Picture Prompt: History Series #2

We’re continuing on with the Picture Prompt: History Series this week. As a reminder, a Picture Prompt asks you to use imagery (faces, colors, landscapes, buildings, even everyday objects you encounter) to help inspire some writing! Other than that, there are no ‘rules’ to this type of writing.

Just maybe this: Grab a piece of paper and a good pen and set a timer on your phone for 10-20 minutes before you study the image. That is: Set yourself up for writing.

I find that when I am deliberate with this practice (especially the timer thing), I am much more likely to actually follow through with the writing. I’ll often write far beyond when the timer goes off. I like to write, but I’m really good at finding a hundred other things to do instead of writing. Sometimes, making writing a ‘to do’—even a chore to cross off my list—is perfectly okay. It means I’m more likely to write. We often have to choose to set aside time for the things we love. I hope you’ll make that choice this week. I’ll try, too.

Here’s this week’s picture:

My take:

There were no jobs available on Tuesday, so I took a walk down the hill into the new subdivision. My feet were bare, and I hadn’t been to a laundromat in a few weeks, so I got some stares. These were neat houses, clean people. I stood out. I tried not to care. “I’m just visiting my aunt on Maple street!” I called to a heavily pregnant woman out watering her roses. She seemed unconvinced. Maybe there was no Maple street here.

Beneath my feet, the cement was hot from the sun. “You should try frying an egg!” I said as I passed two young boys on shiny new bicycles. They looked at each other, grinned, and rode away. Maybe cooking an egg on the sidewalk was too messy a business here.

I whistled as I walked lower down into the valley. “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow,” I said quite cheerfully to a teenaged boy and girl swinging languidly at a park. They held hands, oblivious. I was happy for them. Maybe here, there was never any shadow.

I became lost. Every house was the same. Still, I envied them. Their shoes and their automatic washers and their fridges full of cold eggs. I thought of the earth that had been cleared away to build this desert town. I thought of boulders crumbling. The firmament shaped by metal teeth and smart men. Maybe here, all men were smart men. No Tuesday was wasted with wandering.

“Would you like to buy some lemonade?” I heard a voice say to me. I turned to see a young boy at a folding table. A yellow sign flapped in the breeze. “5 cents,” it read, but my pockets were empty.

“My pockets are empty,” I said. The boy shrugged and poured me a cup anyway. I thought I might cry, so I sat down on the curb. The lemonade was so tart it made my eyes water.

“Are you lost?” The boy asked.

“I’m looking for Maple street,” I said.

“Two blocks that way,” the boy said.

“Have you ever fried an egg on the sidewalk?” I asked. He had not, so he ran inside to get one. We watched as the whites began to sizzle on the hot cement, and I saw the boy glance at my bare feet. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I just keep moving.”

We waved goodbye. I kept moving. I found Maple street. There was the teenaged couple from the park, smiling at me. There were the boys on the bicycles, ringing their bells in welcome. There was the woman, watering her roses; a tiny baby slept near her, swaddled in a basket in the shade. Evening was falling in the valley and shadow cooled the earth. Men wandered happily home. I went into my aunt’s house.

Thanks for reading.
-Beth