Daily Prompt: Shake it Up. You’re 12 years old. It’s your birthday. Write for ten minutes on that memory. GO.
The ping pong ball escaped my grasp and fell, landed on the top of the stairs and bounced as high as my hips so I tried to scoop it with my left hand but missed. It hit the next step and from then on, it traveled further down the steps, one by one. As it went, the hollowed clicking sound it made echoed in measured beats raised the hair on the back of my neck. I could feel my knees weaken as I debated my next move. Should I chase after it to remove any evidence of my grand plan, or leave it and hope that it will somehow be unnoticed?
Before I was able to decide, I heard the soft pitter-patter of footprints coming from the kitchen to investigate the commotion, so I ran quickly but soundlessly back to my room. I closed the door all the way to the door frame only because the clacking sound of the jamb against the strike plate will give me away. From the bottom of the stairs, the door would seem entirely closed.
I relinquished the loot onto my bed, Mom’s panty hose and silk handkerchiefs and Dad’s duct tape. I rolled the soft fabric into two smooth round balls and taped each ball to the breast cups of my training bra. I tried them on for size and was thrilled at the results.
When the first door bell rung, I headed down the stairs, proud as a peacock. My cousin wished me a happy birthday and gave me a beautifully wrapped present the shape of large shoe box. Mom welcomed her, too, and then whispered in my ear, “Honey, let’s go back to your room. We need to talk.”
Needless to say, I was furious she made me change bras. I was mad at her for three days. When you’re twelve, you see the world very differently, and sometimes, you need to be “rescued” from your own folly. Mom, thank you for saving me!