She was standing in the cornfield, her arms perpendicular to her sides forming a cross with her body. Her imitation of the scarecrow was making us both laugh.
“Can you believe they have one of these things? Do they even work?” she said as she bounced over to the stuffed man and threw her arms around his neck. “May I have this dance, big boy?”
The sunshine blinked between the swaying cornstalks, and every time the light hit her eyes, looking at mine, she was so pretty. Everything about her was pretty.
The hot days and humid nights of that summer flashed by like all before and since, but life paused when she was dancing in the field.
We lost touch like all high school sweethearts do. I’d miss a phone call and she’d blow me off. I let her slip away without a fight, as any young man in true love should. Life was starting and we each had our own to worry about now.
I hate the word ‘bittersweet.’
I catch a glimpse of her when the daylight bursts through the walled streets of skyscrapers. Millions of windows glittering like her eyes. Hurriedly crossing a shaded street, I go out of my way for an extra step in the sun.
Worth Writing Down 