Personal Narrative-Thomas Longwoods Acting Classes

"Thomas Longwoods Acting Classes, they 're in Montgomery Valley now, I want to sign up" I

tell my mother as I hold the sheet infront of her face. " Acting.... why? " She says, squinting her eyes to read the words while my baby sister

Ronnie starts to nuzzle her head in to my moms neck. " Because its my drea-"

Ronnie starts to spit up and mother jolts to the washroom before I can even finish my sentence. I

lift the registration form and crumple in into my palms. My eyes start to feel a tingling

sensation as tears trace down my long lashes and my cheeks. Since this is not my first attempt

in asking for something. Dance, soccer, saxophone, were just a few things my mother has rejected

me from doing. Although, a bit had to do with

Not mine. Mom wouldnt think of something for me. She wouldnt

speak , nor spend time with us anymore. She was either in or out of the house with a new uniform

or hat which piled up on the coat rack. I had to admit. I hated it. Her absense made me feel like

she hated me. I woke up an hour early this morning , just to catch her and ask her all my eager

questions.

My attempt is ruined when I see she has left the door with her 'chicken town ' uniform on. I gasp

a bit since the running down the stairs has made me fatigue.I turn to see what 's for

To my dismay, I see nothing , no cereal and no milk. I try opting to look for

something else, yet the cupboards and frdige shelves are cleaned out. I slouch on the sofa and

starve. My mother is so wound up in saving her pouch money and her new job that she has forgotten

about me. I spot a pencil and paper, and write the angriest message for her.That is, until I get

a message from Thomas Longwoods Acting Classes. They 've comfirmed my application and have

enrolled me. This must 've been a miracle, I havent enrolled or applied yet and theyve accepted

me. Out of sheer joy, I forget my hunger and race to my room.

"Dinners ready!" my mother says, peering her head in my room. "mom, dont youhave work today" I question her. "coffee shops not open tuesdays, remember?" she answers.

It 's been a month , and this has been the first time we are back to our family dinners. We reach the dinner table , holding hand in hand, to say grace. My mothers eyes ponder around the

room to look for the holy book to read a passage from. I follow her gaze to the coffeee table

near the front door. There I see the book sitting above the glass portion of the table, beside an

empty and