When the Bell rings for the last time
Naa Asheley Afua Adowaa Ashitey
I’m going to waltz with my childhood teddy bear in the middle of a thunderstorm.
I’m not going to be afraid of bugs. I will let them land, find safety along my skin,
And let the rain, rather than the tips of my fingers, push them to their next destination.
When the crack of lightening hits the gas station at the corner of 7th and Sheridan,
And somehow drives the exact amount of current that was needed to repair the traffic lights
that hasn’t worked for the past two weeks,
the following thunder shall join me in joyfully laughing at such an incredulous feat.
The rain will grow in tempo, barely allowing any part of my nightgown to not cling to my body,
sending a small chill down my spine.
Here maybe, I may adjust myself,
taking a step forward to try and stretch the silk fabric to its original form.
Here is where I’ll land in a puddle and feel my shoes become drenched with mud.
I won’t scream in disgust,
nor stress about how many washes it will take to restore these already distressed shoes.
Instead, when I look down, I’ll see a small pink petal
that has identified the tip of my shoe as its new resting place.
I’ll look up to the sky once more and let the rain push away the remaining tears
and allow my vision to be restored to its 20/19 default.
I’ll clutch my teddy bear to my chest once more, and whisper a thank you to the earth
for allowing me to see color once more in a world that became so darkly saturated.
I’m not going to be afraid of bugs. I will let them land, find safety along my skin,
And let the rain, rather than the tips of my fingers, push them to their next destination.
When the crack of lightening hits the gas station at the corner of 7th and Sheridan,
And somehow drives the exact amount of current that was needed to repair the traffic lights
that hasn’t worked for the past two weeks,
the following thunder shall join me in joyfully laughing at such an incredulous feat.
The rain will grow in tempo, barely allowing any part of my nightgown to not cling to my body,
sending a small chill down my spine.
Here maybe, I may adjust myself,
taking a step forward to try and stretch the silk fabric to its original form.
Here is where I’ll land in a puddle and feel my shoes become drenched with mud.
I won’t scream in disgust,
nor stress about how many washes it will take to restore these already distressed shoes.
Instead, when I look down, I’ll see a small pink petal
that has identified the tip of my shoe as its new resting place.
I’ll look up to the sky once more and let the rain push away the remaining tears
and allow my vision to be restored to its 20/19 default.
I’ll clutch my teddy bear to my chest once more, and whisper a thank you to the earth
for allowing me to see color once more in a world that became so darkly saturated.
Naa Asheley Afua Adowaa Ashitey (she/her/hers) is a Chicago-born writer and an MD-PhD Student at UW-Madison School of Medicine and Public Health. She is interested in the intersection between scientific research, medicine, and the humanities. Her works have been published or forthcoming in Broken Antler Magazine, JAKE, The B’K Magazine, Abstract Magazine, Okay Donkey, and more. More at NaaAshitey.com.