ORIGIN: It was supposed to be a little girl curled up against something soft. But we can’t really tell the difference between an alpaca and a llama, so just think of it as poetic license.
Recycling meant turning the piece upside down, and the wolf just called to us.
Moonlight makes me want to curl up with a bad book. White pages full of plot holes because my life can’t be the only one that doesn’t make sense. But knowing that I am not alone doesn’t work its magic anymore. I’m inconsolable, and the moon is too far away. I can’t hide under its covers and pull the wool over my eyes. I hate this fate the stars have written for me, and I can’t even console myself by leaving a bad review.
When I still lived at home, I used to sit in the darkest corner of my room. Curtains drawn and door shut. I remember praying to the new moon and waiting with bated breath for a different outcome. I didn’t know the definition of insanity back then. My organs must have been made of yarn because I only knew hope. The sliver of light under the door always came late at night. I waited and waited, but nobody ever knocked on my door, letting the full moon in. My heart. My lungs. My eyes. Have you ever unraveled a sweater? I lost count of how many times I knitted them back together, sitting in my dark little corner. Would you care to know how I kept my sanity? I changed my definition of family and left.
When I was young, I didn’t know my own strength. You see, I was raised by stuffed animals. My hugs were unrestrained and burst seams were a common sight in that house. For the longest time, I thought that there was wool inside me too. That’s why when the owners of the house said that I was too old for toys, I was afraid of hugging myself. My stuffed animals could share their wool between themselves, but I couldn’t share my heart with any of the people left in that house. So, I got into the habit of hugging my knees. I don’t know if this is how pull-back toy cars work, but I am getting ready to leave. It won’t be at the speed of light, though, because I know that I am still too young for the outside world.
My mother didn’t have a soft side. Nor did she raise me to have one. I had a roof over my head but never got to curl up with a stuffed animal. My mother liked books. I was only allowed to curl up with them. I remember my first paper cut. Painting the covers roof-tile red. Who knows, maybe I just wanted a sibling. Someone I could have a heart-to-heart with. What my mother gave me was also red, and the sound it made was like closing a book. There was nothing left to say between us. But I learned a lot of non-fiction.
There was a time when I didn’t understand why wolves howl at the moon. And then I saw it for what it is. A wolf in sheep’s clothing because that light comes from farther away. I always thought that I would be riding into the sunset at the end of my childhood. That happiness would set in the west and a grown-up would rise in the east. From scratch. Leaving what’s mine intact. Call me naive, but I never thought that I would have to spend the rest of my life pretending to be fine. I wanted to be replaced. By someone whose sole reason for being is taking the brunt of real life.
I remember my first sunburn. I wasn’t allowed to leave the playground until I had made a friend. Maybe if I hadn’t cried those big fat tears the sun wouldn’t have bitten me so hard, but it couldn’t be helped. Not all children are built the same way. Take the moon, for example. There’s no such thing as moonburn. I hated that playground, I wasn’t born to horse around, but I didn’t have a key to the house. I could only watch my skin peel and learn to pretend. I told myself that it was just clothing and it didn’t bite, so there’s that.
I knew that outer space is big and cold, but wearing sheep’s clothing never occurred to me. When I was young, I was fearless. I had to look up the meaning of the word mare in the dictionary, but putting a face on my nightmares made me feel bulletproof. I knew deep in my bones that the starry sky and I wouldn’t share the same fate, that I wouldn’t end up riddled with holes. Someone befriended a wolf a long time ago, and I naively thought that I would even get along with my worst nightmare.
I wish someone had given me a dictionary when my skull was full of stars. Before I got on my horse and set out on a quest to define my world. Now that the constellations have been drawn it’s already too late. I didn’t know what a wolf in sheep’s clothing really was. My mother told me that I should learn from my mistakes, and I thought all those wolves were just showing their heartfelt willingness to change for the better. I liked my definition best. But it’s high time I accepted that I don’t live in a world of my own.