A Party in the Suburbs

28 Feb

The party should have never happened. It seemed like a nice idea, a husband and wife celebrating their brand new home, but the furniture wasn’t in yet, she got drunk and sulky, and I ended up getting stranded in suburbia. All I did was wander around the circle streets looking at all the houses identically gleaming in the nighttime. Hands in my pockets with nowhere to go. This place was not for me.

I remember when the house was being built. How he left a music box, a jeweled case, and a jack-in-the-box on the brand new stairs for her to find them. Fancy little boxes sending odd glimmers in the plywood and sawdust.

In the backyard a volcano was already acting up, spitting out blobs now and then, and oozing into the long grasses. Near it, a path full of mud and a hot spring.

But sliding past the hot spring, the mud, and being very careful about the volcano, I get to the wilderness–a huge tree-filled section that is away from the suburb circles and angry parties and social games. Just trees growing up tall and spaces to do things in: the real world, not boxed in.

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