The writing process, in some ways, allows us to bend time, to stretch and remake it, to weave in and out, to revisit and forget. When we commit an event to the page, we make it timeless. When we roll verbs together and mind the rhythms of our words we can spark a sense of motion, of acceleration. But this week’s Badgerdog selection feels almost like a time-out. It holds us in the suspension of a moment, in quiet pause and thought. Congratulations to Elsie from Del Valle Middle School on this stunning prose piece, which communicates powerfully through mood and image.
I’d step on the wooden fence to look at the same perspective I saw every day. I’d look down and see the kids playing in the dirt. Funny to say, I never got a splinter.
I’d get bored standing there. I’d go and leave my socks on and wet my toes in the puddle after it rained and just sit there, waiting until my mom would call me in to eat with the family.
I’d go where the bikes were sitting. I’d feel the plastic—blue and textured—and I’d look at the glass door and see the smudges and smears of fingerprints. I’d feel relaxed, like time couldn’t stop me from staying or leaving the balcony. I could hear the lawnmowers start up, and I could smell the freshly cut grass. I’d see the red ball we used to play handball and remember its bouncy sound.
Elsie, Del Valle Middle School
Photo courtesy of Lanie Anderson.