No body. No dead friend. No dog. I do yardwork and I'm going to tell you about this lawnmower I met today. It's of indeterminate age, but I reckon it probably has at least fifty working years under its radiator belt and the family treat is as something somewhere between an heirloom and an eccentric uncle. It felt more like an uncle to be, because it had just about every ailment in the book and then some. It coughed incessantly and sneezed grass in all directions, but whenever we hit a corner together, the old guy and me, the rheumatism in its left wheel would play up. On the straight, it pooped sods of soil and pissed copuous amounts of gasoline onto my sneakers. It smoked me under the table. When we were done, I wheeled it back to the shed, covered it with a family quilt and bid it a good night's rest.
I open my eyes. If I had to give you an analogy of where I am, I'm in the forest, way way off the path. There are too many flowers. Their colors hurt my eyes. They are making me dizzy. I'm thinking, maybe I was supposed to be a tree, but then one day I discovered I could walk and started wandering, around and around. The trees whisper about me. They say things like "What's that?" and "If it doesn't grow anything, it's vermin." I cannot begin to explain how confused I am. Sometimes, I wriggle my toes deep into the earth. Perhaps if I stood very still, I would remember how to grow roots again. But I keep seeing something in the distance that attracts my attention. And then I think, "Perhaps I will never be a tree again. Perhaps it is my mission to figure out this person business. But how? HOW?
I close my eyes. My little girl is giving me the Princess makeover. She braids my hair clumsily and ties little pink ribbons and tiny plastic butterflies into it. I am wearing a plastic tiara, a little girl's plastic spectacles and a very bright shade of lipstick. I don't think I've ever spent an afternoon laughing so much. It might have looked better, if I'd shaved beforehand.
I open my eyes. It is dark and humid and sweaty. I have been sleepless for several hours, my mind hammered out of peace by the ravages of a love gone wrong. The pain feels raw and without end. In my head, a voice asks, "What do you want from a universe that's willing to give you anything you want?" It sounds like my own voice. By now, I'm old enough to know that all the top wishes - money, fame, love - are booby trapped. Even asking for the return of the woman I just lost feels wrong in some way I cannot define. I say, "I get to choose once, right? Or is it three, like in the fairy tale?" I exhale. "Only if you want to live in a universe that is stingy," the voice replies. "So I get a wish every day?" I ask. "If you want to limit yourself that way." I thought about it. "Okay, you mean to say, I will always have at least one more wish?" It didn't reply again, but I could sense its approval deep within me. Like I had finally pleased it with my answer. I took a deep breath. What DO I want from a universe that is willing to give me anything I want?
I close my eyes... To continue, click here
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