Last week Saturday, I attended a meeting of the Brea Library Writer's Group. (http://www.facebook.com/BreaLibraryWritersGroup?ref=stream) As part of our meeting, we do a ten-minute writing exercise based on one of several prompts. I chose "I had always wanted to travel to Florence" for my topic. Surprisingly, I actually came up with an okay story, so here it is, for everyone to enjoy.
I had always wanted to travel to Florence. But now it was too late. I sat in the seat of an airplane taking off from Rome's airport any minute now. The flight attendant was giving safety instructions in Italian, and I was gazing out the window, trying to smush myself into it--as though if I pressed hard enough against the plastic, it would pop out and I could crawl out the window and reclaim my life. But the plastic stayed firm.
"Abigail, stop squirming," my mother hissed. "Sit up straight. I swear sometimes you behave just like a child."
She was the one who had "rescued" me. Who'd flown off to fetch me when I made a wreck of my life for the ump-teenth time. I slouched. This time, she didn't even ask how I'd let my life get so out of control. Just came in and hauled me back home. Soon we'd be back to rehab and therapy, back to quiet family dinners and dull recitals. But my mother's look of disappointment would never quite leave her face.
I sighed.
Well, I'd made it to Italy this time. That was something.
Maybe next time I'd make it all the way to Florence.
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