a day in the life of a flapper.

As of today, my third term english honors five genre research project is complete.

My written:

I live in the 1920’s. I am a 17 year old teenage girl. People say I need to start growing up but all I want to do is have fun. I don't want to give up my teenage years. I don't want to have to worry about stressful matters. I want to have a good time with my friends. I want to experience new things. All I want to do is feel alive and free.

I am walking down the boulevard. The boy walks past me. I catch his eye and he winks back. I turn to my friends and giggle. We are window shopping . I’m looking for a new dress to wear for the outing tonight. Mine are all too long and out-dated. I want a new kind of dress that shows off my knees and shouts “I'm chic”! I finally find the perfect one that will go just nicely with my brand new Mary Jane heels. I pick out a brown cloche hat to add the final touch. The next stop we make is at the barber's shop. My best friends finally persuade me to bob my hair like theirs. They say it is much easier to take care of and plus its so vogue!

When I get home father is running around the house in a flurry. As I walk in the room he stops to take a double look at me and my new hair cut. “What did you do?!” He exclaims then sighs, “we'll discuss this later, right now your mother and I have to go!”. He and my mother leave. “Where are they going? I ask my brother. He says father is off to go vote for the next president and it's important because this time mother can go with him. I don’t put much thought into it. Brother says I should care more about my country and what’s going on. I escape another one of his boring stories about how not long ago men were dying to the left and right of him while he was on the battle field of the Great War.

I try on my whole, new ensemble and model it to Grammie. She takes one look, then frowns and mutters something to herself about young people these days. I shrug my shoulders; it’s what’s in! Besides, what does my grandma know about fashion? I sit in front of my vanity and apply more deep green eye shadow around my eyes and bright red lip stick that make my lips pop. Now I am ready for the night.

I listen to our new radio in our living room while I wait for my friends to pick me up. They borrowed one of their dad’s new Ford Model-Ts. We drive into town. We finally arrive at the address of the hottest speakeasy around. We walk into the dimly lit room. There are other girls, dressed like us, lounging around smoking cigarettes and gangsters illegally drinking alcohol. My girl friends and I walk past them, feeling a tad out of place, and make our way to the dance floor. We start to dance the Charleston; kicking up our heels, throwing out our elbows, and bending in our knees. The jazz music speaks to me, I can feel it ripple through my bones. We dance the night away.

Suddenly I catch that boy’s eye again. Oh, how I could spot those sharp eyes a mile away. He sees me too. This time he doesn’t just wink, he starts to approach me. My heart skips a beat.  He asks me to dance. I stand speechless.  My friends motion me to accept. I do. The piano fabricates a mood of jazzy blues, as we begin to sway back and forth to the music. The next thing I know we are outside, walking down the ally way. He grabs my hand. Silence describes better than any spoken words possibly could. My heart sings and I know his does too. He stops and turns to face me. I get one last look into those blue eyes before his lips are pressed against mine. For a moment everything is still. We are the only two people on earth. There is not a care in the world.

But the moment ends as quickly as it begins. My friends are running towards us yelling we have to leave; and for a reason I do not know. I’m shoved into the back seat of the Ford and before I know it we are driving away. I take one look back. He’s looking back as well. Few words were spoken but we both know. The connection we felt was something more, something beyond everything else. It was as if our souls were conversing one with another, whispering it is meant to be; we are meant to be.

When I arrive home I try to wrap my head around what had happened. The night was enchanting, simply flawless. I just felt so free. I want to remember and cherish it forever. I am a 17 year old teenage girl. I live in the 1920's.

My artistic:

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