An engagement is... | Jessica Flory

An engagement is everything
I did not expect.
An engagement is something
I thought would come later.
An engagement is nothing
like it is in the movies.
An engagement is one thing
that makes me smile.

Track Star | Jessica Flory

Track practice had been over for nearly fifteen minutes. A few of the athletes hung around talking to the coach or going through last minute starts or hurdle drills. Aaron and I were leaning against the school building, the brick cool against our backs. He stood with his hands in his pockets, looking down at me whenever I said something to him, and I sat at his feet, resting my head against the bricks.
Courtney suddenly appeared and leaned against the wall next to Aaron, placing her hands behind her bottom so she wouldn't dirty her shorts. Her beautifully tanned legs brushed up against him as she flashed her flawless white teeth. Her hair was still in a perfect ponytail, despite the fact that track practice had left everyone else's hair everywhere but the elastic.
Aaron greeted her with a smile and asked, "Do you know who is getting awards at the assembly tomorrow?"
"Yep," Courtney replied with her fake baby-ness of a voice, "just you and me."
I looked away, pretending I had spotted something of interest across the field. Aaron isn't even that good! I thought angrily to myself. My brother could kick his trash. My brother was on a college track team, but these thoughts appeased my aggravated ideas about Aaron for the moment.
Courtney, on the other hand, with her perfect body and faultless form was good. And I hated her for it. If she were to even pretend like she cared about other peoples' feelings, there might be an ounce of hope for her in my like-o-meter. But because her body carried her effortlessly through workouts and through races, she didn't need to care what anyone else thought of her. She was good and she had her group of friends and that's all that she needed.

Missing You | Jessica Flory

Hi, all. I thought I might write something that's on my mind at the moment. This is just for fun. You never know; it could make SOME story some day.

It was hard to come to terms with what she was feeling. As far as her head was concerned, she could wait as long as it took until she saw him again. It was only a week and a half; she could certainly bear the separation. But her heart felt something very different. She missed him-no, ached for him. Her heart stuttered whenever his face came into her memory. Her chest tightened with the excitement of running to him and being wrapped in his arms once again. A week and a half seemed like an eternity.

Revised Poem; The Photograph | Jessica Flory

You, the little princess, a precious jewel too,

if you could jump into the future, would you?

If you said yes, this is what you'd see:

an older you of course. That would be me.

Ask yourself, do you like what you know

about this "you" that you see and into whom you will grow?

Or are you disappointed with the “you” you'll become?

Am I too serious? Do I have any fun?

Did I mess up somewhere? Do I walk in the light?

Would you still love me if we met tonight?

From what I remember, I like what you do.

I loved my childhood; me, young, is you.

So tell me once more, do you like what you see?

If not, please change it! You will grow to be me.

Dialog exercise

“Where have you been?” My sister’s voice was infested with worry, although she gave no sign of moving from the kitchen table.

I sighed, rather inaudibly. “Out,” was my reply.

“Out,” my sister repeated, as if she were trying to grasp the concept that her brother could have possibly spent time with someone other than himself.

“That’s right.” I opened the refrigerator and grabbed the last carton of chocolate milk. Sitting across from my sister, I opened the carton and took a swig. I caught her looking at me, and I stared back at her. I knew what she was going to say. Tonight she would give the lecture of how afraid she was whenever I went out without her notice.

“I thought we talked about this kind of thing,” she said, not taking her eyes from my face.

I raised the carton to my lips. “We have,” I replied before chugging the chocolate milk once more.

“And…” my sister waited for a reply.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at.” I set the empty carton on the table and started slowly twirling it around with my fingers. At seventeen years old, it was ridiculous to me that she was still afraid of being home alone.

“I’m just trying to figure out what happened.”

I sighed once again and stopped fiddling with the chocolate milk carton. I looked her in the face, and slowly leaned forward, my hands clasped in front of me.

“Go ahead,” I mumbled.

My sister looked down at the pencil and paper that lay before her and started to tap the eraser against the lined notebook. “That doesn’t help. You said you would help, at least.”

I chuckled and leaned back, fiddling once more with the empty milk carton on the table. “Sure,” I said, still smiling.

“Okay, that’s what I’m talking about.” My sister’s tone became a bit more irritable as she dropped the pencil onto the paper in utter disgust.

“What’s what you’re talking about?”

“That I just can’t deal with this kind of…” My sister’s voice trailed off as she scrunched her eyebrows in concentration. Her elbows on the table, she hid her face in her hands and muttered, “Forget it.”

I leaned forward, placing my hand on my sister’s arm. This scene played over and over every night, and although I knew that she would never tell me what was truly bothering her, I asked, “What?”

My sister shook her head, still hiding her face behind her hands. “Forget it. Nothing.” She leaned back against the chair, away from the touch of my hand. She looked at me once more , let out a discouraged breath of air, and shook her head. “I’m leaving,” she said as she slowly rose from the chair toward the door.

I surprised myself when I heard my own voice plea with her. “Don’t.” I had also risen from my chair and was standing there, begging with my eyes to make her stay.

“Well,” she began, trying to explain her sudden flight from the kitchen. No doubt that it had to do with how frustrated I was making her. I loved my sister. I wanted so badly to explain to her how proud I was of her that she was trying to get of her drug dealing friends, and how lonely I knew she felt. I wanted her to know that she was my only source of comfort and friendship. I wanted her to know that I truly did care for her and that I loved her very much. I just didn’t know how.

“Just don’t leave,” I slowly uttered the words, trying so hard to get them off of my tongue and past my lips.

My sister’s hand slid from the doorknob and back to her side. Her eyes became wet with tears, and they stared back at me. Through the wet curtain, I could see in her eyes that her mind was turning and slowly beginning to figure that I truly cared for her. All the things that I had wanted to say aloud were being said silently through my heart, and she could see them.

“No?” She took a small step toward me.

“No,” I replied. And in a moment, we were embracing, grateful to the other
that they were there.

Gust of Wind | Jessica Flory

The raft was suddenly dancing in the air. Being on top of the boat, I could’ve almost reached out and grabbed it to force it to stop dancing, but a sudden boom and lurch of the boat instantly brought my mind to what was happening.

Andrea, who had been asleep, suddenly appeared behind me. “Did you feel that?” I asked her, as her siblings appeared behind us.

“Yes, that’s why I woke up. I felt that.”

Another boom and lurch of the houseboat sent us running downstairs, wanting to laugh or make this thing more exciting, but unable to do so.

The wind picked up extremely fast and I could see things from on the top of the houseboat being blown into the lake. I suddenly heard Mike’s commanding voice.

“Is everyone on the boat?!”

Al and Megan boosted themselves out of the water as Mike’s voice came again. “Get out there and help re-anchor!”

Andrea, Megan, Kendra, Al, and I scuffled quickly off the boat and each went to one of the ropes. Chris, Tyler, and Sarah were already outside, each doing their own thing to help.

Suddenly, the boat began to tip to the side and I could see Markey on the top floor of the boat almost thrown to the other side. The rope we were holding onto went taut as the boat slammed into it. Everyone let go, but for some reason, I didn’t.

“Let go!” Everyone screamed, “Let go!”

I instantly let go and made my way quickly up the hill towards my friend, Kendra, who was only in her swimming suit. I, being only in shorts and a T-shirt, but at least having a little more cover on me, threw my arms around her scrawny shoulders and tried to block her from the sewing-pin like dirt that stung our legs and arms and any bare part of our body.

The sewing pins kept stabbing at our bodies as we were commanded to get hold of the rope that the boat was now pulling towards the lake. With our legs set firm in the sand and our arms locked, we kept the boat from tipping again. Until… the wind picked up even harder. The sharp pieces of sand went into our bodies again as we were dragged towards the lake.

I prayed for strength and… the wind suddenly settled for a moment and we were able to anchor the boat firmly. On that side, at least.

We noticed the top on the smaller boat being blown almost completely off. Megan, Andrea, Kendra, and I advanced towards the boat as the wind began to pick up again. Kendra and Andrea hopped into the boat and began to take the top down. However, Megan and I, feeling the pain from the sand, hid behind a rock. I felt foolish.

Finally and suddenly, the storm stopped. We anchored the boats better than we had before and then all settled down to thankfully rest.

For the rest of the vacation with my friends, I would always keep a sharp look out for dark clouds. And whenever a gust of wind came by, my breathing stopped.

We were in a canyon in Lake Powell. We did not even want to think of what happened on the lake.

The Brook | Jessica Flory

The brook laughs when it trips,
as it purls over rocks and pebbles.
Why can't we laugh when certain circumstances
befall us?

Laughter
is heard all day by the river.
Should it not be heard by us just as often?

The brook will always laugh
no matter how hard it falls.