Writing Prompt: It cannot be undone
When I turned 10 we rented a funky old roller skating rink with
bumpy, uneven floors that made you careen rather than sail across the
distance between one side of the curved wall and another. There was a
popcorn machine and drinks and all us hippie kids skating around,
laughing. In the photo you see me standing in my "Foxy" tank top next to
Melissa with her long hair and bright cheeks. She came from Takilma, an
exotic sounding place somewhere in Southern Oregon. She lived rogue,
like the river, with her siblings and parents and dogs. They were
country people, down a dirt road so long it felt like going to another
planet getting to them, hidden, in a meadow, near the woods.
Melissa's mom served drinks in jars and made grains she pulled from
reused plastic bags. They had one car, an old Volvo station wagon, and a
pick up truck that had seen better days. At the end of summer, visiting
Melissa and her family felt like the best adventure ever. I was jealous
of her life. She didn't have to pretend to be like other kids. She
didn't have to have a big house or wall-to-wall carpeting to fit in. She
was free. Or so it seemed to me. But I was only just 10 and what did I
know about freedom?She told me in the winter they had to walk that 7 mile dirt road, covered in snow, to get to and from school. I couldn't fathom it. She told me she loved me and that we'd be friends forever. I wanted her to be right. But she lived so far down that road, and I lived so far away from her world of rough-hewn wood, scrap metal and tire swings that it didn't seem possible. I loved her like a sister even though we only spent one summer together. I loved her so much that when I came home with lice, I didn't care. At least I had gotten a taste of her adventure. At least there was that.
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