Prose

The Skipping Girl Celeste Larson

“Alice. I met her when I was three at bible school. We were best friends. She moved away two years later—Dang it!” The girl shouted as her stone plopped into the water after four skips. The water was calm and completely still before the girl came to take out all her aggression on it; although, the water had done nothing wrong. She got on her hands and knees and searched for a fitting rock in the gravel and settled on a perfectly smooth one. Mud had begun to gather in small clumps along the cuffs of her jeans.

“Timothy. We met in seventh grade.” She threw the rock. “He kissed me in the hall before gym class. We dated for a month. After we broke up, we stayed good friends. In eleventh grade his new girlfriend forced him to stop talking to me.”

The girl watched as the stone settled after six skips, and she stood watching the rock peacefully sink as if the water was mocking her, making her watch it drop every heartbreaking inch. The water, after all, needed its revenge for the uncalled for beating. She then dropped to the floor, feverishly scrambling to find another rock. It took her much longer this time, as if it didn’t want to show itself. By then, her pants were covered in mud and it didn’t take long for some to spread to her hands, nearly slipping as she tried to stand, rock in hand.

“Jennie. We met in ninth grade. We became fast friends. She was my best friend. We hung out nearly every day. She was my sister. I took her on family road trips. Then she met Jessi. She stopped talking to me. She stopped looking at me. She blocked me.” Tears filled her eyes as the stone shamed her by stopping after eleven skips. She fell to the floor and took to rummaging through the gravel, trying to find a rock that could surpass the last. By then her hands were covered in mud and rocks would fall from her hands before she had enough grip to throw them. She then

grabbed a handful in her arms and threw them all into the water, “Stacy. Brittany. Jeremy. Kevin. Ryan. Angelina. Grace.”

The water brushed the seven stones back onto shore without a single skip and began to feel pity for her. The girl wailed as the truth of her situation set in: she was alone, and there were no more fitting stones on the shore. Her face fell into her hands, mud covering her features save for the lines left clean from her tears. It was her weeping that drew in a boy; he stood behind her saddened by the state of the girl.

“You can have my stone,” he said, gently extending his hand towards the girl. She took it hesitantly, wiping the mud from her eyes as she stood. The two stood for a moment in silence until the boy got down on one knee, raising the stone to her.

“My ladyship,” he said, attempting and failing a British accent.

This earned a giggle from the girl as she took his stone.

“Please let this stone work,” she whispered, closing her eyes and held tight onto the rock between her palms. With a mighty throw, she sent the stone flying across the surface, the water propelling it forward. The two were amazed that the stone kept on going.

“Eric. Offering me a stone when I ran out. Next was dinner and a movie. Lots of laughing. He got down on one knee again. I walked in a white dress down an aisle. We had a child. And another. And another. One more. We took a vacation to Disney World. Got a new minivan.” The stone never stopped, skipping long into the night, and long after they left. It didn’t stop after dinner and a movie. It didn’t even stop after he got down on one knee. The story of them never ended, so the rock never stopped skipping.