By Anita Brienza
We were leaving with Melissa in her Jeep in twenty minutes. Twenty minutes to collect whatever we’d need for however long we’d be gone. My huge khaki backpack. Joseph’s small kindergarten L.L. Bean with the sharks on it.
“Hey, bud, arms out.”
Joseph was staring at something on the ground. He didn’t look up, just raised his arms and I slipped the backpack on.
Low-lying grey smoke from the fires nearby darkened our neighborhood like a cloud. I wanted to scream. He dropped to the ground, then rose, his cupped hands holding a tiny snail.
“He has a backpack, too, Mom.”
Love that story!
Thank you, Howard!
Very nice!
Thanks, Scott!
Brilliant, like everything Brienza writes.
Thanks, Brian!
That was beautiful.
Thank you, Deanna!
Getting the priorities right.
Exactly! Thanks for reading, Cathy!
Great story.
Thanks, S. Webb!
A sweet moment in a traumatic time.
Thanks, JK!
Brightened my day!
Thanks, Liz!
What a sweet story! After I finish every piece of literature that you write, I always want more!!!!!!!
Thank you, Ann!
Good on Joseph for making the connection. Children are so observant.
Yes! Thanks, Tom!
How sweet..loved it
Thank you for reading, Yogi!
Lovely read … Kudos …
Thank you, Valli!
What a beautiful moment! Such terrific writing.
Thank you, Elizabeth!
I love the tension here of first wondering what is happening and then the sense of danger and sense of wonder juxtaposed. Lovely!
Thank you, Kristie!
A bright spot in the midst of tragedy. Nice work!
Thank you, Jennifer!
You evoked the danger and fear with great subtlety and your piece was stronger for it. Stunning ending. May I ask if it was a true story? If it wasn’t, it certainly felt like one.
Unexpected analogy