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Tag: Memories

The Last Goodbye

Published January 15, 2014 by Jourdan

Emily sat on the edge of the chair, picking at the frayed seams in the leather.  She was thinking about the lake house, with its mint green walls, and the way the sun rippled across the surface of the water like tiny pools of glitter. She was remembering the sticky, sweet way the tar in the dock smelled in the midday heat and the delicious feel of the crisp breeze swirling across her sweat pricked skin. She was remembering Alex and the way he would wait perched on a sun warmed rock with his feet rustling the pebbles under the water, waiting for her to come running out the door. She was thinking of racing him to the end of the dock, the splash as he hit the surface and the feel of her toes curled against the edge of the warm, wet wood as she laughed at him for braving the cold water first.

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Our Hearts Beat Like Thunder

Published October 18, 2013 by Jourdan

No one is here but me and the summer thunderstorm raging outside my bedroom window. I touch the silver cross resting against my chest. When I close my eyes I can feel our hearts beat. I recall your laugh, warm like the summer wind, loud as the waves of the ocean. I remember burying my face in your shirt and crying because I was going to turn ten and I was never going to be in the single digits again. I remember when I brought my finger to you, swollen and purple, because I had wrapped the tag of my stuffed orca whale too tight around it. I remember screaming when you told me we had to cut it off. I thought you meant my finger. I remember you pinning me to the floor because you couldn’t reason with me and you needed to cut that tag off. Daughters never thank their mothers as much as they should.

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There’s Always a Calm Before the Storm

Published August 5, 2012 by Jourdan

The whorls in the wood of the dock felt good underneath Alexa’s tracing fingers. The warmth from the sun soaked planks was soothing against her cheek. She sighed softly. She could lie here forever. She wished she could press herself hard enough into the wood that she would become a part of the dock, an eternal observer of the ever-changing ripples of the lake’s surface. She could be the keeper of the myriad of stories told through the many feet that trampled the swollen, damp wood.

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