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We cant do crafts with our hands in latex mittens. We cant sing with lipstick corroding our lips. Anchors, bondages, TV. Ideas are thrown into a compost pile to ferment and reflect until it is time to smother the soil with recycled thoughts and revolutions. Supposedly it makes the crops grow strong and immortal. My father was trying to lose some of his weight, excited to see his body diminish. On a Thursday evening he made am exquisite zucchini quiche and on Friday morning he woke us up with shouts protesting a war I’ve never heard of in some place in Vietnam. “you’re one crazy cat , daddio” my kid brother mumbled to the hypnotic beat of undeveloped hands pounding on a sauce pot. I searched for my mother to stop all this racket and the beating her beloved pots were suffering through but she was too wrapped up in some painting with melting clocks and misplace boobs. Sighing, I put on ear muffs and went to brush my teeth. I was Greeted at the bathroom door by Hitler. Hey, I guess we all have scummy teeth. He saluted to me but got all flustered when I glared at him through eyes still upset that they had to be parted with their mistress slumber.
Securely I locked the door, assuring that Hitler would not interrupt my mid-morning clearing of the bowels. Nobody wants Hitler standing over them while they shit, and I was no different. My eyes , I apologize , were rubbed raw when the mirror showed me myself. Slightly shorter than I remember, slightly more innocent, slightly more like me, but wrong decade. I shrugged and finished cleansing my teeth, wiping away all evidence that I had eaten. Food is sin. And I slinked on over to my room again, and looked in the mirror once more. Strange. My eyes shifted to the pictures crammed in the corner of the mirror, and unto a photograph taken in my early years. The sun was glowing , entangling my already golden hair in yellow rays of warmth. I was 5. My eyes retreated back to my reflection of today. I looked 5 . Again. Odd, but not unwelcome. My feet moved me yet again, leading me to the sidewalk that they have become quite good friends with.
“hello” they said but couldn’t wave because of my blue suede shoes. I removed them . I freed them. They waved frantically and moved on. The pep in my step was returning. My feet moved down roads well traveled, but with a new lightness and curiosity. My eyes became the building signs , plastic and crying out for company. My heart beat in tune with those entering the stores to buy things to keep them from being bored and questioning themselves and returning to their childhood. My heart broke when my feet lead me past an alleyway where a dumpster was crouching, forgotten in its filth and filled with rotting pieces of a heart broken in a coffee shop and a love left unfinished. I walked on. My nose picked the lingering scent of expensive perfume radiating off an old man waiting for his bus. The scent accompanied a knitted on smile and nostalgic eyes. I couldn’t take it so I gave him a hug and walked on, my teary naïve eyes creating a mist around my world. The fog clouded my path and made my footing unsure so I panicked like a little girl( well, yeah) screamed and closed them my shrill screech didn’t return to me , it was absorbed by the meadow, a sea of grass dancing at my feet, and I saw a forest in the near distyasnce. I walked on. In it I was greeted by a wolf dressed in something I would find in my grandmommys mothball closet.
“hey baby doll, hows about an escort?” at first hesitation whispered sweet nothings in my ear distracting me from this feminine wolf but I broke away from that lover when I was only 8. ( I realized it was an abusive relationship) . At second I thought about the old fairie tales that my grandmothers milky voice sent me off to dreamland with.
“wolfy, my grandma said you were cunning and bad.” he showed hints of frustration and explained he has a bad reputation because of his fascination with old women’s garments.
“ lovely, its just a rumor. People make assumptions and put two and two together and always expect it to
Be four.” he seemed like a nice fellow so I allowed him to escort me through the forest. And we walked. Sometimes skipping, seldom hopping, never running. We had all the time that the clocks could count, and they are scholars when it comes to mathematical things. And wolfy was a sociable fellow as well, had all the three pigs programmed in his cell phone and we ate lunch with miss muffet ( who is a fabulous cook). The lunch induced me in a dreamy state and my eyes delicate eyes eased shut and I was swept out to a sea full of warm fuzzy thoughts, the kind that are always in season, the kind that are slightly yellowed and frayed at the ends but they never go out of style. And I saw my mother laughing so hard she peed her pants, and I saw my brothers and I playing in the puddles that the rain had lent to us and I smelled my dads deodorant when I hug him , and I wanted to go home. Wolfy understood and showed me the backdoor . As the door shut he opened an invitation that was good for anytime that I felt I needed to be a kid once more, and maybe forever. We said our thank yous and goodbyes and I walked on. My feet did the thinking and this time they ran . They ran past the dumpster with the heart in pieces and saw the lovers making up , I ran past the bus stop and saw an old man stepping off of it with his daughter hand in hand and smiles to match their identical noses. I ran home. My feet were lava flowing fast and burning with the need to smell home cooked food slightly burnt , but that’s just the love in it. I arrived and stood outside of the doorway , under the sign that has the family name printed in some swirly text, and I let my lava laden feet cool so as not to burn two holes in the wine colored carpet my mother was so proud of. I let them cool until my name was called for dinner, and the smell rose into my nose and I walked into my house. My house. My home. My mothers body was camouflaged in paint , a rainbow testifying to her creative side. My father was also camouflaged, but in green and war like things, although he lacked hostility. And we ate a candlelight dinner to the music of my brothers bongos as Hitler served us in his best apron. And I , the little girl, told them the modern day story of the big bad wolf.
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