While visiting friends in Cusco, Peru, I was invited to participate in a creative writing group. The ‘assignment’ was to write a story about how it would be for an inanimate object to be ‘alive’. Here is my story. Be nice, it is my first attempt at ‘creative writing’ in a while.
I stand here, at the table, straight, tall, strong, thinking of my friend.
Yesterday we were both standing here on the table, wondering what our day would bring. Would we be filled with some nice cold white liquid, or some orange liquid or our favorite, liquid with bubbles. We were both so ticklish and loved how it felt when the bubbles bumped up against our sides. We would both shiver with excitement as some blocks were dropped in, because we knew this would cause the liquid to get very cold. We knew if we were filled with white liquid, the ‘grabber’ would belong to “Mom, can I have some milk?” When we were filled with orange liquid, the ‘grabber’ was, “Oh how I love my fresh-squeezed OJ.” We know bubbles were for the biggest ‘grabber’, “Honey, can you get me some coke with cubes.”
That was all until ‘The Incident.’
This morning, we were standing in our regular positions, waiting in anticipation, to see who our ‘grabber’ would be today. And suddenly, I was standing alone. I heard a crash and looked around and noticed my friend was gone. I looked on the table and saw a round object resting not far from me, and I heard a loud voice, “Eric, I told you not to throw the ball in the kitchen.” My mind was racing. Who is Eric? What’s a ball? Who said that? Are there more grabbers?
I finally realized, the voice was from the ‘grabber’ who grabbed the orange liquid, and hadn’t I heard the word ‘Eric?’ I remember that sometimes after the ‘grabber’ “Mom, can I have milk?” I would hear, “Of course Eric, it’s in the fridge.” Then I saw the round object on the table, and thought, could that be the ball?
Even after thinking through all this, I still was, standing here at the table, straight, tall, strong and ALONE.