this is it

Don't have nothing to say.  Gonto say it any way anyway aneeweigh.  I am seven and it is the start of summer holidays and my mum and dad are working and my bicycle has air in the tires and there are popsicles in the freezer and I don't like boys (much) yet so I can enjoy myself.

Me and Maryann are sitting on the steps of the church.  The one beside the Dairy Queen.  On the busy street that leads downtown.  We bought chocolate shakes.  It was early in July when there was so much waiting for us.  We sat on the steps drinking out of waxed paper cups, before we could drink booze.  I remember that taste.  Cold and perfect.  Darkness in the chocolate, chill in the ice.  A sting and a blanket to ease it. Traffic shushed by us, paying us no mind because we didn't matter yet.  Just a couple of kids on bikes, drinking chocolate shakes like we had all the time in the world.  And we did, but only for a split second.  Those girls  don't know about all the hard things that are going to turn them around on themselves, those two girls drinking their chocolate shakes.  They don't know. 
don't tell them.  leave them there for a bit.  having their shakes and watching the traffic go by.  Right now, they run the place.
It is late and I should be going to bed so I can get enough hours to wake refreshed and do all the things I am supposed to do to be a good mom and go to heaven.  but it is late and I am still up and that is really good.  i still like to break the rules.  they have to be broken to mean anything, don't they? Otherwise what's the point?
I need to open up a truly bad everyonceinawhile.  So i can give this inside thing permission to come out and play. 

Which is what I want to do tomorrow.  Call in sick and buy a bottle of bubble liquid and make boloney sandwiches with yellow mustard and go to the beach to talk to the waves all flipping day long.  Blow bubbles and talk to the big lake.  God lives in the lake.  and in the bubbles.  and in the baloney and in the chocolate shakes.  and in the bicycles.  and in the summer days.  and in the late nights in May when grown up ladies should be in bed getting ready to do all the right things the next day.

but instead we have climbed a tree.  We are at the very tippy top, where we can reach up and poke the moon.  Everything is quiet there, except for the hymn of the sleeping trees.  they sing as they dream and the night rings through them. We feel the song in our bones as they hold us up for the moon to see.

we can see it all from up here.  all that we ever were, all that we can be.
and for just a second, we glimpse at all that we are right at this very moment. 

we take a deep breath together and hold it, so the feeling can't get away.

Re: this is it

Sparrow, that evoked memories of being a kid, that time when nothing else in the world mattered except right here right now. Loved the breaking the rules bit too, as an adult. Its a reminder to occasionally go there. Made me want to go to the beach for the day instead of work or staying home pretending to be sick and doing the washing instead. Loved the comment
Call in sick and buy a bottle of bubble liquid and make boloney sandwiches with yellow mustard and go to the beach to talk to the waves all flipping day long.


all flipping day long. Havent heard the word flipping in a long time. It gives that sense of 'dont care' and again reminders of childhood. Great stuff. The easy flow of language is good too.

Re: this is it

Yeah, what Jenny said. Which leads me to read again, looking for what's supposed to be bad about this piece (since you posted it here in TBW).

Ok, so bad writing? Well, maybe the sudden POV changes, like in the second paragraph:

…Just a couple of kids on bikes, drinking chocolate shakes like we had all the time in the world.  And we did, but only for a split second.  Those girls  don't know about all the hard things that are going to turn them around on themselves,

And then I remember, the child is always there in the adult, hidden away maybe, but she's there and will come out at unexpected moments, especially as we loosen up a bit and let go of some of the should's. And sometimes the two (child and adult) just mesh, merge, and you get something that is maybe the whole of who/what we are. Like the smooth transition between languages of a bilingual—a word here, a phrase there, a sentence or paragraph… and it's a whole new language that is somehow better able to convey our meaning than if we were to stick to one language or the other. A case of the whole being more than the sum of its parts.

I just love this (and what came before, but I can't c&p everything!):

but instead we have climbed a tree.  We are at the very tippy top, where we can reach up and poke the moon.  Everything is quiet there, except for the hymn of the sleeping trees.  they sing as they dream and the night rings through them. We feel the song in our bones as they hold us up for the moon to see.

Truly good bad writing.

Ruth