First Run

I was an only child my 15th summer—my brother away acting, one sister abroad, another home but waiting tables, dating, college-bound. Mom, in grad school, flew to Europe for research and a Greek cruise. Trifold aerogrammes arrived crinkling lonely freedom. Dad and I, strangers, stood in line for Star Wars; Annie Hall; New York, New York.

The previous summer, I’d wet my bed one last time. Now men in the background of my sister’s Glamours fated my dreams. One thick night, I donned Keds and ran a lap around our suburban block. A block, but long. My return breathless.

William O’Sullivan is an editor, essayist, and teacher in Washington, DC.

Photo Credit: Bill Lane

One Response to “First Run”

  1. Congratulations, So compressed, it’s poetic. Richard

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