On the Seriousness of Tourists #13

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I don’t remember the itchiness of the canvas chair or the ants that crawled up my leg.  I don’t remember it being too chilly in the shade and too hot in the sun.

What I remember are the blades of grass between my toes.  They tickled.  I remember the pealing bells of an ice cream cart.  I remember peace.  He squeezed my hand and pushed the hair from my eyes.  He kissed me goodbye before going to buy me a cone.

Did he know then it would be the last cone he’d ever hand me?

I will never know.

2 thoughts on “On the Seriousness of Tourists #13

  1. Wow! Talk about feeling like you just got socked in the stomach. Left with so many questions. You have such a way of drawing the reader into right away. Such a short piece, but I am already invested and left to ponder. This one is going to stick with me all night.

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