Comp - Assignment 1 - Describe Someone

          She had been losing weight for months but instead of the fit and trim body we had all been promised by the media, her dark hazelnut skin fell from her bones like an abandoned old basset hound's. I was one of very few people who had seen her without her hair or makeup, a disturbingly shocking sight of aging after growing accustomed to her youthful veil of multi-colored hair extensions and Avon cosmetics. The nappy gray tufts of hair that lay underneath knotted into itself with moldy green fuzz from not being washed well enough nor dried completely and the dark bags under her yellowed eyes sagged down to the middle of her cheeks, deeply imprinted with an outline of hard nights and even harder hangovers.
          I remember as a child the nauseating smell that wafted from her clothing even after I had obsessively washed the garments. It was one of those stenches that latched onto everything it came near like a sickening virus. It wasn't until placing an Avon order in my adult years that I identified the god-awful scent that was more familiar than I wanted to admit. Skin-So-Soft and blue Softees hair grease, a combination that shouldn't have smelt as bad as it did yet my mother swore by it, swore it "enhanced her phermones" and heaven knows you could never tell her any different.
          The part of my mom that the world knows is the mistress side of her, the part of her that walks into a room and commands attention with her head held high and a tone of voice that speaks with such a conviction that with words alone she could make the pope question his faith. My battle with her however is the fact that I see the truth behind that act. A knack for social skills and public speaking have remained her hardened shield to keep the world from seeing the massive void that she had buried deep within herself. Dr. Phil had once talked about those people who harbor clutter, interviewing a few people on his show about what was really causing their erratic behavior. I remember watching the episode and shaking my head at the television screen.
          "You really have no idea how bad it can get, Dr. Phil. Come to my Mother's house one day. I dare you to try to fix her." The images in my head as I spoke out loud into nothingness were like a hidden camera documentary on disease in war torn countries but unfortunately was the world she had etched out for herself. The yard full of mud and animal feces replaced what should have been grass and caused an odor you could smell a mile before even reaching her house. The old abandoned vehicles that she had sworn she'd have fixed one day line the disintegrating driveway filled with old boxes and suitcases of who knows what. On her farm there were five buildings, ancient looking monuments to the life we once had now seemingly being held together by the junk and garbage that fills them. The layer of dust and dirt covers it all like a blanket of neglect. She had no intentions of cleaning any of it, just constant excuses of "...well one day we might need this..." or "I'll fix that. I just have to find the time..."
          The funny thing about my mother and time was she always had it. She had the time to spend all evening and all night in the bar, even time to sleep for sixteen hours straight yet somehow she was always too busy to really get anything done. Arguing about it though always proved frivolous, words dancing in circles with raised voices until both sides just collapse with an exhausted sigh, not making any headway or proving any real points besides 'I can scream louder than you can!'
          She isn't all bad, though. She's just slightly lost, plagued by aimless aging. Countless times while growing up I remember my mom bringing home random homeless people she had spotted out on city benches and made them hot meals, giving them soft pillows to sleep on and even old clothes of my father's. When there is something she really wants, my mother is the type of person that sweats determination. Repeatedly I have watched in awe as she pushed herself past her dyslexia and learning disabilities to accomplish the things she really wanted. Apparently her childhood of being told she was too dumb, too black, or that she just plain couldn't had instilled in her the need to prove the entire world wrong.