I remember the summer Connecticut was my home. The evenings cooler than the Carolinas, and the people new. Not by name, but I remember them the way I remember most things; each person and their own story growing with me through time and maturity. I don’t know if I ever made a friend at that summer camp, but I know they became characters in my mind, and stories when I could write about it. The girl with the braids and beads with color; how she fell one day and that got her attention for a week. The camp instructor helping her to her feet, sweeping off grass and sand, and kids gathering around her offering their help, asking “You ok?” It’s silly, as I remember, for me to want that same attention even if it came at the cost of a purple colored bruise. And what was even crazier was that she wasn’t afraid to cry out loud. Just letting everyone see her in the state of ugly face, sad times, and dirty knees.
I love Connecticut and that summer for the stories it gave me. That one brown boy, that always picked so much; “Yo momma this,” and pulling hair. The cold ham and cheese sandwiches for late lunches, and the one time they signed me up for swimming lessons, but I cried my way through it till my Aunt grabbed me by the arm and said, “Let’s Go.”
I still can’t swim.
But I can’t let these people go. Their stories, and my memories of them warped and embedded into my mind.
I’ve always been a storyteller, even when I didn’t know myself. I could never cry out loud because I was too busy watching other people in case they started watching me. I used to hate being sensitive, and not as outspoken, but had I been, I would have missed these things.
It’s been years since then. Stories have been added. Sad and good ones. Bad and nice things to say. I’m a 20something Manning Native from the Carolinas, and I appreciate what my small town has been for me. It’s a blessing for life to still happen, and writing and Storytelling is my gifted art that I feel an obligation to share with the world.
No matter how I do it. Just long as it’s done.
I wrote my first book. The start of new beginnings. I still don’t know what else I’ll be or where I’ll go, but for sure I’ll always be a writer, and I’ll always tell stories for those who come to listen.
