Just an errant thought I had standing in my yard, listening to the fireworks at the community park and the shrieks of the little girl across the street, shouting out the colors of some whizzbang her father bought her. The fireflies flashed out their own pyrotechnics, all of them flying to fast or too high for my fingers to close around them. The rain earlier made the grass soft against my feet, two blue-white smudges against the washed out verdancy.
I could see them. The lights from the other houses usually blocked out by foliage from my vantage point, our back porch. I wondered, what the inhabitants might be doing and who they might be. Were the children I went to high school with inside, with their parents? Or had they moved on to greater adventures. The mere thought of them had been enough to give me pause at the screen door, before pushing out down the rough wooden stairs over the rough brick and onto the cool grass.
I wanted to turn a cartwheel, in the deepening pink of the sky and the warm summer air. To run in the grass like a child . . . behavior I honestly didn't really partake in as a child. But I feared someone looking out, identifying me by my long white legs (and the fact that I'm the only young person that lives in the house) and wonder what I was doing, out in the yard by myself. Wandering around in a way that I hadn't done in years. I knew this was utterly ridiculous; it was doubtful that anyone was watching me and even if they were, what did it really matter?
I'm moving to a new country, to an unknown place. Life is too short to be frightened of stupid things that don't matter.
So I turned two.
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| John Divola, Dogs Chasing my Car in the Desert series, 1996-200 via suicideblonde |
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