Wearing the same yoga pants as yesterday, I make my way through the school drop off without incident. My logic for donning the day old yoga pants: No one sees the bottom half of me anyways. The car door, my ally, hides my secret.
Another secret: I thrive on organization and creativity. But I suck at both, when they attack simultaneously.
When I am writing, everything else gets ignored. Who has time for organization when the fun stuff awaits??? Creativity is something that can disappear if you don’t grab on and hold tight. So it consumes me.
Some people can organize, while standing on their head, while reciting the Gettysburg Address…… while successfully keeping their creativity demon alive. Not me.
I struggle with just functioning. Wake up…..lunches…..which kid are you again?
You get my point.
With today being a day-old-yoga-pants kind of day, I figured I may need some extra assistance with creativity. I logged on to SIT Girl’s October Blogging Prompts and scrolled down to #15 (since it is the 15th!) and read the prompt. Hopeful and curious to see what creative juices I could get flowing.
Here we go! Drum roll please!
15. Let’s really stretch our writing today. Write a short fiction story.
Crap. Here goes nothing.
Never As It Should Be
The world’s behavior is confusing. People piggyback onto others to feel prosperous. To claim their fame. To twist and shred the plot of someone else’s life story, until it is unrecognizable.
Envisioning the actions that need to be executed are exhausting. Without a thought, I hopped in my car and drove. Never noticing the scenery, my destination the only view. Thoughts and sadness, kept at bay as I belted out Johnny Cash, Pink and Adele. A confusing mix of genres, but effective.
Swinging into the rough lot, I shifted my car into park. Allowing my mind to make the switch, the brightness cleansing and encouraging. I remained seated, observing the landscape in front of me. Simple. Serene. Like an illusion beckoning me to come closer. Crooking its invisible finger, encouraging me to unfold myself from the seat. To join the prolific display that plays out on the other side of my windshield.
Sounds so loud and obvious envelope me the instant I open my door. Gathering strength, I step onto the parking lot. Pebbles, mixed with the grittiness of sand crunch under my shoes. A rough, grinding sound competing the rhythmic urgency of the waves. The morning sun highlights a surfer in the distance. A small speck, following the water’s blueprint.
We are two souls existing. Contemplating what we know.
Locating a small, red blanket from the backseat, I trek forward. It is mid-morning. No crowds to fight against, as I make my way towards the sea. My brown hair blows loose and covers my face. Offering anonymity. Large, oval sunglasses provide the rest.
We are safe here.
Fighting against the wind, the blanket whips around, refusing to lay still. Its vibrant coloring clashes against the muted backdrop of nature. Using my body as an anchor, I step on the edge forcing the fabric to calm. Images of being carried away on a magic carpet ride appear in my head.
Laughter escapes my lips, a sound so foreign over the past year, I barely recognize it as mine. No is one around to soak in this momentous occasion. Only the lone surfer still riding in the distance. A small moment, but too overwhelming to keep it. I allow the breeze to carry the happiness away. Hoping it will fall from the breeze onto another, who is desperate need.
Coming here, to our spot, signifies that a decision has been made. A perfect twist to a tale spun long ago.
We are alone here. As it should be.