The inside was dark.
12. How many four-word sentences can you make with the above words, using all of the words in each combination?
"This is stupid," Rachel thought, reading her last math problem again for the third time in a row. Rachel hadn’t been listening well in class lately and wondered if she had missed some shortcut that would have helped her with this problem. She read the question again. "Who cares", she answered aloud, imagining herself actually writing the words ‘who cares’ as her answer, and smiling.
Truth was she did care and, more importantly, she wanted to stay busy so she read the question again, determined to come up with the answer. Someone looking through her bedroom window at that moment would have seen a 17-year-old girl talking to herself while her eyes searched nowhere in particular, as if searching for a clue. Rachel figured that she could make four sentences each time she started with a different word, and there being four words in the original sentence, the answer must be 4x4 or 16. "It couldn’t be that easy," she thought, shaking her head. Doubting her logic, Rachel wrote ‘16’ hesitatingly on her worksheet and contemplated ways to solve the problem. "How am I supposed to know," she groaned, releasing one frustrated sigh and laying her head on top of the math book.
When Rachel raised her head she stared blankly at the answer she had just written and then smiled. Inspired, she began writing out the actual sentence combinations that could be formed with the words ‘the inside was dark’, starting with the word "the".
The inside was dark.
The dark was inside.
The inside dark was.
The dark inside was.
Writing out all the possible combinations was the only way Rachel could think of to make sure she got the answer right. She may not have liked math very much but she disliked being wrong even more. At the very least the task would keep her busy.
Rachel was in basic math, the one for students not planning to go to university. It wasn’t that she wasn’t smart enough, but she had already been accepted into the school of her dreams, The Fashion Institute of Technology (FIT) in New York City, and would be starting there after she graduated. Two years at FIT and an Associates Degree in Fashion Design seemed like enough education to her. Mostly she guarded a secret that cemented all her plans; Brian had told her he’d marry her after she graduated from FIT and she wanted that more than anything else in the world. Someday she would design trendy clothes and playfully bow to the audience from the catwalk after her fashion shows ended and Brian would work as a Stock Broker on Wall Street. They would live together in The Village or maybe even SoHo and they’d have lots of friends who were artists. She had pictured it a million times.
Rachel tried to ignore growing sleepiness but succumbed, laying her head once more on top of her math book and closing her eyes, just for a minute, she told herself. She wanted to go to sleep much more than she wanted to finish her homework and thought about how good it would feel to give in to her weariness and just sleep right there, with her head on her books. It was only when she felt the intoxicating daze of approaching sleep swim through her that she opened heavy eyelids, lifted her head, and pushed herself against the back of the chair. She was determined to stay up in case Brian called.
He hadn’t talked to her since Saturday and hadn’t been in school today, either, which made her laugh because she had made it, sitting through 7 classes while trying to ignore annoying cramps and wishing she were at home in bed. Rachel figured his absence had something to do with what had happened Saturday and that it would be best if she waited for him to call her.
Earlier in the day she had thought about trying to call him at his house after school but didn’t want to have to talk to his chirpy mother. She pictured Brian’s mother answering the phone with her sing-song voice. "He-loh-oh", she’d gush. Rachel imagined herself hanging up at that point and Mrs. Richardson standing there repeating "he-loh-oh, he-llo? again and again. No, she couldn’t face that much cheerfulness tonight.
Turning back to her assignment she continued writing out the various combinations that could be constructed with the four words.
The was inside dark.
The was dark inside.
Inside was the dark.
Inside dark was the.
"Why hasn’t he called me – another whole day?" she wondered again, incredulous, conscious of a sudden rush of anger and the beginnings of tears. It was the one question she tried to crowd out by either methodically working through the combinations or by doodling spirals in the margins of her notebook paper. She wondered where her mother was, and then vaguely remembered something about an open house and that Patrick, her brother, would be going, too. "Uh, OK, mom," she remembered answering, unconsciously exhaling frustration that Brian had still not called.
Inside the was dark.
Inside the dark was.
"Inside the dark was." Rachel said it aloud, sitting up straight, suddenly awake. "Inside the dark was." "Inside the dark was." "Inside the dark was." "The dark was." "What!" she said loudly. "The dark was what?" she asked the empty room, suddenly conscious of the dampness of her pad and returning cramps.
This wasn’t like normal periods. It hurt more and there was so much more blood. She thought, again, about the dark, glistening globs she had seen the last time she changed her pad, and worried. They had surprised her and she didn’t know if they were supposed to be there or even what they were.
Inside the dark was.
Rachel stared at the words again and went to the bathroom to change her pad.
When she returned she didn’t continue with her assignment but sat there staring blankly at the rose Brian had given her on Saturday and rubbed her belly. She thought about Brian and waited, listening through the dense silence for the telephone to ring, the quiet broken only by the sound of her own breathing.
She thought about Brian and the time he’d won a match, pinning a rival and setting a new high school record. Right after the referee had raised Brian’s arm in victory, he had walked to the stands holding out one hand toward her. She recalled how she left her seat and stepped down from the bleachers to meet him. He gave her a sweaty kiss in front of the whole auditorium and they walked out of the gym together, holding hands. The memory of it made her smile and for a few minutes Rachel felt sure that it had all been worth it. "Of course he loves me," she reassured herself.
She remembered the day she had told Brian she was pregnant. Hadn’t he been so supportive, wrapping his strong arms around her until she was ready to stop crying? She replayed the scene in her mind, tearing a little when she remembered how much she had cried that day and that Brian had started crying, too. She felt ashamed for being angry with him for not calling.
He really had comforted her that day, offering to take her to the abortion clinic himself, and reassuring her that they would make it through this themselves; that she didn’t need to involve her parents. And then when the day actually arrived, he stayed that whole time in the waiting room and then let her nap in the back of his car until she felt well enough to go home. Before she got out of the car he told her he loved her, giving her one red rose before driving off. It now sat in a lonely vase on her night table. She had forgotten to put water in it and the edges of two petals had already shriveled.
Rachel could hardly believe that was just two days ago, on Saturday. She had gone out grocery shopping that morning with her mother and grandmother, her nervousness making her more talkative than usual. She remembered thinking that they had no idea what was going to happen to her later, and how mischievous she felt. Lying about the day’s plans had been so easy. She had told them in the afternoon she and Brian would be going to the mall where they’d have dinner, then see a movie. It sounded so reasonable she almost believed it herself, picturing them hand-in-hand walking through the mall, almost excited about it.
Why hadn’t he called, though? How could he not call? she wondered, resenting him for his absence when she needed him most. She could think of nothing else. She looked at her math sheet and where she had left off in her list of sentence combinations.
Inside the dark was.
Inside the dark was.
She pictured the dark globs from her pad and thought about what had really taken place inside her body on Saturday, the results of which were saturating another pad. She started imagining the globs reconnecting, growing bones and skin, tiny limbs, fingers, toes, a face. Then the tears, damned up by denial and fear, began streaming down her flushed cheeks and she choked out heavy sobs as she imagined the baby that would never be born.
"Inside the dark - was a baby," she cried. "It was a baby - a baby" she worded, emptying an entire breath with one deep sob before breaking down completely. She had never cried like this and was amazed at the depth of her sorrow. "I’m so sorry," she choked, her breathing heavy with remorse, heaving sobs she thought could never end. She hoped that the baby could somehow see her regret and forgive her.
Rachel didn’t hear the soft knocks on her bedroom door but when she heard her mother’s voice saying, "honey, what’s the matter?" she turned and raced to her mother, knocking over the chair as she ran. "Mom, I’ve made such a terrible mistake", Rachel managed before giving in completely to a grief so deep that it spilled out in convulsive sobs. She clung to her mother with both arms as tightly as she could and wept until all her tears were gone and she could tell her mother everything.
Neither one of them had heard the phone ring so they were startled by the sudden intrusion of Patrick’s voice coming from behind the closed door. "Brian’s on the phone", he said and without hesitating Rachel replied, "Tell him I don’t want to talk to him". It was all she could think of saying.
Copyright © 2004 Pamela Hamilton
12. How many four-word sentences can you make with the above words, using all of the words in each combination?
"This is stupid," Rachel thought, reading her last math problem again for the third time in a row. Rachel hadn’t been listening well in class lately and wondered if she had missed some shortcut that would have helped her with this problem. She read the question again. "Who cares", she answered aloud, imagining herself actually writing the words ‘who cares’ as her answer, and smiling.
Truth was she did care and, more importantly, she wanted to stay busy so she read the question again, determined to come up with the answer. Someone looking through her bedroom window at that moment would have seen a 17-year-old girl talking to herself while her eyes searched nowhere in particular, as if searching for a clue. Rachel figured that she could make four sentences each time she started with a different word, and there being four words in the original sentence, the answer must be 4x4 or 16. "It couldn’t be that easy," she thought, shaking her head. Doubting her logic, Rachel wrote ‘16’ hesitatingly on her worksheet and contemplated ways to solve the problem. "How am I supposed to know," she groaned, releasing one frustrated sigh and laying her head on top of the math book.
When Rachel raised her head she stared blankly at the answer she had just written and then smiled. Inspired, she began writing out the actual sentence combinations that could be formed with the words ‘the inside was dark’, starting with the word "the".
The inside was dark.
The dark was inside.
The inside dark was.
The dark inside was.
Writing out all the possible combinations was the only way Rachel could think of to make sure she got the answer right. She may not have liked math very much but she disliked being wrong even more. At the very least the task would keep her busy.
Rachel was in basic math, the one for students not planning to go to university. It wasn’t that she wasn’t smart enough, but she had already been accepted into the school of her dreams, The Fashion Institute of Technology (FIT) in New York City, and would be starting there after she graduated. Two years at FIT and an Associates Degree in Fashion Design seemed like enough education to her. Mostly she guarded a secret that cemented all her plans; Brian had told her he’d marry her after she graduated from FIT and she wanted that more than anything else in the world. Someday she would design trendy clothes and playfully bow to the audience from the catwalk after her fashion shows ended and Brian would work as a Stock Broker on Wall Street. They would live together in The Village or maybe even SoHo and they’d have lots of friends who were artists. She had pictured it a million times.
Rachel tried to ignore growing sleepiness but succumbed, laying her head once more on top of her math book and closing her eyes, just for a minute, she told herself. She wanted to go to sleep much more than she wanted to finish her homework and thought about how good it would feel to give in to her weariness and just sleep right there, with her head on her books. It was only when she felt the intoxicating daze of approaching sleep swim through her that she opened heavy eyelids, lifted her head, and pushed herself against the back of the chair. She was determined to stay up in case Brian called.
He hadn’t talked to her since Saturday and hadn’t been in school today, either, which made her laugh because she had made it, sitting through 7 classes while trying to ignore annoying cramps and wishing she were at home in bed. Rachel figured his absence had something to do with what had happened Saturday and that it would be best if she waited for him to call her.
Earlier in the day she had thought about trying to call him at his house after school but didn’t want to have to talk to his chirpy mother. She pictured Brian’s mother answering the phone with her sing-song voice. "He-loh-oh", she’d gush. Rachel imagined herself hanging up at that point and Mrs. Richardson standing there repeating "he-loh-oh, he-llo? again and again. No, she couldn’t face that much cheerfulness tonight.
Turning back to her assignment she continued writing out the various combinations that could be constructed with the four words.
The was inside dark.
The was dark inside.
Inside was the dark.
Inside dark was the.
"Why hasn’t he called me – another whole day?" she wondered again, incredulous, conscious of a sudden rush of anger and the beginnings of tears. It was the one question she tried to crowd out by either methodically working through the combinations or by doodling spirals in the margins of her notebook paper. She wondered where her mother was, and then vaguely remembered something about an open house and that Patrick, her brother, would be going, too. "Uh, OK, mom," she remembered answering, unconsciously exhaling frustration that Brian had still not called.
Inside the was dark.
Inside the dark was.
"Inside the dark was." Rachel said it aloud, sitting up straight, suddenly awake. "Inside the dark was." "Inside the dark was." "Inside the dark was." "The dark was." "What!" she said loudly. "The dark was what?" she asked the empty room, suddenly conscious of the dampness of her pad and returning cramps.
This wasn’t like normal periods. It hurt more and there was so much more blood. She thought, again, about the dark, glistening globs she had seen the last time she changed her pad, and worried. They had surprised her and she didn’t know if they were supposed to be there or even what they were.
Inside the dark was.
Rachel stared at the words again and went to the bathroom to change her pad.
When she returned she didn’t continue with her assignment but sat there staring blankly at the rose Brian had given her on Saturday and rubbed her belly. She thought about Brian and waited, listening through the dense silence for the telephone to ring, the quiet broken only by the sound of her own breathing.
She thought about Brian and the time he’d won a match, pinning a rival and setting a new high school record. Right after the referee had raised Brian’s arm in victory, he had walked to the stands holding out one hand toward her. She recalled how she left her seat and stepped down from the bleachers to meet him. He gave her a sweaty kiss in front of the whole auditorium and they walked out of the gym together, holding hands. The memory of it made her smile and for a few minutes Rachel felt sure that it had all been worth it. "Of course he loves me," she reassured herself.
She remembered the day she had told Brian she was pregnant. Hadn’t he been so supportive, wrapping his strong arms around her until she was ready to stop crying? She replayed the scene in her mind, tearing a little when she remembered how much she had cried that day and that Brian had started crying, too. She felt ashamed for being angry with him for not calling.
He really had comforted her that day, offering to take her to the abortion clinic himself, and reassuring her that they would make it through this themselves; that she didn’t need to involve her parents. And then when the day actually arrived, he stayed that whole time in the waiting room and then let her nap in the back of his car until she felt well enough to go home. Before she got out of the car he told her he loved her, giving her one red rose before driving off. It now sat in a lonely vase on her night table. She had forgotten to put water in it and the edges of two petals had already shriveled.
Rachel could hardly believe that was just two days ago, on Saturday. She had gone out grocery shopping that morning with her mother and grandmother, her nervousness making her more talkative than usual. She remembered thinking that they had no idea what was going to happen to her later, and how mischievous she felt. Lying about the day’s plans had been so easy. She had told them in the afternoon she and Brian would be going to the mall where they’d have dinner, then see a movie. It sounded so reasonable she almost believed it herself, picturing them hand-in-hand walking through the mall, almost excited about it.
Why hadn’t he called, though? How could he not call? she wondered, resenting him for his absence when she needed him most. She could think of nothing else. She looked at her math sheet and where she had left off in her list of sentence combinations.
Inside the dark was.
Inside the dark was.
She pictured the dark globs from her pad and thought about what had really taken place inside her body on Saturday, the results of which were saturating another pad. She started imagining the globs reconnecting, growing bones and skin, tiny limbs, fingers, toes, a face. Then the tears, damned up by denial and fear, began streaming down her flushed cheeks and she choked out heavy sobs as she imagined the baby that would never be born.
"Inside the dark - was a baby," she cried. "It was a baby - a baby" she worded, emptying an entire breath with one deep sob before breaking down completely. She had never cried like this and was amazed at the depth of her sorrow. "I’m so sorry," she choked, her breathing heavy with remorse, heaving sobs she thought could never end. She hoped that the baby could somehow see her regret and forgive her.
Rachel didn’t hear the soft knocks on her bedroom door but when she heard her mother’s voice saying, "honey, what’s the matter?" she turned and raced to her mother, knocking over the chair as she ran. "Mom, I’ve made such a terrible mistake", Rachel managed before giving in completely to a grief so deep that it spilled out in convulsive sobs. She clung to her mother with both arms as tightly as she could and wept until all her tears were gone and she could tell her mother everything.
Neither one of them had heard the phone ring so they were startled by the sudden intrusion of Patrick’s voice coming from behind the closed door. "Brian’s on the phone", he said and without hesitating Rachel replied, "Tell him I don’t want to talk to him". It was all she could think of saying.
Copyright © 2004 Pamela Hamilton
posted by Pamela Hamilton at 10:54 AM
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