I don’t remember how old I was, but I remember resenting you. Stranger with long blonde hair, that I stared at the whole time you were there. Intruder. Rival. You belonged to my family’s past, and I wished you back there. They laughed when you spoke. Relaxed. Smiled.
They sent me to take you down to the river, to show you the best swimming hole. You’d borrowed my mother’s swimsuit, and unplaited your hair. I remember feeling the rocks under my feet, and how dark and lovely the water seemed. Half-won, half-lost, I asked you if you wanted me to stay and– No, you said, and thanks, and curled your towel over the branch where we always did, and dived into the water with barely a ripple. Your hair streaming out behind you, like light through the edge of a doorway when someone’s trapped inside, in the dark.
Tags: haibun, work in progress
