Being Human

She lay beneath the shade of the old oak, breathing in the muggy summer air. The humidity was tugging at her roots and soaking through her thin cotton shirt. The grass beneath her was still soft, hidden away from the sun. A breeze lilted this way and that, creating the illusion that the heat had not just begun. Such a lovely day to die, she thought to herself, closing her eyes and thinking back on her life thus far, playing with a dandelion between her bare toes.

Her 32 years had dragged on. She felt she was older. The lines around her eyes told her she was. The silver in her hair told her she was. The longing in her heart told her she was.

She had known hardship tenfold. She had cried the tears of someone so much older; so much wiser. She had experienced life in a way most never even think of.

She took her finger and traced around the scar on her left thigh. The deep, rippled skin felt taut beneath her fingertips. Memories that had been pushed to the brink of extinction suddenly came back with a vengeance.

Part of her wanted to smile; that sick part of her that enjoyed the pain, the change, the feeling of life it had given her, still gave her. Part of her wanted to revel in the fact that she had done the things she had. Part of her wished she had told more people about this small piece of her.

Her mom had been proud of her. She hadn't seen the terror behind the steady smile. She hadn't smelled the distrust, the lack of happiness, the contempt at everything "home."

No, people hadn't really seen her. They had loved her. They had touched her. They had used her and thanked her and liked her and thought fondly of her. But they hadn't seen her. They hadn't known her. Hidden away within herself, she had lived a life any onlooker would be proud of, envious of, curious about.

But in those private moments, the ones between PTA meetings, lunch dates, work projects, the ones that held the truth, saw the lick of liquor, tasted the sweet meat of betrayal. Those moments are the ones she had lived for, had kept her sane. It was in those moments of turmoil and pain that she had known peace.

And she knew peace now. Lying alone in the world. The ones she had loved now pushed away, for her sake or theirs she would never know.

The lovers she had taken thought of her now and again, but only in passing and only when intoxicated by one of life's many vices. She traced the place around her finger, now bare. If she had had any regrets, hurting him would be it.

But none of that really mattered now, did it? Here at this fitting end. Her heart was calm, at peace, prepared for what was ahead and unconcerned for what was behind.

She looked up at the sun dancing between the leaves of the old oak. Waving at her from her place on the ground. She closed her eyes once more and allowed the dancing lights to take her away, to rock her to sleep, to pull her close. She lay there on the ground beneath that oak, on top of that soft grass, she lay there until she faded away. Until the ground beneath her swallowed her whole and the sun forgot her name and the tree grew further up anyway.