A Tire Swing Story is a bite-sized "imagining" inspired by an object I discover while wandering. It could be a curbside trash gem or a message sprayed on a wall. A lost mitten, or an antique store find. Anything goes. I photograph the object and post them together, the story and its inspiration. There will be a new story every Monday and Wednesday. On Fridays, I'll discuss writing, life, love, and coffee. (In no particular order and maybe all at once.)

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

When Lisa watched Meg marry Lance, she wore a bird pinned to her hat. 
The hat was white mesh, and gigantic. She bought it at a party store. Lisa could hear the hisses of frustration from the people sitting behind her. She didn’t care. She needed the hat for the bird. And the bird was for Meg. 

When Meg first told Lisa about Lance, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes stayed fixed on the crumb-covered restaurant tabletop. “It’s love,” she’d said.
Up at the altar, Meg was wearing a veil. Lisa wished she could see her best friend's face.
One night years ago, a bird hit Meg’s front window and broke its wing. Lisa and Meg made a nest in a cardboard box out of old t-shirts. By morning, the bird had died. Meg sat beside the box with her knees tucked in to her chest and cried. Lisa leaned in and kissed the tears from Meg's cheeks. She can still remember the sound of Meg crying over that bird, and the salt-taste of her. 
Lisa looked down at the little organza bag of rice on her lap. An usher, one of Lance’s buddies had stuffed it into her hands when she arrived. “To throw afterward,” he’d said. She remembers reading that throwing rice at weddings is dangerous for birds. Something about how it expands in their stomachs and they explode. She is considering this, and looks up in time to see the newlyweds heading up the aisle and through the double doors.

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