The Girl Who Drank The Moon by Kelly Barnhill
“She was eleven, after all. She was both even and odd. She was ready to be many things at once—child, grown-up, poet, engineer, botanist, dragon. The list went on.”
I love magical realism, coming of age novels, fairytales, poetry. If you do too here’s a must read. I enjoyed every bit of it.
The final installment (for now?) of notes from dear Boris. If you feel lost refer to last week’s post, Along Came A Spider.
An Epiphany and a Toast
“Boris was a friend to so many and touched a number of lives in a variety of ways. He was always willing to lend a hand.”
Why is everybody crying?
“Boris enjoyed an eclectic assortment of music making it difficult for us to choose something appropriate to honor him. We finally settled on the obvious choice Boris the Spider, The Who.”
Oh clever, what a snore! Relieved they didn’t choose that overdone Itsy Bitsy, unbelievable! Why didn’t they invite that wretched Miss Muffet as well!
“But perhaps best of all, Boris will be remembered for his remarkable sense of humor, he was ever witty and sharp, if you hoped to keep up with his charms and avoid the occasional sting your reply would have to be swift. Dear sweet Boris, to say you will be missed hardly touches the surface of this ocean of great sorrow left in your wake. Farewell fond friend!”
I’m a ghost spider now, is that it? Well it is early April perhaps this is all an elaborate joke. Get one over on old Boring Boris, isn’t that right?
***
Boris continued to cycle through the stages of grief and finally came to a place of acceptance and great joy in fact. A new chapter began that day. Although this reinvention of self was involuntary, Boris found it to be remarkably refreshing. He cut his hair, moved near the sea, joined a garage band, and he finally found the courage to fall in love. He had only one request of his bride-to-be of their wedding, no hot beverages of any kind. He couldn’t say why only that they didn’t agree with him. And that’s how they decided on an open bar.
And now if you would all raise your glasses in a toast to the adorable couple.
~The End
We left our 8 legged protagonist in a dark cupboard. He knew something was amiss. If you’re confused see yesterday’s post, The View From Here.
Blinded By The Light
Suddenly there was a sensation of movement, being transported through time and space then plunk a settling down of sorts on a cold counter top. A train whistle (?) sounding off confirms that all is not right with the world. And then…nothing. I’m not sure what happened, to say it plainly. I was in this dark place one minute and the next thing I remember is being shot out like a cannon ball, soaring through the air with grace, I can only hope. There was this beautiful bright light, no not the electric variety more of a glow, a feeling, I felt light, I was light. Now I seem to be invisible as does my web design. But I guess it doesn’t really matter because I’m not that interested in food anymore. I lost my appetite somewhere along the way. Wait, I recognize that song playing in the background…
Is that…
The Who?
[creepy…crawly…creepy…crawly….creepy creepy crawly crawly]
Yes it is The Who! And, what’s this? Wow look there’s my mom and dad! And my uncle, niece and nephews. They don’t respond when I say hello, they don’t look at me at all. It’s as if they are staring right through me. Then my brother stands before everybody, looking uncharacteristically formal and somber before saying,
“Boris wasn’t a materialistic spider, he was more than satisfied with simple comforts; a cupboard to sleep in, a safe place to create his prized web designs…”
That’s an odd way to talk about me, as though I’m not even here. Could this be a dream, a joke maybe?
****to be continued****
Last week I shared with you a story from my true crime archives about an uninvited guest at tea time. If you missed it and want to catch up here it is: Along Came A Spider. It occurred to me that there’s always two sides to every story and I feel I owe it to dear Boris to give him the last word. Turns out Boris is rather long winded so I’ve broken up his tale into pieces that I will share through out the week. I hope you like it!
No One Will Find Me Here
Some thought he was odd. Others thought he was kind of cute. Boris thought of himself as an artist weaving tapestries with his legs. Insects, especially dopey flies were drawn to the elaborate mesmerizing beauty of his webs. Ultimately they found themselves suddenly stunned, immobile, and all at once enveloped in a snug, sticky sleeping bag from which they would never awake. His artwork, a warm safe place to nod off, and a regular dose of punk rock were all he needed to feel satisfied with life on the other side of the cupboard.
Until one day…
It was an ordinary evening the cupboard was quiet. After meeting a fly for dinner, Boris began spinning a new creation. The sound of weary footsteps approaches and the cupboard door swings open. Boris scurries into the nearest dark corner for protection. From what?
****to be continued****
“My thoughts were so loud I couldn’t hear with my mouth.” -Modest Mouse
*****
Every morning is the same. I put on my bright red nose, paint my face, lace up my oversized combat boots, and clamor into my impossibly small car. Knees resting on the dash. My commute gives me time to rehearse my lines, practice my smile. The makeup irritates my skin but the plus side is it perfectly conceals a tearstained face. The sunshine plays off my flashy standard issue polyester jumpsuit which has elastic bands at the neck, wrists, and ankles. Somehow the elastic doesn’t have very much give and as a result this design element constricts my circulation making me feel trapped and lightheaded.
My boss, the bearded lady wants me to reconsider the high wire act. Says it was a once in a life time malfunction. Won’t ever happen again. Her words are empty. She doesn’t care about me. Her bottom line is the show. Fill the seats. Do what it takes. If not, step aside because there are others eagerly awaiting the chance to walk out on that wire. High above the disgruntled big cats, over the artists juggling various flaming objects, near the show-off contortionists continually bending folding transforming themselves into something else entirely. I’m just a clown.
But I suppose acrophobia is my super power now. That’s how my doctor refers to my extreme fear of heights, acrophobia. When you’re an acrobat it’s harder to appreciate that play on words. I wasn’t always this way. I developed this intense fear after that incident when the wire snapped and I free fell. The act itself of falling was quite peaceful although alarming as it was unexpected. The landing, I imagine was rough I don’t recall that part.
On my way back to the big top and the thought of possibly having to teeter on that wire once again brings on a new wave of panic. I turn up the radio to drown out my thoughts.
“Why does it always feel like I’m caught in an undertow?
Walk a little farther to another plan.
You said that you did, but you didn’t understand.
I know that starting over is not what life’s all about.
But my thoughts were so loud, I couldn’t hear my mouth.
My thoughts were so loud, I couldn’t hear my mouth.
My thoughts were so loud.” -The World at Large, Modest Mouse
