Everybody has a story. Some story. Maybe it’s a funny thing that happened to them when they were young. Or an adventure they had. Or a game or a fight they won. A fluke. A co-incidence. An act of courage. Or a random kindness.
You probably have a story, too.
It could be a bet you won by a fluke. Or a stroke of luck you had.
Maybe you have a story about the way you met your spouse. Or the disaster that occurred the first time you tried to make pie crust. The camping trip where it only rained. Climbing over the fence at the wrong time. The time you tried to put on a rain poncho while riding a horse. An escape. A fantastic last-minute win at sports. The job you got when it seemed impossible. How you learned to dance. The dog that ran off with your shoe at a wedding.
Or maybe something unusual - maybe you saw a ghost once. Or a UFO. Maybe you read someone’s mind and found out you were right. It could be anything.
Everybody has a story!
I call these stories your “Once Upon a Time Stories.” They could be short or they could be long. People like to talk about their stories with their friends. At lunch. On the bus. On the phone. Or while they sit around the fire or on the back fire escape chatting with a friend into the wee hours. (Or maybe on Instant Message while they are supposed to be working! …)
I would like to invite everyone to come and post their own “Once Upon a Time Story” at Stories and Poems
In case you would like to have an example of a Once Upon a Time Story, I will tell you
one of mine.
Okay … let me think. I’m thinking.
Okay.
Once upon a time …
I decided to go on a camping trip with my friend Matt. We hitchhiked to a village which was north of the city we lived in. We had heard that there was a cave there and we thought it would be fun to sleep in a cave. I had just met Matt around the city, and I didn’t know him that well. He was a friend of friends. But we got along fine.
So we began to hitchhike. Somehow, before we arrived to our destination, it got dark. The people who were giving us a ride invited us to stay in their home for the night, so we did. They lived in a small village high on top of a hill.
When we woke up in the morning we had breakfast. White rolls. I ate way too many. I don’t know why I ate so many rolls! But I remember Matt looking at me with a surprised expression because I was eating so many rolls.
In any case, we had to continue on our way to our cave. So we said thank you and goodbye to the people who had helped us, and we proceeded to walk down to the main road.
Now, this village was way at the top of a hill. There was a long windy road down to the bottom. But there were almost no cars on that road at all. So we walked all the way down, maybe two kilometers.
At that age, I had a habit of eating dandelions and I was picking them and eating them. Matt thought this was strange. He wanted to eat in a restaurant we passed, and I objected as it was quite an expensive one.
When we finally reached the main road, we continued to hitch hike to the village where the cave was. We arrived at the village and found the park which had a rock hill in the middle. The cave was supposed to be in that hill.
Now somehow, at some point, while we were searching for this cave, we lost each other. And Matt had my sleeping bag.
I remember searching for Matt around that little rock mountain in the middle of the park. I went around and around that mountain for – well – three hours, as I recall. Searching and searching for Matt.
As the minutes and hours rolled by, I began to believe that perhaps Matt had actually run off with my sleeping bag and that I would never see him again. I began to chastise myself for trusting someone whom I just met. I mean – didn’t my father warn me? “Don’t trust anyone,” that’s what my father said. And here I was, trusting Matt with my sleeping bag!
I kept trying to convince myself that Matt would not come all the way out here just to steal my sleeping bag. But, one has to remember, I was in the middle of the situation. A lonely young girl in the forest, without a sleeping bag, walking around and around a rock hill for hours, searching for Matt.
I thought, “Could this whole thing really be a plot to steal my sleeping bag?” It didn’t seem to make sense. But he was gone!
I looked everywhere. I began to climb the rocks. I looked in among the crevices. Perhaps he had fallen and gotten hurt? This went on. Time went on. No Matt.
My trek continued.
And just as my last hopes were fading away, I heard a voice call my name. I turned and there he was.
Matt.
With my sleeping bag!
As you have probably guessed by now, we both had spent those three hours walking around and around the hill, looking for each other. But both walking in the same direction. Finally Matt realized what must be happening and he turned around to walk the opposite direction. And then he found me.
Well, there’s one little story. Later, I could tell the story of what happened when we tried to sleep in the cave.
But in any case, you see, it’s not even that fantastic or incredible. Just one of those funny things.
Now and again, when I think about it, it puts a smile on my face.
To imagine how I had wondered if perhaps this whole cave-camping trip was really a ploy to steal my sleeping bag!
Do you have a story? Or a poem? You can submit your story at Your Poems Your Stories. I think we would all love to hear it.
Love,
Anna of Poems
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