Here I sit. Pedaling as hard as I can on a broken exercise bike, desperately trying to rid myself of this consuming adrenaline. The thought “I just want to write!” is screaming out of every atom in my body. The desire and energy within in me is so strong. I feel like ripping my hair out or running three miles or…
Okay, so I am giving in. It is time to begin. But I don’t know where to start! I want to start from the beginning. Dig to some early moments. I will be using real excerpts from journals throughout the years. I am going to be as honest as possible. In fact, a bit too honest. I am here to expose every flaw.
Abby dangles her petite legs beneath her. Tracing the strong wooden arches of the pew with her hands, she pictures rolling green hills in her mind. A whisper suddenly awakens her from her dream.“I am at cherch. My mom is practsen for cuier. I put the books on the puse. Today it is May 10 1998.”
“May I dare to sit next to you, little girl?”
Soon the yellow haired child is swallowed by a sea of grays and whites.
After church Abby explores the vast trunk of her family’s Ford Explorer. Rushing back to the church, her mind races.
“I want some Holy Water for myself, just like Grandma. Now I can really baptize Blacky!”
But before the second washcloth is fully emerged, she is startled by a fierce tug at her wrist.
“What do you think you’re doing young lady?!! That rag doesn’t belong in there!”
Abby felt tears surface on her eyes as she shakily walked back to the car with her soaking washcloths.
“How could that quiet old lady suddenly turn into the Wicked Witch of the West? Why was she so mean to me?? I wasn’t trying to do anything wrong.”