I don’t know about you, but the world seems to be getting pretty (insert your favorite colorful word here) intense. While I like to stay informed, I also like to laugh to deal with stress. And, I need some chuckles these days.
Today, the wonderful Jazzy Mitchell is here to help us laugh with an embarrassing story. Also, Jazzy is giving away 1 ecopy of Undertow. Below the guest post, you’ll find more details about the giveaway.
Take it away, Jazzy.
The Epic Failed Runaway Attempt
My brother and I used to be thick as thieves when we were kids. He was older by two minutes, and our worlds revolved around each other. We did everything together. We played. We told each other every thought and secret. And when one decided to do something, the other twin was expected to agree, no matter how bad the idea.
One Saturday morning, I woke Jay up. I was angry with our mother, and I was determined to run away. I expected him to come with me. It didn’t matter how cold it was outside or not knowing where we would go. Mom wouldn’t let me do anything fun in the mornings, claiming I was too loud. I knew I’d get in trouble if I woke her up again. How was I supposed to know Simon Says was too loud? It was a new game I received on my birthday a few weeks earlier, and I couldn’t play in the room I shared with my older sister since she was still asleep.
I explained how I was going to get a big Hefty trash bag from under the kitchen sink and fill it with my clothes. I’d leave first, and he was to leave five minutes later. Did I mention we were seven years old? Since mom was still asleep, it was the perfect time to leave. Once Jay agreed with the plan, I put it into action.
It was hard to pack my belongings since my sister was sleeping in the room. I was pretty stealthy, though. Her back was to the bedroom door, so I left the bag near it and made several trips from my bureau to the door, arms filled with clothes and a few toys. Once filled, the bag was awkward and heavy. It was as tall as I was. I bumped into the doorjamb on my way out of the bedroom, but my sister didn’t seem to hear it. I made my way down the narrow hallway and stopped at the coat closet. Running away was hard work. After resting for a moment, I donned my puffy jacket and dragged the trash bag to the front door, located in the kitchen. Opening the door, I peeked over my shoulder to make sure no one was watching before pulling the bag over the threshold and balancing it on the top step of the steep staircase. We lived on the second floor of an old Queen Victorian duplex, and I was unsure how I would carry the bag without falling. I pushed the bag down the stairs and watched it bounce to the bottom. Some clothes spilled out, but I figured I’d grab them on my way down the stairs. I closed the door, wincing at the loud sound the deadbolt made as the latch caught, and soon I was out of the apartment.
I made my way down the street, and at the corner I looked around. I decided to walk toward my school since I knew that area. Every few steps I had to stop to rest, but that was okay. I figured I was making good time. I was careful to not let the bottom of the bag catch on any rocks or twigs as I dragged it down the sidewalk. And soon Jay would join me. We’d figure out where to go, and once we got there, we’d be able to play Simon Says whenever we wanted.
Feeling something wet hit my face, I looked up. I was surprised to find it was sleet. I shivered, wishing I had my mittens. They were in the bag, but I’d have to wait to find them. I pulled my coat hood over my head and kept going. Crossing the street was hard since I had to carry the bag over the icy snowbank instead of dragging it. Once I got to the other side, I heard a dog bark at me. It startled me since my hood blocked everything but what was directly in front of me. Resting the bag on my foot, I looked around.
A large German Shepherd barreled toward me, barking. I didn’t know what to do. He was so large. It kept barking while circling around me and sniffing at the bag. “Go away,” I yelled, waving my arms. I shuffled forward and it jumped in front of me, barking again. I reared back, not sure what to do.
The dog bit into the bottom of the bag and dragged it off the sidewalk. It toppled over, half of the clothes falling into a large puddle. “No!” I tried to pull the bag away, but the dog barked at me several times and grabbed my favorite shirt, vigorously shaking its head from side to side before dropping it into the puddle. What could I do? I sat on the curb, head in my hands, feet in the puddle, coat wet from the sleet, hood obscuring my face from anyone, and I cried.
That’s how my mom, brother, and sister found me. And as would be true for anyone with siblings, my epic, failed runaway attempt was a story they loved to tell for years, particularly in large groups.
by Jazzy Mitchell
Maggie Ambrose is a fifty-six-year-old career politician who plans to run for president. To kick off her presidential bid and introduce herself to the masses, she’s writing a revealing memoir. Her publisher insists she divulge more than her political pedigree to gain the nation’s attention, but Maggie’s not eager to confess the details of her challenging childhood, complex familial relationships, or her failed first marriage. Will the nation embrace a female lesbian candidate after she opens the door to a painful past?
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Thanks so much for stopping by today.