- Prompt A: Talk about a time when you got away with it.
I don’t feel like I got away with anything.
Such a big decision, such immature kids.
Getting away with it meant sleepless nights, endless conversations without anything real being said, tears, and ultimately, the end of us.
I had hoped that we would be together after college. The silly, romantic part of me could imagine a little house, the settling down and the building of a life. The realist knew that it was never meant to be. It was the realist that cried to her roommate and arranged for a ride. It was the realist that set the appointment and skipped classes to pick up more shifts to afford the fees.
The romantic spent a sleepless night in a darkened living room, hoping against hope that you’d come charging in to tell me that you loved me and that I should skip the appointment. At the very least, the romantic wished that you’d come along and hold my hand.
That day was cold. It seemed like the whole town was empty. Most of our friends were already home for the holidays. My roommate waited to drive me home, and that night, got me good and drunk. I heard that you got drunk, too.
Later on, you got married. I heard that she already had a son and couldn’t have any more kids.
I married a man who always holds my hand. We have two beautiful children, and have made a good life for ourselves.
I suppose that I got away with something after all.
I am participating in The Scintilla Project.
1692, from fig. use of L. scintilla “particle of fire, spark, glittering speck, atom,” probably from PIE *ski-nto-, from base *skai- “to shine, to gleam” (cf. Goth. skeinan, O.E. scinan “to shine”).