The Story Teller by Michael Downing
I would read her stories on quiet summer afternoons while we sat along the river, just the two of us stretched out in the tall grass, hidden in the shade of the pine trees lining the Mullica. A gentle breeze cooled our skin. The world was quiet except for the sound of waves lapping softly against the river bank. Katie liked the way I read to her. It wasn’t just the stories, she said, but the way my voice changed with each sentence and how I brought those stories to life, sometimes giving the words little twists of emotion, other times emphasizing certain sentences to make them stand out. I loved the way she giggled whenever I mispronounced or stumbled over the vocabulary words we had learned in Miss Rittenburg’s English class just weeks before. Her laughter was soft and infectious, and the way she smiled took my breath away. As the hours passed, Katie would sway slowly from side to side, her body relaxed in the warm summer air, before finally resting her head in my lap. Her eyes would flutter shut while I kept reading, the words spilling out as naturally as the river flowing beside us.
Time didn’t matter back then—days and hours blended together in a haze of shared moments.
Some days, we dreamed about a life beyond our little New Jersey town, imagining all the places we would go and the adventures we could share. Her fingers would slip into mine, soft and warm, as we imagined a future filled with faraway destinations and the endless possibilities awaiting us. Katie would smile at that depth of ambition wrapped around the strength of our growing love, and squeeze my fingers a little tighter. We had a future filled with time. Neither one of us imagined how quickly it would pass or how fast seventeen would turn into seventy-five.
But now when I tell her stories about those places we visited, the years have worn down the miles and softened the edges and I find myself reaching into a past that is somehow familiar but fading. I hold on to those moments, even as they ebb away. In the quieter version of Katie, she is still the same girl who once laughed in the shade of the pine trees and believed, like I did, that time would never run out. I still hold her hand and tell stories of the world we once imagined, hoping that somehow, in the spaces between the words, the past lives on for both of us the same way it once did. Sometimes, when my words unlock memories I catch a glimpse of recognition in her eyes—flickers of when she was the girl who shared those dreams with me.
And when I see the spark that lights up her expression, even though the glow is rare and fleeting, I know she remembers us and the love we shared.
In 2021 my story, By The Numbers, was included in the Under The Thumb anthology published by Rock and A Hard Place Press and guest-edited by S.A. Cosby. I have been nominated for two Pushcart Prizes for fiction and my short stories have been published in print and online magazines, most recently in Punk Noir, The Yard, Literary Garage and upcoming in Shotgun Honey. I am also the Founder/ Creative Director of a literacy program called StoryTellers, which uses creative writing to provide underserved teenagers and young adults the opportunity to discover the power of their own voices. Originally from New Jersey, I now live in a small college town in Georgia although I am still everything New Jersey: attitude, edginess, and Bruce Springsteen….but not Bon Jovi.
Photo courtesy of JoAnn Lightcap
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Very nicely said — and written with the perspective that only our years could provide.