Pridian

When I was younger, the houses around me did not exist. Where these houses are plotted now, there used to stand rows upon rows of almond trees. They were always symmetrically planted, and if one tree among the thousands was missing, you could point out exactly where.

My brothers, our neighbor and I used to play out in those trees. The soil was dark and moist from the shelter of branches and leaves. Our sandals and feet got muddy, along with our knees when we slipped to the ground. We climbed those trees and sitting betwixt connecting branches, pulled almonds off to crack later at home.

I remember when the first orchard fell. We drove past early one morning on our way to school. Huge tractors stood at the end of the green tree rows.

“What are they going to do?” I asked my mother, but she had no answer.

When school was over and we drove back home, the tractors were at the other end of the rows. They left behind white wood, the wood inside those trees that was never exposed. Before me stood acres upon acres of destroyed almond trees, chewed up and spit out.

Now that I am older, the almond trees around me do not exist. Instead now there stands row upon row of symetrically placed houses.

I love the way grass tickles the back of my neck when I lay on the ground. My strawberry blonde hair seems gold in contrast with the vibrant emerald. I slowly drag myself up on my elbows to see the deep red sun setting. Coral and lavender is lining the low clouds as the sky above grows shaded. The moon, my friend, will be up soon, I think and curling to my side I use my arm as a cushion. Unconsciously, I begin to trace hearts and meaningless words into the grass with my fingertips.

“Lauren! Up, up, up.” Brenner comes skipping, a black figure until he is above me and stepping on my hair.

“Off my hair, one day I will lose it all…thanks to you.”

“Oh, sorry,” he shuffles back. “Mom said food, home, now.”

“Spaghetti, no meatballs? Tell her thanks, but no.”

“Actually, chicken and some kind of soup… in five minutes.”

“Same thing.” I scold and roll over.

Five minutes to evaluate how bright the moon will be tonight. It is cooler now. The west is slightly shining and I can see the half moon rising. My eyes, even though million of miles away, can see the dark craters marking the florescent crescent. After lying still a few more minutes, I flip over and haul myself up. I swipe at my grass stained knees before running inside.

After dinner I go back outside, it is darker now. I look up for acute light but find none. I search north, east, south, west but I can not relocate the moon anywhere. I walk back inside sadly.

“The moon fell.” I tell my mom.

I hate the gym. All the sweaty people, gasping and huffing on either side of you. You can smell the ones who didn’t bother to shower or exercise the use of deodorant. Many times this person is an little kid, not even tall enough to use the elliptical properly. His arms are stretched to grasp the metal handles, and his armpits face right towards the unfortunate gym junkies next to him.

The gym I waste my valuable time at is between two high schools and four Jr. Highs. If for some reason I was forced by my schedule to attend the gym right at five o’clock, my nerves and patience, so wisely used at work, will be shattered.

The gym, during this time, is mating grounds. My friend Ginny and I went, in disguise, (Bright pink shirts, short white shorts, high pony tail and lots of makeup) to the gym at this time. We observed that all the females located themselves on the cardio machines, which conveniently faced the heavy weights where the males species was primarily located.

We took note that while the males lifted weights (or attempted to lift) they would grunt and their faces would turn red from the strenuous effort. These noises, and facial colorings, would attract the females’ eyes. The females would then make a noise, known as giggling, showing their interest in the male.

It’s all a big joke. I hate the gym.

Tyson bit me today. He’s never done that before and I don’t understand.

He was angry, hitting my arm against his forehead. I said, “That’s enough,” and he brought my arm down to his mouth and quickly bit me… rather hard. I pulled up my sleeve to find a circle of little teeth indents and redness surrounding. I wasn’t mad, I was just confused.

Sometimes I think he understands when he inflicts pain on me, then other times, like this, I don’t think he understands at all. His frustration built up and I was his outlet. How do you tell an autistic child that it is okay to express anger as long as they don’t harm anyone or themselves, when harming someone, or themselves, is their way of expressing anger?

But it’s okay that Tyson bit me. I got him back on the trampoline, jumping continually and forcefully so Tyson was stuck on hands, knees, stomach or back, flopping around like an uncontrollable piece of laughing popcorn.

I speak for envy. Forcing jealousy into the purest of hearts. Creating and nurturing unattainable desires in unsuspecting lives. Trees reach out for the sun’s warm rays, yet never achieve the sun itself. Grudges are built in compassionate souls and stay hidden from the sight of others. A hunger is left not sustained.

Yet I also speak for life. A turtle paddling through the underwater currents, past the fastest growing plant in the world, seaweed. Red leaves fall from trees dead, only to grow back alive in a season’s time. Cactuses cast shadows on dry cracked dirt, representing erect existence in a flat, russet land. Rolling hills covered in tall vibrant grass, grass easily manipulated to follow the winds.

I speak for a life with envy and for life solo.