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“Look at this, Sweets.”

My father points the green rubber hose toward the sky, the stream of water arching across the pavement. In between rinsing off the car and watering the holly bushes, he pauses to show me the magic of catching the sunlight just right within the tiny crystal prisms flowing from somewhere hidden.

A rainbow.

Without a cloud in the sky, but beneath the water’s arch, floating in the mist.

A rainbow.

I catch my breath and try to catch the colors dancing ethereally.

The arc of the rainbow running tangent to the arc of the hose, the faintest red and blue and purple shimmering within the waterfall, the rest of the world falling away to the colorless mundane, a realm of black and white.

I move closer, fingertips tingling, tickling the cold water, desperate to touch a rainbow. My hand breaks the stream, my hand breaks the magic.

“Don’t worry, Sweets.”

I inch away wiser, as he adjusts the hose ever so slightly, summoning the beauty back. The hues hover back into place.

A rainbow.

I stare through the colors transformed from the clear and watch my father’s hands, calling forth the enchantment.

And I realize that it is not the water mingling with the sun that is magic.

I realize that it is he.

[ Note: This piece was written as a part of The Red Dress Club memoir-writing exercise RemembeRED. This week’s promptThis week, we’re giving you a photo to take you back in time. In 700 or fewer words, show us where your memory takes you. Remember that this image is merely inspiration. Your piece needn’t have a hose in your piece but we need to easily see how you were inspired by it. The photo can be seen here. As always, concrit welcome/begged for.]


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© Jessica Buttram and This Buttram Writes, 2011. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Jessica Buttram and This Buttram Writes with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. Don't make me cut you.