Stick Figures
Actually, I don’t think I ever drew stick figures. My earliest depictions of the human body consisted of circles, shapes that made them look like cactus-people with prickly hair. Mom had a skirt, Dad had glasses, and I was a lot, lot shorter than they were.
Just a couple circles each did the job. The lines were wobbly and amateur, but the subjects at hand were still generally understood - standing on the floating clumps of grass was Dad, Mom, and me. Winston was still being delivered by some lazy stork.
I imagine it would bring me much pain to try and reproduce a drawing like that now, how I would have to force myself to simplify all my observations, repel the urge to shade like crazy, intentionally add jagged, distorted marks that yell for an eraser…
I wish I could go back and see the world in cactus circles.
Back to a time when the lyrics of songs made no sense whatsoever and failed to matter. When I thought I was just as good as Picasso (psh, I can do geometric shapes). When a playground could entertain me to no end, when a swing gave me wings, when a carousel was a shaceship and I traveled at warp speed, coming off dizzy as hell can be.
When I could eat all the ice cream I wanted, gain weight, and people still thought me cute.
When crayons were the primary tools of production.
When Santa was real (way, way back. The news was broken to me rather early - I asked how he got in when we didn’t have a chimney, and the folks just shrugged).
When boys were just people.
When I could throw a tantrum in public and people ‘awwed’ at the poor, crying child. I tried this a while ago - only received weird stares, guys.
When I didn’t know of the thing called responsibility.
When faith was the realest thing in the world, and believing was a piece of cake.
When pigtails didn’t make me look retarded.
When “I’m sorry” came out easily and I actually meant it.
When mistakes were taken for granted - “She’s still young,” “She’ll learn,” “It’s okay, just try not to do it again.” Try was the operative word - now it’s just “Don’t do it again,” or “What’s wrong with you?”
When I wasn’t expected to be able to spell diarrhea, or know what a metaphor was.
When my mind was less clustered, when a blank piece of paper and pencil rocked my world, when I would never have trouble falling asleep, when secrets didn’t exist (not real ones, anyway), when breakfast consisted of chocolate and pudding, when my blanket was refuge from the world, when I fell in love with Aladdin, when I fell in love with Robin Hood,
and then I fell in love with the world and its complications,
and then I fell in love with all the things adults could do,
and I fell in love with the concept of growing up,
and so I did,
and now that I have,
I am over Growing Up and I want to Grow Down and have, once again, all that I lost,
but it’s just a tad too late
and I can’t erase those lines
they’re covering my cactus circles and i don’t know what to do
