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Kim Rhodes: Wayward Strong

It was a strange little room in Blackpool, smelling of either fresh seawater or ancient liver and onions. We couldn’t decide. There were probably twenty of us, sitting in a circle, and we tried to define courage. I had an Idea. “Hang on,” I demanded as I stood up. “I want to try something. Stay there.” Briana smiled as she always does when I have an Idea.  I took a deep breath, thought of Something that Mattered, and stepped forward. It was an experiment, completely and utterly manufactured, yet tears shot to the surface. (True, all it usually takes to make that happen is a stiff breeze and a lost kitten, but this was primal.) I felt alone and vulnerable...

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