(As the lights rise, we see a split stage. On one side is Charlie’s room, as well as Charlie. This side of the stage is a bedroom. There is a desk upstage and a bed downstage, perhaps a chest of drawers or a bookshelf. Everything is neat and efficient. There are a modest number of scholastic awards, as well as a keyboard, music stands, and a couple of instruments. Charlie is working at the desk, and finishes with a flourish. Charlie sighs, stands, files the homework, then crashes on the bed exhausted...
The steam surrounding me escapes through the open shower door. Stepping out, I am hit by a wall of cold air. My reflection catches me off guard and I shudder. There is a grown up staring back at me. As I reach for my towel, jarring nostalgia takes over.
I am six again. It’s bath time, and I watch my mother unplug the drain. The residue of the day, which was once on my skin, swirls into the abyss. I watch as my bath toys reach the bottom of the tub, along with my whole body. I am no longer suspended in water...
I’ve walked this route at least a hundred times, but this Friday afternoon was different. It started at lunch. My stomach felt strange as if a tornado had moved in and I could barely swallow my waffles and chicken nuggets. My friends were laughing about something, but I was so distracted by my own thoughts, that I wasn’t following the conversation. I usually try not to laugh or smile anyway because of my dimples. I’ve never liked them...
I’d waited a year to see the June sun reflect on the lake—the feeling it brought each summer was indescribable. I stared out the back seat window, letting my phone drop to my lap as the unparalleled sense of belonging overshadowed the blue light’s magnetism.
“Honey,” my dad said in his irritating, sing-songy voice, “remember to write to us when you get the chance. Your sister cried every day last year because she missed you so much.”
I stared over at Caroline, her innocent little pigtails protruding from her skull. I wanted to pull them...