In the Grip

When I was around 8 years old we would spend a couple days a year visiting our cousins and other extended family on my Mother's side. I always looked forward to it because I really liked my cousin J. Not only was he adorable, but he really liked me too. I so rarely felt included in anything, whether it be the neighborhood clicks or the playground clicks or even the performing group clicks. But this was my click, it was my family, that had to take me and J even liked me for me. I liked to think that if I went to school with him and he wasn't related to me by blood he would still want to spend time with me. He told me I was pretty too, nobody had ever told me that before. We used to pretend we were "Donny and Marie" and dance around the living room holding our mother's hair brushes as microphones. He made me feel special and interesting. On one visit we were running around outside. My Aunt lived on a large piece of property with lots of trees and hills. I managed to run too close to the edge of one hill and I slipped. I grabbed on to the grass with all my strength to keep myself from tumbling down the rather steep cliff. I hung there for quite a while, waiting for someone to find me. It felt like hours but it was probably only minutes until they hoisted me back up. I still remember the sensation of hanging as if it were yesterday. 

Sometimes I think that maybe I am still hanging there, clinging to earth with all my strength. Maybe the life I have lived since then has just been a day dream I concocted to get through the fear. Maybe when they come rescue me everything will finally make sense to me, maybe I will get another chance to grow up. Maybe all I have to do is let go and I will be 8 again.

Photo by amalia chimera