Sunday, November 1, 2015

Just the covers.

This is about more than last night.

I just want you to know that.

This is about 1997. This is about the monotonous days. This is about the time all I could do was nod into the phone while you asked "Do you want to do this?".

Yes, I do want to do this. No, my insurance doesn't cover it. Okay, I'll sign here.


Alright kid,

We start off on a fall night in 1997. All the doctors were wrong. If nothing else, remember that.

Fast forward. You'll need to lay low for a while. You're going to move around a bit. Before you know it you'll be five, and you'll have missed the flames that burned down your house because you were at the park with Abby. You're gonna have to move again.
Hey- Abby was cool and all, but her family was really awkward and they made you pray a lot. You'll still miss her, of course. You were only five, but you'll remeber that sleepover where you had to go get your older brother because you couldn't sleep and he cares about you a lot, especially when he's not picking fights instead.

Right, right. A year later you meet Nicole. She didn't get the whole 'no playing on Sundays' thing, but neither did you. You and her will make the best water balloon team ever seen. (Well, it'll feel like it.) Your parents will give her your trampoline. Then they'll tell you you're moving again, but it's okay, because they'll buy you something. (You chose a Gameboy.)

Utah. Utah. Utah. 8 years old. There's a candy store a block away and they're opening a snow cone shack down the road. Your dad calls your group of friends a 'scooter posse', and you're making bank selling your left over candy on the side of the street. You even make a sign, but you always make Brigham walk across the street to hold it because you're too afraid. You claim you're 'supervising'.

You've been staring at the books in the library a lot lately. Just the covers.
Something feels off.

For the next few years, you just.. develop. By the time you know what's happening it's ninth grade and you've met someone. You love them. You love them so much you can't stop. She'll make you stop. She'll make you stop. I can't tell you any more.

Now you're a rocket that's been nudged off course by The East Wind, and by the time you cut through the last layers of the atmosphere you'll be spinning, and spinning and spinning and gninnips and spinning and which way is up.

You see the moon.

"Do you want to do this?" she asks. You say yes.

You create the blog three months later.


  1. You're always so creative and so good.

  2. ^^^ honestly, you have the best ideas. i wish I had that

  3. Oh Solstice... your writing is so beautiful.

  4. "You've been staring at the books in the library a lot lately. Just the covers.
    Something feels off."

    this line makes me sad but good sad.
    and your writing makes me jealous but good jealous.

    i love the way you make this feel, like real and urgent and hazy and sharp

  5. you always blow me away. fresh. exciting. creative. beautiful. #stolen


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