imagined because then the story would be too long.
From this point onward, how would you like to improve as a writer and creator over the course of the semester?
I would like to be able to improve on making a flowing story. I feel like I have a lot of great stories to tell, but critical details don’t make it on the page.