Is it crazy to believe anymore? Is it crazy to follow a sign
in black and yellow walking towards your hand, flying away? Outside there are
blues and greens, people sitting, laughing, talking under crimson umbrellas.
Birds swarm, chirp, look at each other. I stub my toe on the leg of the chair.
I feel the throbbing shock run up my leg, the rest of my body, and finally to
my brain.
A little wasp, not a sixteenth my size, looks up at me with
complex eyes. Its wings rub together. It licks its jowls. “I’m not afraid,” I
tell myself, “I’ll stand my ground.” It looks puzzled struggling for a way back
outside. But confusion turns to anger, frustrated misguided unhindered. I pull
my hand away from its madness, stand up and push in my seat.
My left foot moves rhythmically, next beat, the right, left
hand, relax, right hand, relax, shoulders, straight, chest out, arms to the
side. I hold my hips in place. Knees rise, my eyes focused on the destination.
I keep my head up for dramatics. I haven’t reached the counter but the music is
there. It hums gently in my gut, plucking and picking.
“So what do you
think?”
“I think it’s crazy.”
“Of course it is! But can you explain it?”
“No, but you have to be doing something?”
“Like what? I’m just flipping cards.”
“You’re strange.”
“Well, yeah.”
“Let’s go outside.”
Large rocks are scattered around the lawn. Grass, dried and
golden, withering, lines the edges of the gravel pathway. I look at my friend.
She looks down at the ground in apathy, views the wall of stone by the river
instead. It speaks in hymns and poetry. Laughing, we try to reply. I falter and
pick a grass stem to chew. It tastes like warmth and sunshine. The crunch
reminds me of grasshoppers, what I imagine they’d sound like if I were to eat
them.
If I had raven hair like my friend maybe I’d know more.
Maybe I’d be able to see things more clearly. I’d be a messenger who opens up
the letter before handing it over. I’d know and smile. They wouldn’t suspect a
thing because I’d look at them with kindness in my eyes. Her hair flies up and
down with the kiss of the wind. I decide to call her Bluebird because the wind
chose her but her heart is always sad.
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Let Let me know what you think! I'd appreciate any feedback. -Stefan Pena
