:: Monday, November 24, 2003 ::

My submission to Another 48 Hours - in response to the question "what makes you feel small?"

Tag, you’re it! I’m running, sprinting through what seems like miles of uncut grass, soft and coated with the late night dew that rubs off onto my bare legs and makes them shine. My heart beats faster as the cool summer air rushes in and out of my little lungs, burning. We collapse into a pile of elementary giggles, until finally quieting down and hearing little but the distant croaking of frogs and the sound of our own internal workings, breath and beat. I lie there on my back, now soaked through with the dew that cloaks each blade of grass, and stare up at the black night sky. There are no city lights to disturb the stars that twinkle above me. Teacher told me there are more stars in the sky than grains of sand on a beach – I’m not sure I believe her.

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I carefully roll my pants up to my knees, wade into the ice-cold water and splash with amazement as the phosphorescence glows. We all do the same, and when we’ve finally milked the moment of all its wonder we climb back up the beach, perch on logs and watch the dying fire. It crackles and spits as the waves roll in and out and the cool ocean breeze whips across my cheeks, adding to my blush. The fire has long grown cold but I feel his warmth next to me, close to me. I want his hand to touch mine, his arm to brush mine, but I sit still and stare up at the sky. He points up. Cassiopeia, Orion, the Big Dipper. All these glittering constellations that I don’t have names for – he has them filed, catalogued, memorized. His hand comes down and rests on the log between us. I look up, and try to memorize their shapes and places in the sky.

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The air is sterile, sharp, and it leaves a funny taste in my mouth as my breath deepens. I climb up onto the table and anxiety washes over me, covered up by a ridiculous grin. Part of me wants to run away, but I’ve made a decision and now I’m determined. The man behind me makes his preparations - preparations I can’t see, but that adds to the excitement. Finally, the buzzing sound fills the room and my heart jumps into my throat. Ready? Of course I’m ready. I’m nineteen years old and I’ve lived through fifteen years of school (one of which I almost failed), three major heartbreaks, one close friend’s death, and the liberation of realizing my home is wherever I am. Etch it into me. So he begins, puncturing my skin, scratching its surface and pushing the ink beneath. Nineteen years. Nineteen stars. Nunki. Ascella. Kaus Borealis. Snatched out of the sky and forced through my surface, tiny dots on an expanse of skin. And yet somehow I’m the small one.

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Vancouver lights make it hard to see stars twinkle. Teacher once told me there are more stars in the sky than grains of sand on a beach – I’m not sure I believe her.

:: Katy 1:51 a.m. [+] :: ::