This story doesn’t have a point. No plot, no arc, no end. I can be certain because I wrote this sentence last. Definitely no moral. Just snaps of . . .
an
Innocent
surrounded by family.
I unwrapped my first swiss army knife on a birthday that required blowing out somewhere between 8 and 11 candles–it’s hard to remember the exact number because apparently trick candles never get old, never. The tweezer and toothpick were novel because they detached. The dull scissor provided at least three minutes of disappointment. And for some reason I had little interest in assorted sizes of traditional knife blades. However, my fingernail picked eagerly at a particularly wide, stubborn creature nestled in the center. And once the skin under my nail had become thoroughly red and agitated, jagged steel reared it’s beautiful teeth. The saw blade.
an
Ornery
playing outside.
I own the woods. Just ask every tree bleeding sap from my initials. Interrogate the grounded branch that quietly endured thirty minutes of misguided swipes from a two and a half inch blade. He won’t talk. I thanklessly remove wooden tumors protruding from an oak and liberate infant vines by excavating and sawing every root desperate for dirt. Built a pile of dead leaves and I’m on top.
a
Naive
lying in hotel room.
Dried fungus ingested in the parking lot, digested sometime between the when the blinds drew shut and I wake on a sunny floor, in between a v-shaped metal door hinge screaming for oil separating and closing is the only tangibility that keeps me permanently from slipping back to the woods where we tumble steep, smiling screams side by side faster end over end over sticks and stones roll down the hill into creek splash, dizzy my pocket vibrates, the log speaking sounds just like my friend and that Willow looks familiar.
a
Solace
on TV.
With my friends all going off to college, living at home could be depressing. Fortunately, I have a window view and two new episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer to catch up with every day. Otherwise, this room could get depressing.
a
Joy
floating naked.
Day offers warm glow and more buoyant water but night induces taught skin and curly blue toes. I’m pretty sure this river leads to a backyard where I built my first treehouse with a carpet of moss. The size of each piece dependent on how much I could delicately rip from earth without tearing. But it holds so tight, so many tiny fingers planted that most pieces are only a few inches wide. It stayed soft and alive just long enough to watch me leave.
a
Restless
waiting inside.
And so am I.