When I was a child I was all skinny legs and knobby knees. I had wavy brown hair and big green eyes.
I didn’t like to be noticed. To be noticed was to make those around me remember someone else.
I wished to be invisible so no one could see me.
Inside my head a lot went on. I just didn’t say the thoughts out loud. I lived in a state of reverie.
Harmless wool gathering.
The summer days wore the sameness of a stubborn bruise. No school for months. Just me and my thoughts.
Thunderstorms and humid heat and not much in between.
I wondered who I’d some day become. Years and years away when I had outgrown my knobby knees and pig tails.
What and who was out there waiting for me?
In my head I’d lay the possibilities out in front of me. Smooth out the creases of the map and squint my eyes to see all the tiny corollaries that spread in all directions.
All the little roads that would eventually lead to who I was and where I came from. So that I could stop looking back and turn forward instead.
The trees in the yard seemed to be lined up like soldiers saluting their commander.
I was always stumbling over roots in the yard and walked around with scabby knees covered with band-aids. So many roots, spreading in all directions.
I wondered if the roots reached toward one another underneath the dirt and held gnarly hands throughout the ages.