Hole in my Shirt


“If only I had a needle.”

“What for?”

“Then I could sew this. I hate having a hole.”

“But that’s the fun of it. The concert is where you got the hole in your shirt. Sort of a souvenir from the event. That’s what makes it so cool.”

“Cool? You think its fun having a tear in my favourite shirt? If I can’t fix this damn thing, I’ll have to replace it. I don’t have the money to waste on another expensive shirt.”

“Why the hell would you replace it? A hole, a ticket stub, no voice, aching feet, exhaustion from the late night, that’s the whole experience. That concert was one of the greatest moments ever! Can’t you see the joy in that, the exhilaration of not giving a damn about how ridiculous you looked singing your guts out?”

“No that was crazy. When you get to my age, you’ll understand how absurd that behaviour was.”

“When I get to your age I pray that I’ll still have excitement, vigour, magic in my life, and not be bogged down in the dreary regret of a ridiculous hole in my shirt.”

“I don’t regret anything. I’ve already lived my life.”

“No, you’re right. You’re happy with your oatmeal cookie, a recliner, and a glass of milk. Not me. I want double chocolate fudge, and a frothy cappuccino with whipped cream and sprinkles. I want my feet outside in the world. That’s how I do it and that’s never gonna change.”

Paula Antonello Moore, Dialogue. Copyright: Sunday, May 29, 2016

“Write 250 words in the form of a complete stretch of dialogue or prose poem that includes a needle, a ticket stub and a glass of milk.” p.47, Startle and Illuminate: Carol Shields on Writing.

Image: Cupcake Cappuccino from Coffee of Mine.