Aquarium
Do you get it now? She asked. I nodded. She crossed out my equation and wrote. Slowly, carefully she let her letters come to life: round, well-mastered print with m’s like ski slopes. Her 2’s ended with pig’s tails; her 5’s round-bellied.
Is this how you write? She asked. Why d’you like it, it’s wild I say. My writing. I wrote fast and swiftly connected my letters. They were running, wild.
Too wild
so I always entwine their little legs and tails so they could be tame and so they wouldn’t run off the page. They were too wild unless you link the letters and capture them again. It was the only way.
Call me, don’t forget. She says.
Why?
Just call me, She says.
Her eyes that were moon crescents were swimming before her.
Everything around an aquarium.
My uncle doesn’t like to talk, okay? All he ever does is say ‘how was school, how are you?’ I want to go back. I’m trapped here. That’s why I’m always on Internet. I talk
But with no voice to my friends. They heard her though she didn’t utter a word.
Don’t your dogs keep you company? But no, she says they’re cute and all but they don’t talk. All they do is lick your fingers.
Lick your fingers.
Two lively creatures that hop around like an apostrophe and a comma.
I looked at her and then I saw everything and I wanted her to unleash the letters of my writing and ride away
Off the stupid page with them.
Away to where they came from, to where she wants to be.
I’ll teach you how to ride my wild letters I say. Your letters listen too well to your thoughts. They do whatever you say. Mine are free.
Unless you link the letters and capture them again.
And the girl with two names and too many worlds laughed in the empty air
Aquarium.
Here she lived in an aquarium but had no gills to breathe.