On Evenings Such As These

It was a dull roar tonight. An aching unshared. Felt right above the two eyes, it was unmistakable as cold and she's in the bathtub, reading Peter Pan half drunk.

I wanted to ask him a million questions, with no meaning behind them but to gather tiny bits of his information, like trinkets on my memory's shelf. Precious little bits that might find their ways into fantasies or characters, created with my fingers. Winter days wasted on craft.

Smiles brought about by nonsense. I will build a world, where no harm comes to anyone, and what perversion exists, does so with a grin on its face.

I wanted to be a paleontologist when I was a little girl. I struggled first to spell it and then to understand months and years in dry climates, carefully brushing away at bones that outlived the oldest relatives of my family. That came before the holocaust and Jesus. Every career day in elementary school, my mother would dress me in khaki and smear my face with brown eye shadow. I'd carry a large dog bone in my hand and one of my Jurassic park figures. Or that triceratops that use to walk and roar on its own if you pressed the red button on its underbelly.

While I was not kissed by any boys as a small girl, I did sneak off into the woods with them. Turning over logs and finding salamanders. When boys weren't cruel, they were the only ones I felt normal with.

Of course, while I found the black ring in Pretty Pretty Princess aesthetically pleasing, it always insured that I was not the prettiest princess and never would be. The game enraged me when I would lose, which was often. Causing my family to devise ways so I could win. They'll tell you about it if you ask.

But I am satisfied forgetting. Like most of high school and the people from that time, I am better to leave them where they can not hurt me with their recollection. Stuck in yesterday, they see me as nothing more than five years old and awkward.

Others would mention womanhood and maturity now. And I often dream of my belly growing so round with child that I'm bedridden and uncomfortable. I speak to it, sing songs I hope will soothe it when it cries. I imagine its large brown eyes and I promise it will have none of the worries I ever had. But I will show it where the largest salamanders live. And how to wear the black ring with pride.

Sometimes not winning, is the best thing you can hope for.