Home. My mind immediately sees houses flying through memory. I’m Dorothy swirling in a tornado, far away from home. Home of my childhood memory in the late sixties – mud-pies and butt- puddle splashing in a bathing-suit during a thunderstorm. I am so sure parents worried less then. Or maybe young parents just don’t think of the worst thing that could happen as older parents do. Memories of a one room school house, fenced in, bell ringing at the top. Sometimes I long to go back in time. If not for my own escape, for my sweet girl’s sake. I know I wasn’t afraid to go to that school. I only feared that I would get caught in my own sneaky scheme. Stealing my artwork when the teacher wanted to hang them all and instead I loved my creation so much I wanted to take it home with me. So I stuffed it under my jacket and held it close, because it hurt to think of that colorful paper fish, hanging by a string swimming in the schoolhouse darkness when it could be with me. That was the first time I created something I loved and I longed for it to come home with me. The guilt consumed me as I lay in bed at night. But I never did bring it back.
*Initially I thought this prompt was leading me to write about the many places I lived and instead I found myself standing in that one room school house committing my crime. There was only one house between my home and the school.
Every Friday I join in here to write for 5 minutes on a prompt chosen for us. Every week I am surprised to find that I have words…and sometimes I am surprised where they lead. Come join in this fun but sometimes unexpected journey- see where it leads YOU!