Shotgun 'Leeshie' (Brink of Sanity) - Chapter Two - Summer of the Wasps

This is how I survive

There was a field just beyond my grandmother's clothesline in the back of her little house in Tyler, Texas.

And this summer I stayed with her. I noticed… everyone noticed, that the wildflowers, the wildfowl, the wild field, would become almost covered in wasps.

Dark and sleek and quick, with their glistening stingers

and their laser like precision. Everyone Everyone would

Okay, that's enough. God damn it, it's in there. Jesus!

People were afraid.

People disliked the wasps.

They had a notion that the wasps wanted to sting them.

And so they hated them outright.

That summer the wasps Or a big, or a big topic of conversation. Seems there was a problem.

I was nine that summer.

I was nine that summer. And I was a lonely little girl.

I was a lonely little girl.

I was a lonely little girl.

I was nine that summer. And I was a lonely little girl.

All closed up and tight in my spirit. Rebellious.

Cynical. Withdrawn.

Too wise without experience.

Too wise too quickly. Without having had the benefit of time and experience.

And I was lonely.

And so I made friends with the wasps.

I remember clearly. The first time. I ever walked into that field, I remember the peace and the power and the love and acceptance that I felt.

You see, I had never been stung by any wasp, only by people.

I had this ritual that I would do

when the beatings and the fighting and the arguments would ensue I would cloak myself. I would do this thing I called hide. Become invisible. I would do a thing. I would do a thing I called being invisible.

Being invisible. And

I believed wholeheartedly in my invisibility as a tiny little girl. I would go into my space inside myself and become so tiny

and become

transparent.

I had finished, I had finished bringing in the laundry.

I frequented my grandmother's clothesline.

I didn't so much like hanging them, but I loved to take them down.

I would slide the basket just under my target garment

and squeeze the clothes pins.

I love the way they fell so light and crisp.

I loved the way that they had been transformed by the wind and the sun when before they were so heavy,

drooping, almost unalive. But now The sun had revived them. And they were warm. And dry. And clean.

I had taken the laundry in.

I had taken the laundry inside. I had taken the laundry inside to my grandmother.

And had gone back outside. And had gone back outside.

That's what you did. Children lived outside. That's just how it was. We bathed inside. We ate and did our chores inside. And we slept inside, mostly. But our lives were not in the house. Our lives were outside. I thought

they were so silly. Children and adults alike. So silly. So strange. Why do you prejudge us? Why do you think we want to sting you? Why do you dislike or even hate us? Without ever trying to get to know us, why? I was lonely.

An outcast. Just like the wasps, I thought. Just like the wasps. And so I'll make friends. I'll make friends with them.

And they'll protect me.

They'll protect me.

With my wasps.

With my new family. People would, people would be afraid to hurt me. People would be afraid to touch me weird. People would be afraid to touch me in my private places. People would be afraid to beat my mommy.

With the wasps, people would be afraid.

People would be afraid to touch me, to hurt me, to say mean and terrible things to me because I look different, because I am different.

And so I walked into that field.

I remember my hands were turned palm up Outstretched at my sides. I walked very slowly and gently. Upright. Breathing.

Breathing so deeply. And silently. The way that I used to when I was hiding.

But I wasn't hiding from the wasps.

I was thinking as loudly as I could in my silence. I love you. I'm not afraid. I want to be friends.

There was a field just beyond my grandmother's clothesline in the back of her little house in Tyler, Texas.

And this summer I stayed with her. I noticed, everyone noticed, that the wildflowers, the wildfowl, the wild field, would become almost covered in wasps.

Dark and sleek and quick, with their glistening stingers

and their laser like precision. Everyone Everyone would

Okay, that's enough. God damn it, it's in there. Jesus!

People were afraid.

People disliked the wasps.

They had a notion that the wasps wanted to sting them.

And so they hated them outright.

That summer the wasps Or a big, or a big topic of conversation. Seems there was a problem.

I was nine that summer.

I was nine that summer