After yet another fight about being away with his pals so much, Mom has at least succeeded in badgering Dad into taking me fishing. He drives the old Ford wagon and chats with his buddy while I'm in the back seat fantasy casting with my first hand-me-down pole.
On our way to the lake, we pass through a small town, and I hear Dad say, "Wow, look at that!" I look but spot no kids, no dogs, no ice cream stores, nothing of interest and go back to landing the big one that I've hooked.
Years later, at a sidewalk café enjoying coffee and the spring sun, my friend George looks up and says, "Wow, look at that!" She's wearing a tight tank top, red shorts and has wings tattooed on the small of her back.
old shoe box
published in Blithe Spirit