A practice in prose.

Today’s the day

Today’s the day.

I thought yesterday was the day, but it wasn’t. I was wrong. It’s today.

Today’s the day.

Yesterday I was scared. Mom says that’s ok though. She says, even she gets scared sometimes. I don’t know what she has to be scared about. She’s a grown up.

But not me, not today. Today I’m going to be brave. Mom says its important to be brave.

“If we aren’t brave we never learn new things” Mom always says.

“and Samantha,” she says “you can be brave.”

Today we’re early, which is good, because yesterday we were late. I hate being late because there’re so many people around. People watching. I don’t want anyone to see.

Yesterday I hid behind Mom’s leg. I wasn’t very brave.

But today we’re early, and I’ve got my best new purple bathing suit on and it has sparkle and I have my goggles. I love my goggles. They’re green and they remind me of my pet fish, Mr. Charles.

Mr. Charles isn’t green, but he has big buggy eyes, kinda like my goggles.

I hold Mom’s hand, but only for a little bit. Because today, I’m being brave.

We turn the corner and I see it.

The diving board.

One step. Two steps. This is scarier than I remember.

“You just have to get to the end of the board,” Mom says. “Go slow, it’ll be ok.”

“Toes on the edge” she says.

I look out. I don’t know if I want to be brave anymore.

“Today’s the day!” Mom says.

Yes. Today’s the day.

Kelly Richardson

I loved Kelly Richardson from the moment I saw her. It was on one of those warm spring evenings that was too hot for the month on the calendar but everyone pretended it was summer anyways.

The smell of barbequing meat filled the air and I could hear my Dad’s best friend Jeff going on about his back swing. He’d come over to the house to show Dad the newest driver he’d added to his already elaborate set. Dad kept calling me to come check it out, still unwilling to believe he had a son that didn’t play sports.

She stepped out of the passenger side of a beat up old Volkswagen. The picture of perfection. A breeze caught her hair and sent her chestnut locks tumbling in front of her face. I could tell from her dusty red Chuck Taylors, cut off jeans, and slightly oversized Ramones t-shirt she was the kind of girl I wanted to know.

My eyes followed her every movement until she reached the front door of my neighbours house across the street. I knew she was out of my league, but it didn’t matter, I was already in over my head.

A Sea of Hope

The water crashes
Relentlessly gurgling from below

The waves, once so calm, will not relent

Just days before the sun shone
And birds, fatigued from flight, took solace here

Today I battle for the surface
For a simple breath of air
To float seems impossible
Calling out would be folly

I’m drowning in a sea of hope
And no one is near

2 thoughts on “A practice in prose.”

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