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Sara Krome

Electricity

The air that day was electric. It felt as though sparks were zipping
through the air, leaping onto our fingertips to shock us whenever we
touched the metal screws on the picnic tables or ran our hands along
the poles of the playground. Carly especially seemed to be possessed by a
frenetic kind of energy. She bounded around the park, playfully chasing
the kids, never stopping to rest on both of her feet. The ends of her light
hair drifted upwards from the static, forming a strange halo that fuzzed
around her head. It was humid, and the air was hot and moist, clinging
stubbornly damp to our skins. Just below the surface of our conscious-
ness we thought we could hear the rumbles of thunder, but the sky was
bright, so we pressed on with the picnic as planned.

I wiped a hand across my damp brow, easing my hips around
the corners of the picnic table as I helped Elle unwrap the dishes and
balance them on the warped wooden surface. One corner of my cotton
sundress snagged on a loose bolt, making me stumble. I pulled Saran
Wrap off a platter of fried chicken, then tugged a cooler full of water-
melon under the shady surface of the table. Elle placed a pitcher of
artificially-bright lemonade in the center, cupping it gently with both
hands to steady it. In the afternoon heat, her cheeks flared pink, nearly
flushing out her caramel-colored freckles. She cupped a hand over her
eyes, her bright rings catching in the sun and piercing my eyes.

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