posted on: Thursday February 4, 2010
Dara Plath ’13 / Portfolio Staff
August 2, 1999: Today is a perfect day. I’m wearing my favorite shirt; a blue tank top with tiny red flowers printed all over it. It makes me feel more like a girl. Usually I throw on the first shirt and pair of shorts I can find, knowing that they’re probably going to become caked with mud anyway. Zach says I shouldn’t care so much about how I look. He likes my clothes just the way they are.I’m sitting on my porch steps right now, waiting for Zach to ride his bike over. The steps are painted white and are starting to peel. I pick at a piece of paint, pulling it off to reveal the soft wood underneath. The sun bathes my bare legs with its warm rays. I stretch each leg out, pointing my green flip-flops towards the sky. The movement causes a shiver to run down my spine and into the tips of my toes.I watch the cars pass by on the road. They race along at an intimidating speed, kicking up dirt and sand on their way. The pavement seems to radiate an invisible heat, as if the sun has turned it into thick, black lava. I watch as it slowly makes its way by my house and into town.