A journal of narrative writing.
What Was Important

The first person I told was Crystal. The T.V. had been on

Since five, and after the show she said

It happens to everyone. But I told her it's not the same.

There are no plastic tea cups in their stories, no red

Sheets. There is no girl named Amy, or boy

Named Louis - and that was important.

What was important was the plant on the window

Sill that shook when I shook, the way clams clench

Their lips together, how my arms drew against

My chest. The open door was important -

The long hallway, the silence where there could have been

Footsteps. That element of surprise, the rising action

Would have been crucial. I told Crystal

About his body, his sweat on top of mine;

The way his face pressed against me, I couldn't breathe

Or move. But she said it happens to everyone,

so I said oh, and we changed the channel.