March 7, 2011

357 Words tonight. Here is in except:

If Dale hadn’t been so annoying, or so pushy, or so…I don’t know…just Dale, then I probably wouldn't have been so easily provoked. I always thought being one of the plain girls was a problem. Pretty was even harder. How I longed for my days of anonymity. The only people who paid attention were my friends—when it was just the four of us.

Now that I was the center of attention, I didn’t like it. Not that I’d ever longed for it. A part of me always wished I’d be popular, get asked out. Who would have thought it was so difficult.

I sat cross legged on the top step of the front porch. J.W. sat on my lap playing with a little black beetle, a tickle bug. He giggled where it crawled over the back of his hand.

The air was the stillest it had been in days, and the sun shined brightly through the trees, casting deep shadows. Even still the afternoon was chilly making J.W.’s cheeks rosy. I felt his chubby fingers. They still felt warm in spite of the air.

I heard the car turn onto the road before I saw it. School wasn’t out, so it probably wasn’t anyone I knew. Too late to move inside with J.W. on my lap, it rounded the corner and our eyes met. Morgan’s truck crackled across the gravel drive.

The wheels came to a stop at the railroad tie dad used to mark parking spacing. He gave a quick wave through the side window and killed the engine.

J.W. waved back. “Ducky man.” He slid off my lap, gripped the post and taking toddler steps off the porch. He tottered toward Morgan.

Morgan picked him up in his giant hands and tossed him in the air, to which J.W. squealed. “Again! Again!” To which Morgan continued to pitch him up.

After several minutes, Morgan set him down. “Enough. You’re makin’ arms hurt.”

With his arms wrapped tight around Morgan’s legs, it made it difficult for Diana’s brother to move. He put J.W.’s feet on top of his and hobbled over to me. “Hi.” He plunked down on the top step next to me. 

Betsy