Inklilngs 2024

her mother’s mouth as she swiped plates off the countertop. Minutes passed before her brother pulled her into a hug, blocking her view. The girl’s shoulders shook, each breath shorter than the last. Her brother’s shirt took the brunt of it, a small puddle forming. “It’s alright,” he paused, rubbing circles on her back. “Dad’s just mad because mom cheated in their game.” It made sense, she supposed. The girl hated it when her classmates cheated in tag; it ruined everyone’s experience. But she always got over it, so her dad would too. And the cheater always said sorry in tag, so Mom would too. That’s how it worked; it was a basic playground rule. The pair had only taken a few steps when the front door flew open. Their mother rushed towards the car, not sparing them a glance. The car turned on, and she drove off without a word. The girl stared after the retreating car lights; her mother would come back – she was sure of it. Days slipped into weeks, weeks morphed into months, and months turned into 3 years. The girl now understood that it wasn’t like tag. Reflection Taylor Smith ’25