Walking on Water by Liz Strauss SAMPLE PAGES

I gathered a few things. I put my wallet in my back pocket, grabbed a
jacket just in case, and closed the door behind me. I walked down to
my little blue car, put the key in the ignition, and drove west. It was
morning when I left. I had no place to go, nowhere I had to be. I’d let
my car and the roads decide. I didn’t want to pick.
The movement of the wheels on the road was in time with the music.
The city falling further away in my rearview mirror, I got lighter by the
mile. Maybe it wasn’t thinking that I needed. Maybe I had done too
much thinking already. I pulled off to the side. Unclicked the latches
to the top and pushed it back. Top down, now I had the sky along with
me for the ride.
As the sun moved west with me, my posture softened. The music got
more joyful. I started noticing how lovely the trees looked on this last
“sort of warm” fall day. Memories of childhood things were floating in
my mind like kids whispering.
I stopped for lunch at Nick’s diner. Lunch was a chocolate milkshake,
an old-fashioned hamburger with ketchup, mustard, pickles, onion,
and ordinary — the good kind of ordinary — French fries.
I was served by a woman named Doris. We talked about old-time root
beer stands and real hot fudge sundaes. She was my entertainment for
an hour and thirty-seven minutes. When I was done she pointed me in
a new direction. I’ll never forget her. Doris was my friend.
About two hours down the road that Doris spoke of, I found it. Boy, it
was worth driving for. The sky, the sun, the water were waiting just for
me. I eased off the road. I love that sound of tires on mulchy ground. I
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©2008 Liz Strauss All rights reserved


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