Blog #52: High School Relationships

I'm not sure why, but some time ago I stopped receiving my daily email from The Writer's Almanac. I never took the time to dig into why, but recently to my delight it commenced again! I think it's my affinity for nonfiction that attracts me to the musings of the daily emails. Don't get me wrong, I love the poem each day, but I also enjoy reading about the birthdays and historical events. It's a more rounded out offering than poem a day from poets.org, which I also like! Anyway, to the point of the post...

Yesterday, May 29th, it was the poem that stuck with me. I'm not sure if it's because I married my high school boyfriend, or that I have such strong feelings of nostalgia about that time in my life, but I just loved "High School Boyfriend" by Margaret Hasse. I thought immediately about using it for a mentor poem, and I think I might- for this post or maybe something else. Anyway, seems apropos to write about high school while seniors all over the country are graduating. Here is the prompt:

Write from a place of nostalgia, about a high school boyfriend, girlfriend, or best friend. Maybe even a crush or someone you longed to be with back then. Capture the essence of the relationship in a poem, create a character sketch, or write a story about an escapade or a moment you shared (or longed to share). We've all written extensively about our pasts, for this prompt focus in on this relationship and how that person made you feel. Maybe even reveal or uncover feelings you didn't know you had. Feel free to include a high school pic with your post!

Paul and me the summer after HS graduation.

Finally Here

Response to Prompt #51: 100 Word Story

Wow, this was hard. Helen recently told me I was maturing as a writer because I have been learning to be more economical with my words. I loved the way that sounded. I think I like the way this story turned out, but it was really hard to reduce it down to 100 words. I'm not sure if I selected the right story for this challenge. I am afraid I didn't do it justice to the feelings I had when I actually experienced it. But I knew as soon as I did I was going to write about it somehow, so I thought why not this. Here it is...

Finally Here

by ljk

She stood quietly, her baby wrapped to her body with colorfully woven fabric. Deep dark serious eyes, cocoa brown skin. And one small shoulder bag perhaps all they had.

Waiting to board, the little one nibbled a doughnut hole over her mama’s shoulder. I wondered where they were going and from where they came. Then they were gone from my thoughts, faded amongst the other passengers.

We flew. We arrived.

Weary, I dragged myself from the jetway to the terminal where I saw them again, mama now wrapped in a tearful and seemingly endless embrace.

At last they made it.

Fire and Flood

Response to Prompt #51

I've recently returned to a character from a larger story I've been dickering around with for a long time, and working a little at a time to pull his story together. I don't want to say too much more about it.  This is just a scene I've seen in my head for a long time.  It felt good to finally get it written.  It started out shorter -- I had to expand it!

Fire and Flood

He was far from home when it happened. He wanted nothing to do with the life in Ashe County. He hadn’t even said goodbye.

When word reached him two states away that his mother, father, and brother had perished in a fire at his family home, the disregarded guilt burrowed even deeper, a crevice inside of him that no one would find. He never spoke of it to anyone.

Until today.

Standing with his only daughter on the land his family owned, he pointed to where the house once stood. She held his hand, as tears fell in a flood.

 

Hidden

Response to Prompt #51, 100 Word Story

This is not autobiographical in any way, but it is the story of too many women.  As I sat down to write, I had no idea what my 100 word story would be about, but this just came. It took 4 revisions to get it from 103 words down to the perfect 100, a process that demanded I chose carefully and strategically, I couldn't help but think how this is something I needed to apply every time I write--setting a word goal or limit and working until I hit the mark. 

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She crawled out of her mental fog as the words fell out of the doctor’s mouth.

“He’s gone.”

She swore her blood had been replaced by ice—the chill making her body shake violently, undetectable to those around her, but there nonetheless. 

How? How could a 50-year-old seemingly healthy man be gone so suddenly?

“Mrs. Baker,” the doctor brought her back. “Are you going to be OK?”

She looked down at the bruise around her wrist—yellowing around the edges as it healed with time. She thought about the other hidden bruises and invisible scars. 

“I’ll be fine.” 

Home at Last

Response to prompt #50: What's Over the Hill?

No prompt has taken me in more crazy directions than this one. I hopped from one idea to another changing my mind. Once I thought I had settled on an idea, I started some research and then it just blew up all over the place. But the journey is the destination, right? For the sake of time and word space suffice it to say, I learned some very interesting things about the town in which I grew up. I also discovered a few false memories and misunderstandings.

Ultimately, I ended up with some thoughts off the path. I'm not sure how much this piece relates to the prompt. Nonetheless it is where I arrived.


Home at Last
by LJK

Breezy Hill farm
Baker Hill Road
down to the Emerald and Hollywood Hills
and further into the Gables,
back up to the Springs
oh the Springs
Altamonte, Winter, and Wekiva
down
once
again
to the
Pines and Plantation
through the Waves and the Lakes
and the Beach and then back
and then over
to the Acres
to the Lakes
and over the Bridge
home at last