An Unstoppable Stream

by Kyrin Sturdivant

After supper, I followed Pa out to the river behind our cabin as he sat in his decades-old chair made of wood so worn it felt soft to the touch, like the smooth-rough feeling you get from stroking suede with, then against the grain. I’d always asked Pa if I could go in the water but he’d say, Not unless you want the rapids to pull you downstream, an’ you’ll never see us again. 

Ma shared the same sentiment when I’d ask to join the boys who went down to get ice cream at the pub across town.

“But ma how come I always have to stay in when the boys get ice cream at Rodney’s?”

“Because little girls have no business in a place like that… not unless,” and so it goes. 

But what if the only thing I wanted was to let the rapids pull and tear away the bonds that tie me to these paneled walls? I’d rush downstream and thrash like mad for the first time. I’d feel bold in the cold. I’d feel free. Anything but

“dead! Get that dead look out of your eyes darlin’ there’s plenty of sweets in the fridge!”

By sweets, she meant cold leftover biscuits that she’d put maple syrup on and I’d eat with a knife and fork. Poorman’s pancake. Poor girl’s ice cream.

© Kyrin Sturdivant 2022, All Rights Reserved.