I don’t know where my writing comes from. I really don’t. I used to do comedy improv on stage, and I never knew what I was going to do on stage before I went out before the audience. I was always surprised, and often shocked. That is how I feel now with the prompted writing from Main Street Writers. How do we all come up with such different stories from the same prompt? I’ll admit that this piece left everyone in the room stunned, myself included.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
7-25-13
\nThe prompt:
\nWrite down the name of the song going through your head
\nCreate a character that hears this song
\nCreate the action they are going through related to the song.<\/p>\n
I hummed along with the TV, knowing that the theme song from Rocky and Bullwinkle would be there for the duration of vacuuming and probably well into the laundry. Why the hell had I left that channel on? Will was outside playing in the sandbox and was totally oblivious. I had work that needed to get done, and Frank wouldn\u2019t be home for another two hours. I strode over and killed the TV. Just like the bumper sticker said. Finally, silent bliss.<\/p>\n
I peeked out the window to check on Will and headed upstairs to collect the week\u2019s worth of laundry that always seemed to take longer to wash than it took to wear. Frank was actually the one who donated the most to the laundry pile. He insisted on a clean pair of pants every day, and the thought of wearing a shirt twice would send him to the emergency room with symptoms of a stroke. I had learned early on in our relationship that Frank was Frank and there was no discussion of how, where, when and even if Frank would live his life. He was good to me, and doted on Will, so I had no complaints.<\/p>\n
I scooped up Will\u2019s handful of clothes, checked under the bed for strays, and schlepped down to the laundry room. As I sorted, I heard Will carrying on a conversation with his imaginary friend Mr. Bump. The two were inseparable. Literally. Mr. Bump had lived a very real life in Will\u2019s imagination for three of his five years. The conversation out in the back yard had become heated.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t put it there, Mr. Bump. I can\u2019t reach it if it\u2019s so far away, and we\u2019re supposed to share.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay, Silly Willy, here.\u201d<\/p>\n
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. That wasn\u2019t Will. I could feel the panic set in as I headed out of the laundry room and over to the window. Looking out, I saw Will sitting alone in the middle of the sandbox, running a dump truck back and forth through the dirty sand and over all of the plastic army guys he had dumped there.<\/p>\n
This was the first time I had heard Mr. Bump speak in the three years of his existence.<\/p>\n
\u201cWill?\u201d I tried to keep the tremor out of my voice. \u201cHow are you doing out there? Is everything okay?\u201d<\/p>\n
Will looked up and smiled over toward me. \u201cI\u2019m fine, Mommy,\u201d he said. \u201cDo you want to come out and play with me and Mr. Bump?\u201d<\/p>\n
Everything seemed fine. Maybe it was a hallucination. \u201cI have to do the wash, but I\u2019ll be out as soon as it\u2019s in.\u201d Will bowed his head and went back to work.<\/p>\n
I had the clothes in the washing machine and was adding soap when I heard the voice again.<\/p>\n
\u201cHey, do you want to see something?\u201d<\/p>\n
Will\u2019s little voice came through the window.<\/p>\n
\u201cSure, what is it?\u201d<\/p>\n
That wasn\u2019t Will. I had no idea of what was going on, but that wasn\u2019t my Will. I ran through the house, wrestled the slider open and ran across the deck toward the sandbox. I couldn\u2019t see my son. The truck was there, tipped on its side. Army guys were scattered around. There, on one triangular corner seat was a folded piece of paper. I snatched it up and scanned the yard for Will.<\/p>\n
\u201cWill! Where are you! I told you not to leave the yard!\u201d<\/p>\n
I glanced down at the paper in my hand. In neat flowing script that didn\u2019t come from the hand of a five year old was written \u201cGone on an adventure. Be right back.\u201d<\/p>\n
It was the neighbor who said she heard my screams. She called the police, and came running from across the street. In the hospital she seemed concerned for me. I didn\u2019t know why she wasn\u2019t out with everyone else looking for my Will.<\/p>\n
Five years later, I still don\u2019t remember anything after reading the note. Just the sound of a voice that wasn\u2019t my son.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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