This spring, I took a writing class offered through Write Around Portland. It was called “Prompt” because each week we would meet and write for a limited amount of time–usually somewhere between 2-8 minutes–to a number of different prompts. As the school year grinds to a start and I have less time to write, I will be featuring excerpts from my writing class in lieu of the weekly essay.
As the days grow longer, I’m vaulted into the summers of my past. Long, languid days filled with swimming and reading and watching a bit too much TV. Swimming lessons when young, swim team when older, pining to be old enough for a part-time job, working that part-time job and cursing the loss of the long, languid days, while simultaneously gleefully spending my paycheck on whatever I wanted. Summer was freedom. From school, from schedules, from most expectations, from the daily grind of the average middle class American girl. Summer was car washes for band fundraisers, boyfriends ending relationships and so many movies watched and books read. Every summer I would look forward to the day my feet would be tough enough to spend the entire day barefoot.