My Cardboard Balcony

Hard, Yellow Lumps by Belinda Roddie Hard, yellow lumps and bloodied spittle flew from my distorted mouth as I doubled over and coughed right on the ground. I knew how sick I was. I needed medical attention, yet here I was, standing right outside the store, waiting for my father to come out with his six pack of cheap light beer and nicotine gum. My sight blurred, and before I could take another step, I felt my body hit the pavement. That was where I woke up, an ache in my lip and pain like I'd been knocked out with a bat. My dad was nowhere to be found, so I stayed still until I heard the sirens' cry.

They told me I was bound to fail if I held onto some many dreams and goals. True, I may not have accomplished everything I wanted to do. I never climbed mountains, struck gold in the streams, created a five star restaurant, or wound up making millions of dollars on a good investment. But I did end up writing, and reading, and performing, teaching, and marrying the woman I loved before starting a family I adored. So, yeah, a half dozen goals out of ten ain't nothing to sneeze at.