Posts Tagged ‘memories’

The steps leading onto the towering yellow bus seemed huge compared to my twelve-year-old body. I stretched to take one stair at a time and was nervous to find a seat with a friend. I could feel the butterflies dancing in my stomach and wasn’t sure if it was from excitement or the anxiety of the unknown.

The voices of my peers spilled out of the windows as we made our way down the highway, trading lunches, seat hopping, and eagerly anticipating our arrival at the Science Centre.

My stomach turned somersaults.

Outside the rain created puddles, perfect for jumping in, and the line up to get off of the bus lagged while my classmates took their time splashing around, ignoring the huge buildings looming overhead and the big city we had just arrived in.

I needed to get off of the bus.

The butterflies flew up from the bottom of my stomach and reached for my throat, and as they lunged forward so did I. Pushing my peers to the side I sprang for the stairs to fresh air but it was too late, the excitement, anxiety, and butterflies inside wanted out!

With my body now out of my control I threw up in front of all of my classmates.

I felt one of my friends mothers take my shoulders, brush my hair back, and lead me to a bathroom. She played the role of my mother all day, while her child participated in the activities and I couldn’t leave the bathroom.

The ride home was a blur.

Exhausted, pale, and embarrassed I closed my eyes and prayed that we arrived back at the school quickly. I missed my mother madly and wanted to go to bed.

I wanted to escape the sounds of my squealing friends, the stories of fun, and everything I missed.

I felt cheated.

And I haven’t been back to the Science Centre ever since.

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Let's BEE Friends



My bedroom door hit its frame so hard I can see where the wood has split with my anger.

My blood boils.

Stupid house. Stupid rules.

I hate it here.

Throwing my body face first into my pillow I let out my frustration, my confusion, and my teenage angst. I cry because I can't go to the party I so badly want to attend and because my parents don't understand me. I scream because they don't care.

My tears choke me, they're fast and hard.

My head hurts.

Then I hear a knock.

"Go away!"

My voice is cracked, hoarse from screaming and I'm still angry.

I feel my dad's weight beside me on the bed.

"Don't get wound up."

Is all he says.

And then he puts his hand in mine and gives a tug.

I spring up and wrap my arms around him, close my eyes and bury my head in the comfort that is my father, and cry.

And we sit that way, together, father and daughter, a quiet understanding; a forgiveness, until I am calm.

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The sun is warm on my back and I stretch my arms out as far as they will go, I can feel the warm sand underneath me and I dig my hands into its cool depths, weaving my fingers in and out. I dig until I can’t see them, the soft grain covers my arms up to my elbows, promising to pull me underneath.

Next I wiggle my toes, burrowing them inch by inch into the smooth crumbs and feeling the strong rays burn into my back.

I want to bury myself.

To live under the sand.

I can feel pieces creeping into my swim suit and my hair as I sink further into my carefully carved out cave. I lay still and listen.

There is laughter.

My brother yelling for me to come and swim.

I relish in the cool silence the sand offers me.

Just a few more seconds.

And then.

Throwing my hands, feet, and head up at the same time I bust out of my sand prison and race to the dock.  I feel the heat of the sun dancing on my heals and I taught it as I take one last look back at my sandy home.

Before jumping off the end and into the cool water.


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One Photograph

While cleaning out boxes I found a photograph.

Its corners curled inward and yellowed from years of fingers rolling over it, smoothing it down, and bringing it close to get a better look.

The colours have dulled over time but the smiles of the people inside its border remain alive, glowing in the sunlight.

A bucket sits beside the back wheel of an old beige car, brimming with foamy suds, promising a wash as a little girl in a bathing suit winds her fingers around the nozzle of a twisted green hose, gleefully pointing it at her victim.

The photograph springs to life as the water sprays down on a man who is also laughing, relishing in this time spent with the girl, happy to be dancing in memories made in the chore of washing a dirty car.

So many happy memories.

From one photograph.

Memories between father and daughter.

My father.

His daughter.


Special thanks to Leigh Ann Torres who helped me edit this post.

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Kindergarden Kisses

My heart was pounding so hard I was sure it would come right out of my throat.

I could hear the grass crunching close behind and I prayed for a burst of energy to increase the gap he was quickly closing.

Letting out a scream I bolted forward. I wiggled free of my restrictive spring jacket and tossed it to the ground.

The cool breeze was a relief to my sweaty, exhausted body.

I heard his threats from behind me demanding I stop. His bare arms reaching out with each bark.

Letting out another piercing scream I told him, told the world, I would never stop. I would run forever!

A quick glance back showed that he was slowing.

I had been spared.

I would be free.

Jogging to safety I celebrated my good fortune.

And then?


His lips landed on me without warning and with the same texture as that of a goldfish.

As I wiped slime from my face shrieks of “run” filled my ears.

And there I stood alone, a defined space cleared between me and my friends.

Now their hearts raced.

LEIGHANN‘S IT.” Echoed through the playground.

My lips the enemy.


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