A short story I wrote a couple of years ago called “Changes” was published this month in the Colorado magazine, “Prairie Times.”
I thought it would be fun to share it here as well.
Changes
Flying down the path, sneakers skimming over the pavement as my favorite running playlist blasted in my ears. I was high on adrenaline. Riding the rush of endorphins. It was always the best part of my day. I’d run that trail a thousand times. Wasn’t paying attention. Wasn’t watching where my feet landed as I took the free-feeling for granted. That’s when I tripped.
One second, I was speeding along the trail, wind rushing past me, and the next I was skidding to a halt. Slamming into the pavement, knee first. It burned immediately and I cried out, yanking my headphones from my ears and rolling to a stop on the grass on the side of the trail. The ground was wet from the recent rain. Cold seeped through the seat of my shorts. And my ankle—oh my ankle hurt bad. It must have twisted on my way down. Maybe it was sprained. Or broken.
Blood was beading up fast from the gash on my knee. I covered it with my hand, pressing, as I looked wildly around me. I was in the middle of nowhere. Hadn’t seen anyone on the way up. Was miles from my car. The sun was low in the sky and sinking fast. I’d skipped lunch and my post-run power bar was in my car along with my water bottle, which I’d left at the last minute.
No food. No water. And no one knew I was even here. I didn’t even tell my cat—though a lot of good that would have done anyway. Silly. Cats can’t call 911. Even clever ones like my Chloe. It could be hours before anyone found me. Days even.
All I could do was sit there. Think about my life. All the crappy parts of it. The way I always joked about that awkward girl at the office, what’s-her-name. The way I was rude to the girls that did my nails the other day.
But I could be a better person. Volunteer or something. Go to church.
Eat fewer doughnuts.
I could do that. I would, if I were only to be rescued. All I needed right then was a tall, dark, and handsome someone to come running up the trail. Someone to swoop me into his arms and carry me down the hill to safety. If only my hero would show up. Well, I would change my life. I would.
And then—footsteps! The thud of shoes hitting pavement. Coming my way! I fixed my pony tail and scooted, turning, to see a group of girls running up the path.
“You okay?” the tall one asked, judge-y eyes looking me up and down.
I stood. “Fine,” I answered to her back. The herd of them had already bounced past.
I looked down at my unbroken ankle that didn’t even hurt anymore. At my knee that was no longer bleeding. I plodded down the hill to my car.
Oh well, looked like a doughnuts-for-dinner kind of night.
“Changes” is one of 20 short stories in my book Twenty-Five Hundred (available here!)
