31/Serial

Minet danced. The boys stared. And then some of the girls began to cry. That stopped us. Lacking a plan, we  hadn't thought our scheme through. We'd wanted to join the fun, not ruin the party. Feeling guilty, we confessed. The boys didn't take it well. Enraged, one of them chased us down the street. We were glad he didn't grab the chainsaw a worker had left on the porch, but we were scared. He stopped when we ran up to a policeman. After all, who would the cop believe—four frightened, pretty girls, or a guy in a toga?

Another lengthy Author's Note: Thank you so much for this month, Sabine! I'd intended to wrap it up by returning to my original present-day voice, but as predicted, pacing became a problem. I suppose I could have written out the last five or six posts in advanced and edited them to fit, but I liked the idea of a daily assignment. I want to add that except for the chainsaw (!), every word of the story is true. Last night I came across this video of an old familiar belly dancing song. If you watch the first 60 seconds you'll see what the girls at the party could have done differently. Writing the story and reliving the experience, I wondered why I didn't feel more ashamed of myself.  But it was just so much fun—and, like I said, interesting from a psychological standpoint. And here's something else for the psychologists: A little part of me will always be Minet of Istanbul.