black history/futures: eight decades

it's feb! that means it's black history/futures month. my goal is one flash fiction story every day. all stories from the month here.

80 years. i could hardly believe i had made it through 80 years. as i sat in the middle of the room with my community surrounding me, sending me love and energy, i couldn’t help but well up with tears. and of course that prompted many other people (those who weren’t already crying) to start flowing as well.

the ceremony room was designed for this and so people knew to lean forward when their tears began to fall. the sloped floor lead all their tears, all that salt towards, towards my bare feet. some people were better hydrated than others and so generated more liquid, but everyone knew that the healing wasn’t related to the volume of water; it was tied to the sincerity and authenticity of the contributors.

my toes and heels began to smooth and soften as my body started to absorb the water. if i was going to make it another 80 years, i would need all the healing energy we could muster.

as the tears continued to flow, i began my speech:

eight decades. it is hard to believe, but i have been here, with you all, for eight decades. how does one even start to put into words the amount of joy and love and sorrow and heartache contained in eight decades?

i know every member of our group that makes it here reflects on their time differently. some follow threads of place, others follow patterns of people and relationship; i have chosen time. what lessons have i learned every decade of my life?

by age ten, i had discovered my love of my body…

words / writing / post-processing
273w / 10min / 2min