We do for others because we don't know how to do for ourselves. We do for others because we feel it is the only way to make up for the damage we feel our craziness is doing to society. We do for others because it makes us feel good when nothing else in the whole world does, not even pills. We stay quiet and sit in the corner because others seem so much more needy. We require so little, you and I. A fact which does not sit well with others who would label us as too much to handle. When in truth, all those such as us really need is a bit of understanding, a bit of reciprocation, maybe a touch on the cheek once in a while and a sly wink. The rest of the world is needy. I'd rather be crazy. ~~Aimee

Wednesday, 22 June 2011

Mashed Potatoes Between My Toes

I grew up in the south. Not Gone with the Wind south but never the less I have redneck flowing through my veins. I don't remember much about growing up. I don't remember birthday parties or what I wore for Halloween. I don't remember slumber parties or weekends at Gran's. There are many blanks in my past. Sometimes I am grateful and other days I would just like to know. My imagination has a mind of its own and even if it's bad, some days I would just like to know which monster lurks in my darkness. Then I could stop wondering about the millions of possibilities of what might fill those blanks in my memory. 

But even though there are many blanks, some of them are filled with flashes. Flashes of a 5 year old little girl, hair blowing in the wind. Walking behind the mule pulling a plow. She would step as far as her 5 year old feet could reach, then drop a potato in the hole that had been dug for her. After she had dropped it in the hole, she would take her toes and push it down into the earth and giggle about the thought of mashed potatoes between her toes. The earth was cool under her bare feet. She knew no worries other than avoiding any presents left for her by the mule. The sun was warm on her face, it erased the darkness that clouded her soul. For those few moments, she was free. Just a little girl with mashed potatoes between her toes.


Aimee said...

Wow. I could have written that. Well, except for the mule and planting potatoes part. Anyway. My memory is exactly the same. Exactly. So many black holes intertwined with flashes of moments. Some seemingly so inconsequential I often wonder why I chose to remember them.

Maasiyat said...

Yea no clue as to why I remember this in such detail. I mean I remember how the dirt felt, how it was cool and soft because it had just been turned by the plow. It's freaking weird that I can't remember a single teacher's, friend's, classmates' name, but I remember this.

Borderline Lil said...

A beautiful memory. Love your writing!


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