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Purple Skates

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This is how many minutes it took to convince my mom to let me dress myself for school.

Clad in an army jacket four sizes too big and a pink tutu that did nothing for my figure.

“I like it,” She smiled.

“Looks stupid.” (My sister.)

24 dollars and 99 cents.

That’s how much the skates costed.

“Wait ‘til Christmas, Lulu,” Mom repeated.


That’s how many times my big brother and I practiced

skating routines that would never see the light of day.

The wooden floors of our living room would never look the same.


The amount of times my sister told me to “Grow up, Mookie.”

I was seven.


The number of times Johnny Cash’s ‘Folsom Prison’ was played on my Barbie walkman.

“Aren’t you a little concerned for your daughter?” Becca’s mom asked mine.

Becca’s mom had skunk hair and smelled like rotten onions.


The burns on my ankles from dangling my feet on the sides of Daddy’s Harley.

“A pretty band-aid for my pretty girl,” He said.

“I don’t like pretty band-aids, Dad.”


The number of years it took me to grow up.

Dressed in plain jeans, and a normal t-shirt.

“Looks stupid,” my seven-year-old self would say.

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BeilaThis teenager is a 'regular' and has contributed a lot of work, comments and/or forum posts, and has received many votes and high ratings over a long period of time. said...
today at 12:50 am
Like your other piece, your writing is so honest it's painful, and wow do you know how to end a piece. The numbers thing was brilliant, and the way you managed to weave in so many characters with dialogue with personal reflection with humor is masterful.
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