The Opera Coat Seizes Olympic Power
The Opera Coat Seizes Olympic Power
Six days past the opening ceremony, weariness set in. Almost ennui, though not quite boredom. This portion of this summer had belonged to her sister’s Olympic dream for years. At dinner tables and on every school day’s commute, the talk always raced toward the work of the family Olympian and the sacrifice to get her there. Now, it lay done. The work of, and for, the hard-body family athlete – finished. The dream an awakening to something new.
In the shade of her had lived the little-girl aspirant of couture and style who longed more for the high ivory trees of New York than the flat blue bog of women’s water polo. It sometimes seemed impossible she and her big sister had shared a womb.
She is, eternally, the family baby, this little sister, Glenda, youngest of four, hoarse from joining in their earnest cheers for that oldest sister, Hannah, on this London trip they scraped the ribs of piggy banks to afford. These days into the London dream, lived far out loud, a chance she prayed would come finally did.
Quiet as an abbey ghost, she dipped into walking shoes and slipped her fidgety soul out of the hotel room, where everyone else napped through the mid-afternoon lull, trying to sleep off the anti-climax. Like bears in December, she thought. Every one of them spent from London’s thrill except her. She thought herself like a tiny bird, throbbing of heart, eyes starving for what she adored, launching off the sill of this family. Off to soar on foot and peck at the lovely oddities of Olympic Soho.
Hardly twenty minutes on the random streets, bound for nowhere she knew, she felt it more than saw it. The grace of its drape caught her, even from behind the window. An opera coat, vigorous and rare, reached for her, nearly jarring in its catch of her eye through the glass of a used clothing store on a nearly lonesome branch of avenue…
Don’t miss the end of this bit of micro fiction. Find the rest here, for free:
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And then, let's hear from you!! Send your feedback on the whole bloody thing, here on Goodreads, on Facebook, and to Ether Books! I’m honored to write for Ether, the global smart phone platform that dishes short reads to the world. Sir Paul McCartney and I thank you!
Six days past the opening ceremony, weariness set in. Almost ennui, though not quite boredom. This portion of this summer had belonged to her sister’s Olympic dream for years. At dinner tables and on every school day’s commute, the talk always raced toward the work of the family Olympian and the sacrifice to get her there. Now, it lay done. The work of, and for, the hard-body family athlete – finished. The dream an awakening to something new.
In the shade of her had lived the little-girl aspirant of couture and style who longed more for the high ivory trees of New York than the flat blue bog of women’s water polo. It sometimes seemed impossible she and her big sister had shared a womb.
She is, eternally, the family baby, this little sister, Glenda, youngest of four, hoarse from joining in their earnest cheers for that oldest sister, Hannah, on this London trip they scraped the ribs of piggy banks to afford. These days into the London dream, lived far out loud, a chance she prayed would come finally did.
Quiet as an abbey ghost, she dipped into walking shoes and slipped her fidgety soul out of the hotel room, where everyone else napped through the mid-afternoon lull, trying to sleep off the anti-climax. Like bears in December, she thought. Every one of them spent from London’s thrill except her. She thought herself like a tiny bird, throbbing of heart, eyes starving for what she adored, launching off the sill of this family. Off to soar on foot and peck at the lovely oddities of Olympic Soho.
Hardly twenty minutes on the random streets, bound for nowhere she knew, she felt it more than saw it. The grace of its drape caught her, even from behind the window. An opera coat, vigorous and rare, reached for her, nearly jarring in its catch of her eye through the glass of a used clothing store on a nearly lonesome branch of avenue…
Don’t miss the end of this bit of micro fiction. Find the rest here, for free:
http://www.etherquickreads.com/
And then, let's hear from you!! Send your feedback on the whole bloody thing, here on Goodreads, on Facebook, and to Ether Books! I’m honored to write for Ether, the global smart phone platform that dishes short reads to the world. Sir Paul McCartney and I thank you!
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