Grab a book off your shelf, any book. Then flip to a random page and pick a random sentence. Write the sentence at the top of your page and begin writing a story starting with that sentence. Write for 15-20 minutes.
The prompt from my writing partner is my post for tonight. It’s a little rough, but that’s the point.
“Because I made one too.”
Because I made one too, I remember him, the way his hair moved like waves on an ocean. His hair – blacker than the darkest shadow in a night – is one of two details I remember about him. The other is his last words because I made one too. Funny, how unremarkable a stranger can be until they’re not. I didn’t know until after he died that I loved him—more than I’ve ever loved anyone before.
I remember showing up late to practically every class and having no choice but to sit in the back row. Likely early, he sat in the front. I’d leave work to make sure I didn’t hit congestion on 4th Avenue, and still, it wasn’t enough.
I’d never taken an acting class before. And honestly, I never wanted to. My aspirations went as far as needing to convince the bank why I didn’t deserve an overdraft fee. But after the third glass of wine, I tipped into telling my best friend, Sarah, a thought or two I should have kept locked inside. So when I got a call the following day coupled with a foggy, pressure, and pain-filled headache banging at my temples, she did what a good friend does and shared her concern. And then I did what a good friend does, and I listened.
I don’t know what I expected from the class looking back. Sure, check a box for my friend, but there had to be something else. How naive of me to think that life works as simply as I believe it does! Like a young girl dreaming of her future, how foolish to think I could show up, share a room with someone like him, and not have the course of my life forever take a complete about-face.
Sorry for the cliffhanger. I hate doing that in my writing. But 20 minutes is up!
Night! Love, me
Going On 40 