They met each night beneath the banyan tree under his hotel balcony; their young bodies entwined like its endless roots. He quoted Romeo and Juliet and she wondered if there could be anything more romantic than forbidden love. But a week later, only his initials remained, carved beside hers on the thickest of the spindly stems. She borrowed the book and read to the end. The fate of her Verona self shocked her. Was love just a death sentence? She swore off boys and returned to her studies. Junior High was too important to miss.
This week’s FF photograph reminded me of an old FF entry here, but I went a different way instead with my story and you can read it below. I welcome comments and critique; I’m particularly interested in any suggestions for a better title. I feel there must be a great one out there, but it’s eluding me this morning.
Amy looked up at the castle on the hill. They’d passed signs advertising “Les spectacles des chevaux”, which sounded like glasses for horses, but meant equestrian shows. She’d have made a joke, even suggested they go, but the car was thick with Dad’s anger at the tractor so she kept quiet.
“You’d think he’d pull over and let us by!”
A few miles later, the tractor turned off. Dad floored the accelerator and narrowly avoided a pensioner who’d chosen that moment to cross.
“Now, is there anywhere you’d like to visit today?” Dad asked.
An extra thought…
The lesson in this story is one I try to bear in mind as Sebastian and I are walking through the freezing wind and he stops to study a discarded plastic bottle or a pile of dirty snow. I’m not preaching – I know that it’s too easy to be “Dad” and get swept away with the need to get somewhere without ever stopping to wonder if you’re already there.