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The Truth About the Fact: An International Journal of Literary Nonfiction

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Location: Los Angeles, California, United States

The Truth About the Fact: A Journal of Literary Nonfiction is an international journal committed to the idea that excellence in the art of letters can play a vital role in transforming the planet we share.

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Doers Not Dreamers

Every kid’s mid-July dream is to have a swimming pool, but Riley and I were more of doers than dreamers. We sat inside in our bathing suits, and slurped the juice off our fists as it melted from the popsicles. It had become too hot to pogo stick and hula-hoop in the cul-de-sac, so Riley and I were now spending everyday indoors creating extravagant summer vacations for our Barbies, and feasting on Big Sticks.
“I wish we were rich and had a pool so we could go swimming.”
“I know, plus we could use it as a new vacation spot for our Barbies.”
                Next thing I knew, Riley and I were rummaging around in her dad’s rusty tools in the garage. We found two large shovels and two eight-year-olds headed to the front yard with a mission. The left side of her driveway was too narrow, so we looked to the right and there was just enough lawn to begin construction on our makeshift swimming pool. Between the two of us we were able to dig a hole wide enough for the both of us to sit comfortably, and deep enough to break the sprinkler piping.
            We left the hose running on full blast for the next two hours, while we played Frogger on the PlayStation inside. Meanwhile, Riley’s dad was deep into his grizzly bear, midday slumber. Overflowing, our swimming pool turned mud bath was put to use. Riley and I splashed around like piglets with only our eyeballs remaining mud-free. Just then, the garage door slammed.
            Mr. Ellis rubbed his eyes with both fists as if the mud had gotten into them. It wasn’t until that very moment that I realized just what we had done. No words were necessary. Riley and I didn’t even look at each other. We jumped up from the swamp, hurtuled back onto the driveway, and ran our muddy bodies through the garage and up the carpeted stairs, into the bathroom. Riley turned the lock. We began to giggle, out of nervousness I’m sure, but made sure we remained quiet enough as not to be heard outside the door. It only took seconds for Mr. Ellis to start banging on the door. We ended up spending the summer re-soding the entire front yard. So much for making our summer dream come true.

-Galen Gomez


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