Written with my Thursday night group with the prompts:  Mike was picking on you, she woke shivering in the dark of the night, gray light, junior bird men, beautiful but scary, it is active now, he started to cry, a friend went with me, a blessing, new normal, fireworks in Madrid, understanding, stories that must not die, innocence, famous, via the North Sea

Mike told her they would be following the route of a famous explorer whose name he could not remember.  Mary knew he was picking on her, teasing as he so often did, but she went along anyway.  He said they would start their journey via the North Sea, sail down toward Africa, somehow veer toward Italy and Etna.  “It’s active now,” he told her.  “Wait till you see it.”

He promised fireworks in Madrid, a total solar eclipse in Catalonia, followed by the Perseids showers, then maybe a stop in Paris to ride the roller coaster at EuroDisney.  She doubted all of it, but she wanted to believe him.  She wanted to believe he cared for her, as she did for him.

One night she awoke, alone in their cabin, shivering even though it wasn’t cold.  She switched on a lamp, picked up her notebook and began a list of things both beautiful and scary.  Of course there were volcanos viewed from a valley, children with sparklers dancing through a drought starved landscape, a roller coaster that dips toward the sea.  But she didn’t write these, no.  Her list included:

  1. Innocence, a state of virtue and vulnerability
  2. Blessings that you forget to count
  3. Junior Birdmen in their paramilitary garb
  4. Friends who will accompany you when the new normal finally descends
  5. And Mike, so beautiful, Mike, so scary–when he starts to cry.

The light was gray, slowly blushing pink, and Mary knew she needed to write and write and write.  A simple understanding dawned:  some stories must not die.  She pulled on her jacket, stuffing her notebook in her deep pocket.

How far are we from shore? she wondered.

Photo by Bernd Dittrich on Unsplash