Assemble

I could assemble him as soon as I could disassemble him. There were very specific instructions to do so. He was a build-it-yourself doll. Lily, my twelve year old cousin, gave him to me as a birthday present. She knew, somehow, that I needed someone there and she thought a pseudo-Ken doll would suffice. I looked at the parts: limbs, legs, hair, feet, hands and toyed with the head. I told her I didn’t need a plastic doll. I told her I could make a real live person up out of pine needles, blueberries, trucks, bicycles, punk music and dirt, but she didn’t laugh. She looked at me and said, “That would make a really weird person,” and I told her it did, it did make a weird person. A weird person who’s quick, slippery, greasy; but a sticky substance who slips out of your life when you least expect it, sticking to your heart just the same. She told me I was even weirder for saying that, then threw a foot at my face and my cheek barely flinched. She left the room to go play with her younger sister.

Now I sit at my Aunt’s computer, typing this into the empty white that is the Blog post box. Part of me doesn’t want to write. The same part of me that isn’t recognizing the warmth outside. I don’t know why I chose to come visit my family. I thought I should get out for a little while, but being away from New York City only makes me more anxious. Maybe I should go outside. I’ll go outside.