party

It burns hot

A story from the red book:

an ice cream cone with strawberry ice cream

I say that I am angry, but I should use a more precise word. What is that word?

It burns hot as I run through the hall. I see the apartments rush by. Some doors are open to life shining brightly. Love drifts out in pure laughter. I don’t stop; I urgently push on so that I cannot hear the voices trailing off behind me.

I have been here before, but every time it feels new. One time I left behind a luscious feast. On another, the party was just getting rowdy when my tripwire was triggered. I pride my self-awareness but this pattern is invisible to me. I am alarmed once I stop running but I never go back.

I try to live by the principles of a life in the sunlight. I am kind and willing to help. I walk to the park and laugh at the squirrels. I don’t understand the explosions.

Once I reach home, I search for something to eat. Maybe I will reward myself with some ice cream. I never remember the route I took. I guess it doesn’t matter. It was a safe journey.

No one asks me how I know it is time to go. I get quizzical messages as I flee. What did they do wrong? Why did I have to ruin the celebration? It’s one worry or another. By now, they should realize I will ignore their entreaties.

It has been a long time since I was able to laugh at myself. My breath is a struggle once it starts. If only I would let go of the door. I could be undamaged.

Am I in a loop? What repairs do I need? Instead of my disorder, I could give my regrets when I am invited. I could make an excuse just before I should have arrived. It would be easy. After a few withdrawals, I might stop getting invitations. After that, I might not be aware of what I have done. I might get peevish and isolated. I can erect strong fences of resentment but that won’t fix anything.

I could find someone to blame but it would just be denying the truth: I am my own trouble. I think it would be better if I could admit my quirks. I could make it into a funny story. Calling it a quirk would remove the firing pin. I could say, pardon, I need to take a break and then move into another room. I would find an empty chamber. The hammer would strike a void.

Walking down the dirt road

The story about walking home on the dirt road from where the bus dropped us off is hard to explain. Why didn’t the bus drop us off at home? We always said that the road was 0.7 miles. There were a couple of interesting sights along the way. One was a pond with a willow tree. I remember seeing dragonflies there. There was also a swamp that would wash out a culvert every year so that it blocked the road. I wonder how dad got to work when it was closed. I remember the hilly path as we walked home.

I went to only a few parties when I was in school. We were always isolated and far from people. I don’t know why that was. One sister was not receptive to discussing the topic when I brought it up. Maybe it isn’t that uncommon, but I don’t think it helped me. I don’t dwell on that because it will only make me sad.

One time I did go to a Halloween party. I made a pumpkin costume out of chicken wire and papier-mache. I was fully covered with the costume. It only had a slot in the stem to see out of. It was painted orange and green like the great pumpkin. We went to a party where I was ominous and chasing around the radio personality for a while.

I never really ran and was never athletic in school. Being isolated, there wasn’t anyone to play basketball or soccer with. Maybe I was too engrossed with the encyclopedia. I don’t remember being asked. I had a softball glove but never played much… maybe with Dad a few times.

I like playing with water, so I was happy when the spring rains came. The clay soil would have water accumulate below it so that you could make it squish and squirt. I liked making little rivers to move the water around. We didn’t play marbles when the ground was wet.

We lived between two small mountains. The trees must have been pretty in autumn. There were lots of maples, being Vermont. In addition, our house had a maple and an elm tree. The elm tree eventually died from Dutch elm disease. We cut the tree down when it was dead. A cub scout project was to plant some trees. I planted 50 maple trees. We brought the last two with us when we moved to Indiana. The final survivor was moved an additional time when the family left the dairy farm. Now it’s growing where my parents used to live near Kendallville.

It was nice that we had such beauty around the home so that I have some nice memories.

Photo by Marta Wave: Pexels