Day 2: J - Watered Down
Words fell from his mouth like smooth, warm honey, slow and lazy, coating us in tales of great adventures, love stories, epic tragedies, and worlds of magic. He knew the power of a first sentence, piercing us through our cheeks, reeling us in and keeping us hooked. On a hot summer afternoon, with full bellies and content smiles, he beckoned us over to his spot on the back porch, overlooking the pond. “Once I found a message in a bottle, but not where you would have expected.” His eyes glossed over as if he were transported into another world, far off from summer holidays and crickets chirping in the tall yellow grass along the sides of the house. “You see that pond over there,” he motioned, shifting his eyes over our heads and onto the pond he and grandma said was there before we were born. “That’s where I found it.” “No way!” said Ben, “Messages don’t float in ponds,” he added matter-of-factly. I swatted at him. We never interrupted grandpa. There wasn’t any time to talk. ...