Thoughtful Thursdays With Jas: NaNoWriMo Edition (2)

Happy Thursday, everyone! It’s week two of #ThoughtfulThursdaysWithJas. To check out the first week, click here.DSC_4959 (2)Today’s writing prompt is as follows: Write about two people seeing each other for the first time.

I throw my hair up in a bun and put on minimal makeup. I tear up my closet, throwing piles and piles of clothes on my bed.

“I have nothing to wear!” I exclaim, sinking down on the ground and cradling my arms around my legs like a baby in a womb.

“Babe, are you ready?” I hear Trent ask as he enters the room.

“Woah, babe! What happened in here?” he steps over the massive stack of jackets and sits next to me.

“I’m thirty and married with a kid on the way. Should I even do this?” I ask, still looking down at my feet.

Trent gently lifts up my chin.

“Remember when we were newlyweds and you told me about how you really wished your birth dad was at the wedding?” he asks.

“Yeah,” is all I say.

“Do you still mean what you said?” he asks, already knowing the answer.


“Then you need to see him.”

“What if he doesn’t like me? It took him this long to contact me.”

“Just hear him out, Andrea. Don’t live with regret.”


Trent drops me off at the front gate.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I have to do this on my own,” I respond.

I lean in and kiss him long on his lips.

“Wish me luck!” I get out of the car and shut the door, watching Trent drive off.

I walk to the front entrance, barbwire and metal fences surrounding me. I get inside and quietly go through the protocol. This is my first time visiting a prison, but I don’t want other people to know that.


My hands grow more and more sweaty as I sit at one of the small, round tables in the middle of the room.

I look down and rub my hands on my lap.

“Hi,” I hear.

I look up, and a tall, dark man with hints of grey in his beard and a shiny, bald head is standing in front of me.

I try to talk, but no words come out. I look up and down his prison uniform, and I start bawling.

The corrections officer leaves his side, and the man sits down at the table.

I finally look him in the eyes again, and he’s crying too.

I pause a moment to collect myself, wiping the tears from my eyes. He does the same.

I clear my throat and take a deep breath.

“Hi, dad,” I say.


Photography by Christian Sayles.

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