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By Irongirl Submitted by Irongirl Date: 2006 Sep 05 Comment on this Work [[2006.09.05.23.32.22488]] |
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Dear Irongirl, Four minutes until the sun drops down behind the pale beige condo impeding your view. Four minutes until darkness wraps around your shoulders, making your mind blank and ready for the scrawling of the life you would have conjured up if there were no memories. Running around that concrete Court at seven years old, the one your Mother told you was spelled differently than the street sign: W-E-T-T-R-I-N-G and not Wett-E-ring Court. She led you outside in the evenings to run behind the noxious smoke from the bug mobile on hot summer nights. As the fireflies dropped out of sight in the thick white fog, so did your expectations of yourself to become the pretty pretty princess she hoped for each day. She'd send you out in the hot summer rain repeatedly and tell you to "get the stink off you" while circling the oval playground amidst the five houses surrounding the concrete track. Sometimes you'd circle the street post holding onto the cold metal wondering when you could get out. OUT. You'd grow up craving the scent of gasoline at the pump while your Mother filled up the family El Camino, running around in the bed of the truck in your balloon T-Shirt and pigtails. Poison was fascinating, wasn't it? Or sticking your head into a canister of Folgers coffee right after it was opened, hoping to suck all the smell out of their cups in one deep inhale before they had a chance to brew the pot. Breathing it all in to claim the addition for yourself alone. Because the weight was crushing of her expectations and maybe you could save this breath for later. Four minutes until the soft hazy view of the Space Needle lights up and reminds you that you're far, far away. Four minutes until the salt water tinges the air and fills a new space in a happier place. |