I pushed my hips to the left; cocked my right leg and twirled my tennis-shoe clad toe on the freshly-polished tile.
The florescent lights glinted off the computer screens lining the far wall of the classroom. His eyes sparkled.
I titled my head opposite the position of my hips; smiled.
The bell rang.
He strode for the door to the hallway some 50 feet away. He was sixteen.
I struggled to keep up. I was fourteen, boy crazy and a show-off.
As we came to the off-white, cinder-block half-wall that stood at the entrance to the hallway I had a grand idea. In one swift movement I threw my leg up, placed my foot square on the wall and sprung into what I imagined would be the most epic 360 that boy had ever seen.
That’s when, in one swift moment I heard, he heard, The Sound.
Criiiiittttcccchhhhhhhh.
I don’t remember his name. Or his face — in that moment or any other.
What I remember, now and always, is The Sound. The one that denim makes when it rips from one seam to the other. The one that denim makes when it ruins what you once perceived as your only chance with Him.
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This post is an exercise in letting it all hang out. It is a rough, first draft on this week’s Write of Passage writing prompt, Your Most Embarrassing Moment. You can check out other bloggers who are letting it hang out, too. Follow where the linky takes you!
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{ 12 comments }
Oh my, that is EXCRUTIATING! But at least now I know how to write out the sound that denim makes when it tears from seam to seam
oh God, that’s terrible!
OH!I I have a similar story! I totally forgot until you posted this.
I have to thank you for that. heh.
Great post. Short and clean, but your level of detail brings me into the moment with you.
i was in 5th grade Mrs. Rousseaus class. i was sitting next to bob mitchell, the hottest kid in my grade. i loved him. i was wearing skin tight gloria vanderbilts, because they were in back then.
i sat down at my desk. RIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPPP.
needless to say, my teacher is the one that had to call my mom to bring me new pants because i couldn’t get up off my seat.
i feel ya on this. oh boy, do i feel ya.
Yeah, I was wondering, “what did you do afterward?! how did you get new pants?!”
Oh, I’m sorry — I should say that I left some feedback on your piece over on Ning, too.
Thanks!
I love the way you write. That’s all.
Dude. That is AWESOME. Crrriittchh. I can totally picture you. You did a great job describing your hyper, hormonal teenage self.
If I remember correctly, I walked to my locker with my head hung low, my tiny teenage thighs clenched together and my notebook held behind me. And then I borrowed a sweater from my best friend to get me through the halls and out the door towards home.
I know I didn’t call my mom. She and I never got along. She probably wouldn’t have come anyway.
They obviously make teen and pre-teen sized jeans too weak.
Oh goodness! Heh. Great storytelling.
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