I’m in the middle of an online writing course called “The Story Cartel” conducted by Joe Bunting. 
Admittedly, summer has me by the shorts and won’t let go, so I’m a bit behind. Thank goodness it’s online and I can play catch up. Our first assignment based on the lesson “Your story was meant to be shared” was to create a story 750 words long and share with our online community. And then wait to receive feedback. Yikes.
So about a month late I’ve finally completed my assignment and I’m going to be risky and take it to the next level with you my faithful readers. I am posting my essay here… and asking you to do what my classmates are supposed to do: in the comments below please share 2 things you liked and one thing you would change/suggestion to make it better.
I know this is non-traditional, but hey – it’s summer. And we could all use a beach read huh? Please comment and play along! I cherish your feedback.
“Lenny and Lucy”
“I couldn’t wait to see them. Would they still be there waiting for me like always? Surely they would. I couldn’t bear to entertain any other notion.
But there was so much to be done first. I wondered if I’d ever get there.
There was the laundry. The mounds piled up since school got out, mostly due to the multitude of outfit changes taking place daily from the occupant of the corner room upstairs.
There was the cleaning. The crumb-filled crevices along every edge of the kitchen floor needed sweeping. The mounds of perishables in the refrigerator needed excavation. The clutter of 3 teenagers, a virtual treasure map of clues as to where they’d gone every step of the day, needed picking up.
There was the packing. Not only did I have to get the whole family ready for vacation, but then there was Haiti to prepare for too. Medicines, quick dry towels, swimsuits, warm clothes, cookbooks, passports, important paperwork, chargers, books to read. My packing list occupied my thoughts day and night.
Meanwhile, all I really wanted was to click my heels like Dorothy. Couldn’t I just skip the mundane obligations and just be there?
How I wished.
But the thought of seeing them kept me going. They were waiting and I’d lay eyes on them soon enough. They were reliable and sure. They would be there, no matter when I came.
They weren’t fickle that way. They would always call me whenever I arrived, with no credence given to the length of my absence.
As the plane landed, the abundance of green almost hurt my eyes, in comparison to the brown, dusty topography of our new residence.
I forgot what rain had the power to accomplish. But my senses quickly adjusted to the plentiful, almost rainforest feel that is part and parcel to Minnesota in summer. When the car was finally Northbound, replete with overstuffed trunk, 4 crowded, yet eager passengers and tunes blaring from the radio, my need to see them increased with every mile.
It had been 11 months. I had no reason to, but I began to worry. Would they be there this time? Would she have become ill, or succumbed to the fate of the harsh winter? Or could he have fallen prey to the unpredictable tides of old age?
With every passing mile, the landmarks welcomed me like an old friend. My joy increased verily as I cherished each monument, road sign and town along the way.
This is what it feels like. When the familiar isn’t one-ounce commonplace, but instead wraps around you like a cozy blanket on a crisp, cool day.
With just 20 miles to go, I could hardly contain my excitement.
It was a quintessential summer day. Windows rolled down, wind in our hair. Even the cramped quarters of our car for the long drive didn’t dampen our enthusiasm. The DJ seemed to be part of the conspiracy. Each song was better than the last. And we sang along at the top of our lungs even when we didn’t know the words.
When we turned down the road, everyone in the car collectively caught her breath.
The perfect tapestry of farm fields and giant evergreens mesmerized us. Even the waves of tar scrolling through the pavement to heal the harsh winter’s toll seemed to be urging us along.
It had been a long wait.
When we finally crested the hill, the shimmering ripples of the pristine lake were just visible beyond the overgrown branches that hung sheepishly overhead. Tears filled my eyes.
We descended the steep driveway and the moment the car stopped, screams ensued. Two escapees ran full boar toward the weathered strips of red that pressed outward over the water. The familiar sound of running feet pounding on wood was music to my ears. As was the splashing that followed, christening our arrival.
As I made my way down the grassy hill toward the water, and the flailing bodies hitting its surface, something else caught my eye 100 yards off shore.
I’d recognize their black and white silhouettes anywhere. Their graceful bodies were perfection as they swam side by side along the breathless surface. And as if on cue, I heard their trilling voices sound across the water.
It was then I knew my dear friends, Lenny and Lucy, had not let me down. They were here, their loon call welcoming us. Signaling summer could begin.
And as always, it was worth the wait.”