Daddy warned me to stay away from Luke Tabor’s party. Said Luke was one bad apple. While Daddy yapped, my mind saw Luke’s handsome face, bluer-than-blue eyes, and curly black hair any girl, every girl, longed to twist around her fingers.
Waltzing out the door in my tight black dress and red stilettos borrowed from Momma’s closet, I flipped him the bird.
Midnight. Drivin’ home, high on some random white pill. Drunk on scotch, whiskey, red wine. My dress is torn. Momma’s shoes? Don’t know where they are.
God willin’ and the river don’t rise, I’m prayin’ I ain’t pregnant.
Up From the Ashes 