Psssst, Mrs. Stump, this is ESSmoker. Remember that? That’s the name you were going to sign your books by. You said you were going to be published some day. You declared to everyone that you were not only going to be a writer, you were going to be an author. At least, even at that age, you knew you didn’t have to be published to be a writer.
Mrs. Stump, I used to laugh so hard –where did your belly aching tear inducing laugh go? Do people still call you M&M? Do you get up punctually, without hitting the snooze because the impending snooze alarm freaks you out? Do you still play your guitar? Remember when you lived in Stowe and you set a chair out on the front porch and a tin can to the side and you played your guitar for money? How embarrassing! And no money. That was around the same time you told God one night that if he was real, he would put ten bucks in your little yellow Fort Knox bank the next morning. He didn’t take the bait. (maybe he didn’t know the combination). That was also during the time that you climbed up the wooded hill (overlooking Stowe once at the top) in back of your house, with a pocket full of dollar bills (where the heck did you get those from?) and lost them all in your return travel? You made hundreds of rainbow pictures for your 1st grade teacher who hated them because you wrote at the top of each one, “God loves you.” And you prayed for your catholic friends because they had to confess their sins to a priest and not to Jesus himself. You told Erica stories and led the girls in acting out an ongoing drama (each girl was issued a handicap issue to contend with) during recess each day.
Mrs. Stump, did you lose your daring? Did you erase the first item ever to be place on your bucket list? Do you use your imagination? Did you lose your heart for spreading the Truth? When was the last time you laughed so hard you cried?