Seasoned
In Spring, you finally get that swimming pool. A built-in. Molded fiberglass:
fourteen by twenty-four. Thirty-six inches at the shallow end; four and a half feet at
the deep. Ebony blue gelcoat. Professionally installed. It networks perfectly with
your shrubbery which is tall enough to allow for laying bare. Summertime, and the
local news helicopter flies over. They decide not to show the footage, outside of the
newsroom. On weekends, your home verves with friends in and out of bathing suits
or gossip. Barbecues, teas and your famous lemon sponge. There is laughter and
splashing. In Autumn: grilled filet tips and warm mulled cider. Only the most daring
skinny dip. Your pool is drained for Winter. You search, again, for that button from
your favorite blouse. Rearrange the silverware. Bake another batch of brownies. Eat
these leaning over the sink.
Suggested Reading
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Flash • Nonfiction
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Flash • Nonfiction
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about From the Archives: Yellow TrainsFeatured • Flash
From the Archives: Yellow Trains
"He says he ordered a kid’s meal to be just like you, but you aren’t old enough to understand. It still doesn’t completely sink in because you know there’s not a need to understand, only wanting to bask in the gloriousness of reliving the event."
Featured • Flash