Acrobat

Through generations of evolution, the human child has developed the uncanny talent to find refuge from their encompassing life. Some children hide, while others rebel; another breed of young escapes merely with the flick of their imagination. And some rare specimens, like myself in the summer of my eighth year, learn to master all three vanishing acts. I was barefoot and vertical, standing and staring at the base of my vertical sanctuary. Under my feet, the sweating grass was impatient for my lift off, restless for the propelling off the green blanket and onto the continuation of my disappearance. Before my limbs begin ascending the tree’s limbs, I hear a distant command from weeks ago: “You are not allowed to wander outside unless your sisters know where you are.” Incapable of hearing the call of the wise Pine, the fear of heights has slain my mother's imagination. He sways, and the breeze flirts with his branches; the tall structure invites me up for the afternoon. Above all, with the necessity of concealment afoot, I am in no position to decline such an offer. Both my arms grip to the nearest bough, while my lower half swings around to stand on a sturdy offshoot of the tree. The sap glues my hands and feet, as my arms and legs acrobat into a swift motion. Scaling higher, the fragrance of warm evergreen hugs me; the birds are chased by panic from the stranger. An alarming tremor crowds my insides when a single nude foot slips; my right arm loops around and severely strangles the higher branch to regain balance. Disquieted by my foot's miscalculation, I steadily cling to the tree's smooth trunk. Four branches away from being to the top, I will go no further today. It is not a necessity for I have hidden, rebelled, and imagined. Mastering the illusion, now I am invisible.

Tinker

She used the verb, "tinker." Meaning: to attempt to repair or improve something in a casual or desultory way, often to no useful effect. Her question was directed towards the only other person in the room. You don't mind if I tinker around on the piano, do you? No, I was just about to leave anyways, no big deal. But with the unexpected impending events I would not leave. And what she was about to do was more than a "big deal."

When she connected her hands to the keys, the painter's brush, the writer's pen, the magician's timing, the lover's gaze--nothing until the two inanimate objects were brought in an intimate vicinity. She and the piano were holding hands, too desperately close to be a recently married couple, too fiercely passionate to feel there was no spark of exhilaration left. The experience was trained, sporadic, and completely and utterly, mutual.

I will attempt to elaborate the depth of their affection as seen and heard by the rest of us.

A metaphoric distant rain came from far off and immersed itself wet and cleansing in our ears. All four of our ears showered.

But, of course, she interpreted the rain much differently than I. To her, it was her serene mother's voice, a kitchen floor board creaking, the blowing of fall leaves across her backyard. Recognizable. Comfortable. Habitual. Friendly.

Not I. The droplets came and expanded within themselves and blossomed and began digging at the recently, destructive weeds around my home's foundation. The battle between the fresh water and the calamitous demons roared, bellowed, blazed.

Outcries. Casualties. Raging.

And then, the victory horn of the rain blew throughout the wild, breathing field. A celebratory, traditional jig was danced upon the piano keys. A soul was saved by the rain. the music.

Soon, the girl, the rain, the mother, the floor, the leaves, the familiar, the blossoms, the war, were gone. Berefit, I searchingly spun around. All but one remained, one that had not been there before. Just entering across the newly healed yard, far more valuable than the fear of returning destructions:

The memory. The refreshing friend was staying here.

Thank you for tinkering with the healer.

I believe it is repaired now, and can begin working immediately.

"As the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return to it without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish, so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater, so is my word that goes out from my mouth: It will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it. You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands."