Vacationland, here I come!!That's what Maine's license plate declares it to be, and for me it is, so why not?
Ok, this is just a "clear the air of icky posts" post, so let's see what I have in the vault...
here's a writing exercise I did a little while ago...not sure where I was going with it, but maybe you'll have some ideas--
“You’re trying too hard.”
She always said things like that in a tone of voice that got under her sister’s skin so smoothly it was like a sliver.
She didn’t want other people to notice her, she just wanted to fit in.
There weren’t many days when she really liked how she looked and then if there were boys around it was even worse.
The School was only for girls, but there was an all-boys school nearby and there were boys always in and out of their buildings, a new approach to the segregation thing—allowing open access in order to keep them from being too mysterious to each other and consequently causing urgent meetings in the dark of night. It worked. Sort of. There were still forbidden liaisons, but the overall student body seemed much more focused on their studies than they could have been.
It was on one of those dark nights—are there often very bright nights?—and during one of those forbidden liaisons that Sydney realized something very important about herself. It startled her, as the thought formed itself into clear words in the front of her mind. She was in the middle of pushing Brent’s hands away from her zipper for the third time that night and wondering if he was as good of a kisser as his roommate looked like he would be when she sat back from him and blinked hard. She couldn’t speak for a moment because the thought was shouting at her from within and she had to pay very close attention to make sure she understood. She had never even given consideration to this before, having been raised on the notion that she would live the same life as her mother, and all the other women in their posh, Belmont neighborhood. She smiled as the realization sunk in, and then a quick giggle burst out of her as the giddiness of this new truth became her sole focus. Brent looked at her strangely and probably said something, but she didn’t hear him. She was already miles away in her mind, and was walking away with her body. She wouldn’t be living the life of her mother and all her Country Club friends. She would rock their worlds. She broke into a run, laughing into the night, her legs, long and lean, propelled her forward.
The next morning Sydney sat in the mahogany and marble dining room playing with her food as her roommate rambled on. Her elation from last night’s great epiphany had receded to a dull glow, but she was still as determined as ever to make the changes necessary to follow this new path. She stood up while Heddie was still talking and dumped her nibbled-at food down the chute.
And here's another:
Night swimming. That summer was full of water, but most of our swimming was done at night. Days were for kayaking, and working. Nights were soft with humidity, holding the day’s heat like a sponge. I can almost feel the heaviness of the air, dense and warm, but with a ribbon of coolness. We didn’t know anyone with a sailboat that summer, but it didn’t matter. The ocean was more for looking at, anyway. It was like we knew we were going to be leaving again soon and the ocean was too big to become entirely known to us in just one summer, so we left it to play the role of the background, the setting. The lakes and streams were more tangible, more finite. We started with the one running down Mt. Battie and worked our way through the rest in an unplanned pattern—Mirror Lake, then Megunticook, the Keag River, then Chickawaukee. No rhyme, no reason. But somehow we covered them all. Our almost-matching Subarus ending the summer with almost-matching scratches from so much loading and unloading of our not-even-remotely-matching kayaks. We embarked on that summer as friends, and wended our way toward a deeper connection.
I'll be posting soon, from Maine.