I was bad. I didn't write yesterday. I woke up before 6:30 this morning feeling guilty about it so here I am at my laptop in the early morning dim trying to string a few words together and salve my procrastinator's guilt.
March 23--Gustave Caillebotte, Sailing Boats at Argenteuil. The dock where Lacy lay began to shake and shudder as she dozed, sunning herself on that summer afternoon. She looked back toward the shore to see her two brothers, Al and Mark, and her cousins, Tony, Angie, and Celia, coming toward her. "Hey, Lacy," Mark said, "time to race." She shook her head as they stopped beside her, their suntanned legs looking like an unpainted fence. "I'm not racing anymore," she said. "Racing's for kids." There was a clunk as Angie dropped the oar she was carrying. "Not racing? Are you crazy?" Mark said. "Everybody on the lake races, even the grown-ups." Lady's lips tightened into a stubborn slash across her face. "Well, I'm not racing anymore." She stood up, gathered her blanket, book and water, and stalked back toward the cabin, her back straight so no one saw her tears. She couldn't risk anyone finding out she was having her, well, her, you know, her, well, her period. It would just be too embarrassing. So she'd just quit racing until it was over--for good.
Oh, Lacy, it's never over. There's always something lined up to embarrass you. Get used to it.
--Barbara
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