Creative Work: ‘Rising to the Surface’ by Ryane Nicole Granados

This week we have a short story from repeat contributor Ryane Nicole Granados. Set in California, this piece takes a look at whether or not there is such a thing as neutral influences in our lives. 

The language of the prose is strong and moves the reader fluidly through to the end. We hope you will enjoy it. 

Rising to the Surface

“And after Miss Asher resisted arrest, is it true that she proceeded to kick from the back of the squad car until the heel of her shoe wedged into the right wheel floorboard?”

At this point I begin to tune out the ticker-tape of the prosecutor and police sergeant whose photographic memory rivals the accuracy of the world time clock. Adjacent to the witness stand hangs an American flag and on the other side of the judge is the State of California flag. The peculiar state bear always looks to me like he is walking off the edge of the fabric. I can relate. I want to walk out too. The alternating floor tiles of white and brown feel like a childhood game of hopscotch calling my name.

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Creative Work ‘Pigtails and Pressing Combs’ by Ryane Nicole Granados

This week’s submission comes another North American writer, but this time we’ve detoured to sunny California.

With this piece, Ryane Nicole Granados gives us a poignant literary insight into what it means to become a woman. This work takes a look into how “beauty is pain” in a beautiful way that isn’t at all painful. 

Pigtails and Pressing Combs

Los Angeles, 1985

As a small child, I used to wear my hair in three pigtails. Grace would usually part two in the back and leave one on the top of my head, which she brushed to either the left or the right side. She would snap plastic barrettes on the end of each braid, coordinating the colors to match my outfit for that day. When wearing barrettes, one has to be very cautious. I learned this critical rule firsthand. If you fling your head around too fast, or get caught in an unexpected gust of wind, barrettes can assault your cheeks, or even worse your eyes, in a flurry of piercing plastic. At recess, if I leaned against the tetherball pole or glided high in the air on the sandbox swings, my barrettes would cast huge shadows on the ground. Shadows that resembled airplanes or birds in flight, soaring around my head like I was a watchtower or light pole.