Gold Cymbal Girl knows the sound of his steps, knows the rat-a-tat-tat of his onset, of his coming. Gold Cymbal Girl knows what it means to wait in silence, knows the clamor and crash that is inevitable. Gold Cymbal Girl knows he needs practice for later, much later, needs years worth of boom-boom-boom andbang-bang-bang, familiarizes herself with the doom-chick-dadoom-doom-chick, doom-chick, paradiddle-paradiddle-bang! Gold Cymbal Girl is a chorus, a choir of “pleases” and “stops” and “I’m begging you.” Gold Cymbal Girl knows how to sing, how to plead, how to say sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry. Gold Cymbal Girl and her accordion body, the kind that folds like a fan, like origami. Gold Cymbal Girl and her lungs full of church hymns, her lips cracked on prayers, her eyes shut tight to the Prodigal Son. Gold Cymbal Girl and the finale, the crescendo, the crashing and the silence and the back against carpet, against wood, against the burnt orange rug. Gold Cymbal Girl and the wet washcloth, her busted lip, her bruised skin. Gold Cymbal Girl and his “don’t tell Mom and Dad.” Gold Cymbal Girl and her promise of “I won’t.”
Diana currently resides in Charlotte, North Carolina. Her work can be found in the St. Sebastian Review and Broad! (a gentleperson’s magazine). If she’s not writing, she’s baking, dreaming of Greece, or working, in the hopes of one day reaching Thailand to help save and protect abused elephants. Until then, she’s writing what she hopes will one day be her first published novel.