Naked
I am not uncomfortable with nudity. I have no problem standing in front of people, letting them see all of me, every physical piece of me. I can’t change the cellulite and fat and curves and scars, and I don’t feel the need to. They can stare, judgement or admiration. That is all fine to me.
But there is a certain kind of nudity I can’t handle. I could be fully clothed, but there are some people who can strip me down until I shiver without lifting a finger. Now, I could count these people on one hand, but that’s hardly relevant. These people somehow get me to reveal things, slide off the mask, get naked. They know too much and I spend hours worrying over how much they know. They could hurt me, dig into my weak spots until I finally crack. Even though they don’t, it’s a constant struggle. And I hate it. Why can’t I trust, why can’t I allow people in, why can’t I just relax for once in my god damn life?
Liars are fully-clothed, and anyone who sees them fully exposed is a threat.
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“Wow, Hallie, you’re so smart!”: A Story About Tree Sap
Being young, I had many self-created explanations for things. I wasn’t religious, and I wasn’t entirely educated on the science of things, so I relied on my own thinking and findings. One of these beliefs was the innards of a tree. Suburban communities never seem to have tree stumps lying around (they believe them to be unsightly, I suppose) so for the longest time, I was convinced trees were full of liquid. My explanation was tree sap, which only came from holes in trees. So obviously, trees were full of this amber stickiness! I reached this conclusion after many experiments of sticking my fingers into sap and scrambling up trees and across branches to check if the sap was there as well.
My mom was making some hypotheses of her own:
“Why did my daughter return most days covered in sap?”
“Why does she spend so much time climbing trees?”
“Has she tried to eat sap?”
“Is that harmful?”
Unfortunately, my investigations were brought to an end when my mom dropped the bomb. Turns out, trees are completely solid within. When I asked her where sap came from, she turned to my father, who shrugged and told me to “ask my teacher or something.”
It wasn’t for a number of years, until the magic of Google and the Internet was introduced to me, that I learned why tree sap exists.
Now, when anyone calls me smart or intelligent now, I think about tree sap and remind myself that I was not a child prodigy.
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Here We Are (For Kitty)
fairy-told:
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I still think this is funny.
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