A Slice of Derby Pie (Flicked, Olive, Hair Dryer, Parachute, Crackled)

I was lying on the old quilt we picked up at the flea market the week before. Someone had put a lot of love into it; one edge was frayed, but not beyond repair. I rolled over, reached into our basket, and plucked an olive from the jar. I sucked on the pit as I searched the sky for the first parachute to appear. The PA system crackled and a female voice announced that four-year-old Clare was lost and would her family please come to the registration area. At the end of the lane a cyclist worked his handlebars with a wrench, his race number fluttering in the breeze. I could hear a bluegrass band tuning up close by. An orange trail above alerted me that the first diver was about to come into view. I flicked the pit into the woods and stood up to look down the hill at the big X where they would land. The excitement of Derby week was all around me in the city, but here in the park it was like a festival. I squeezed Jason’s hand as if to say, pinch me so I know I’m not dreaming. Arriving from Minnesota, the weather was a relief. It was the first week in May but the wind spread sunshine hot across the back of my neck like a hair dryer.

~TherMumz likes trying her hand at these monologues