I once imagined myself to be a great queen. But it couldn’t last. Because even queens have to watch their heads. Savages await.
I recall years long gone, at least I think the memories are real. I remember wanting to be someone else, anyone else. I despised my name, my nickname even more, and the oak trees, the snow, and the cow town where I lived my tedious life. I’d have been queen of all England, but Massachusetts haunted me and wouldn’t let me go.
I tell my story looking back after 40 years. I recall crying out to the gods for help with my misery and waiting for someone, anyone to notice. No one did - not Ma, not Dad, not Penny, my dear older sister. Or any of the others. Even Mother Nature, who ruled with a cruel and demanding intensity, didn’t appear to see my pain.
Of course my youth wasn’t all so dramatic. And the memories are not only of me. I recall so much more, I’ve had to let it go, let them tell it their own confused way. I remind myself, it’s been a sea of time since 1968-1969. And scars will lighten, they'll pale unless you keep rubbing at them. Wait long enough, they'll fade.