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.