Double Yolk

At my elementary school we had a huge playground. 

Though, I suppose it wasn’t actually just a playground. Really, it was a huge field and there were two playsets on it and there was a track that circled the field. 

That day was the mile run in gym class. I ran as fast as I could; I beat everyone. The boys said I cheated, that I didn’t do four laps. 

I waited for my friends to be done at the honeysuckle bush. I ate the flowers and then we had a conversation about shows and books and words.

Apparently I mis-pronounced egg and leg. I guess I used the wrong vowel sound. 

So I stopped. I never pronounced them wrong again. And someday after that I stopped eating from the honeysuckle bush after the mile run too.

Of course now I realize that life is too decadent to only be nibbled on.

But still, I wish I never stopped eating from the honeysuckle bush. I wish I never learned how to pronounce egg or leg.

I wish I could run around that track again, leaving everyone else in the dust and reach the bush, and my words, before anyone had the chance to touch them and point out their flaws.