Carter Dewberry

It's like I decided to bake a loaf of bread without adding yeast or perform the Dvorak Cello Concerto with orchestra without rehearsing a note beforehand.

I don’t know if I do these things because I subconsciously feel my life doesn’t have enough thrill, because I get bored with the routine, or just to see how much I can get away with before I fall flat on my face.

It was his look, his grab-me-by-the shoulder-and-stare-into-my-soul glare, that woke me up.

That series of moments, before he let go and we both shook ourselves to regain equilibrium, spoke volumes, more than all the words of our 90-minute lunch combined.

My mother’s disapproval was clear from her parting comment. “That is NOT acceptable.”

I doubted my gift, but only for a moment.

Then the memories began seeping in.