yes, she did by Ashlie Hyer

yes, she did | Ashlie Hyer

somewhere, there’s still a girl on her bike, going to the corner store. it’s a vape store now, but when she rides her bike it’s the corner store, a cramped old five-and-ten, and she’s just a kid with her curly hair and a little plaid dress and glasses too big for her face. her father has given her change from the chicken eggs she cleaned for him, and she has a plan. she parks her bike and buys a bag of potato chips. she gets back on, crosses down to main street, to the ice cream place. it’s a jumble of fenced-in water pumps now, but when she walks up it’s the ice cream place, pink and white. she buys a vanilla cone, and she dips her potato chips in it and eats them together with sticky fingers, perched on her bike and looking out over the river. at least i think she looks. she used to tell me but i can’t ask her for specifics anymore. but i know she’s there, waiting to grow up. waiting to take me there, too.

About the Author:

Ashlie Hyer is a writer from New Jersey, and, to the bafflement of all involved, still lives there. Besides writing, she enjoys cats, baking, and trying to fistfight the concept of time.