SpottedFox
She often thought she had been cheated out of her childhood and early teen years. There were no photos of her parents and brother proudly flanking her at high school graduation. The family sedan never received its first fender bender from her first driving attempt.
I couldn't help but stare at Ashley with a look of dumbfounded pity. In what was definitely a display of naïveté and wishful thinking, she had allowed two, strange men to park her car.
"Ashley, how long has it been since they said they would park your car?"
She tilts her head and scrunches her brow, trying to equate drunk time with realtime. "Well, I had a shot with Becca, talked with John, and now I'm here talking with you. Oh and this," she raises an orange concoction, "is my second drink, a 'Sex on the Beach.' Funny name right?"
It takes a lot of restraint to not slap my forehead in exasperation. "How long, Ash?" I ask.
"Um. I guess 15 minutes."
"Oh shit," I mutter under my breath. We would be lucky if we even caught a glimpse of her car speeding out of the lot into the night. Luckier still would be if our parents didn't kill us for going to Cabo for Spring Break.
It was time she conquered her fears; it was time she baked a cake. A quizzical glance and a slight electrical buzz later, the oven was preheated to 400.
She opened the box and grasped the wooden rattle her grandfather had made for her mother. Marveling at the intricate pattern - a green paisley print interspersed with yellow stars - she couldn't help but be excited at the thought of her little bundle of joy entering the world.
I miss the firsts and the frequencies at which they occurred. The first time you asked to hold my hand. To share a kiss. To be your girlfriend. But, I love the familiarity and the comfort we have with one another. I love us.
I carry these burdens,
strapped to my back,
in old trunks,
fastened together by
brass buckles and
and travel stickers,
Cincinnati, Austin,
and Lafayette.
Sturdy like an oak tree,
flexible like a branch and its
leaves billowing in the wind.
I'd like to think I'm these things as I
climb up my 24th flight of stairs.
But in the end, I'm just a lone
leaf in the wind. Aimless and
lacking direction.
He never imagined that it would be like this.
Adrenaline constantly coursing through his veins, sirens blaring off in the distance.
A pretty smile next to him as stacks of cash spilled over the edges of burlap bags.
"Give me a kiss, baby."
I was hardly coherent as strings and jumbles of words poured out of my mouth.
In the blur of events that transpired, all I can remember is the look on your face when you said "I love you," and the big goofy smile that crossed my face when you said it.
I was not prepared to be an aunt; I was not even prepared for kindergarten.
How could my brother do this to me?
I'm the cute one, not this weird, crying, tiny human.
Instead of a resting bitch face, I have a perpetual frown.
"I'm NOT sad," I exclaim. "My face just looks like that!"
How ironic that my name means "smile."
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