"I wrote my first novel because I wanted to read it." - Toni Morrison
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A short story:
I pump my legs across galaxies upon galaxies of St. Augustine. Pump, pumpkin, pumpernickel, running reminds me of drinking from a well. I pump the water up and it explodes. Just like my feet across the grass. Skittering skillfully down a hill of a mountain—mountain of a hill—my skeleton judders sharply under my skin. Squish, squish, squish go the millions of bugs trampled under my pink-sandaled toes. Crunch, crunch, crunch go the acorn planets and pine-shaving moons. The sun is my feet and I scorch through the earth. My pigtailed hair slaps the nape of my neck as if it wants to punish me for all the murders I commit. It is quite a life to live as a little girl with ribbons in her hair! I am only a few hundred yards from home—I can see the blue-brick house stand out among the shiplap and shingles like a sore thumb slammed in a car door. Stretching my scabby legs, I sail over the blueberry bush and stick the landing! I am heading home to the land of broccoli and freshly-baked cookies, Winnie-the-Pooh, newspaper flowers, and neon-green boogers. “Run, run, run!” The cerulean Sky bellows his never-ending chest. He exhales a gentle spring breeze that tickles my runny nose. The Wind picks up speed just as I do, and we race together like two wild fillies. I ask her if I can be an Appaloosa and she a Dun. Joy swells in my chest, right under my tissue-paper-thin training bra. The smile on my face is so wide a bug smacks on my crooked front teeth. I slide my tongue across my pearly whites and crunch down on a fly. This is what it feels like to be a bird! Freedom and flying and soaring! Nothing but the sound of Wind whipping my ears and River’s bubbly laughter. My pounding heart will burst—I hope it bursts—it absolutely bursts! Inside? A swashbuckler’s treasure. “Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!” echoes like a steel drum, a battle cry for the great Unknown. But my knobby knees aren’t as wild and fast as Wind. A shadowy hand presses on my forehead, I slow, slow, stop. Like an Appaloosa, something is stuck in my frog. Wind whistles goodbye through the tree leaves and filters away unseen like an imaginary friend. Even River, my oldest friend, ceases laughing and becomes still. “Wait for me!” I cry through heavy panting. While my ephemeral body stops running, it seems as if joy keeps on the race. All is quiet but the omniscient noise of Traffic, my arch-nemesis. I have little attention to notice gnarled oaks and their pollen that spins like little brown banners or graceful caterpillar acrobats that curl and purl on tightropes. Bugs of June, with their glistening green, polka-dot purple, mottle brown shells are no longer doubloons to save in a jar but fat ugly cockroaches. My beloved sunrays that sprinkle through the leaves like cupcake confections are barbs from a stingray. All I hear is noise of evil Traffic: distraction wasp-buzzing, car horns honking, happiness shutting the door. No more Wind. No more River. My la-vie-en-rose glasses shatter. Through the painted-red front door of my blue-brick house between the shiplap and shingles I slip. The paint job is chipped yet cheery, and all I can say is I am chipped. I shut the door to my wondrous outdoors and thank the soft carpet for soothing my burned toes. My shoulders sag like Atlas. I feel I am carrying the terrestrial globe yet I cannot feel a thing. My chin trembles. Pat-pat-pat my heart goes pat, pat, pat. Unknown ceases and Known crowds in. My papa sits in his faded blue recliner, his reading glasses perch on his nose like a parakeet on a pirate’s shoulder. He does not move, but his smile does and it kisses me on the cheek, a silent “I love you,” amidst the noise. I tuck it away in my heart’s pocket, where I would later take it out with some hoarded fuzz I found in my bellybutton, a silver coin with a dragon’s profile, and a glass beaker I stole from science class. Buoyed by my papa, I decide that next time, I will run a little bit faster and get a little bit stronger. I want to live in eternity’s joy. Appaloosa! |
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September 2020
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