Boxes

Written by Riley Morton Illustrated by Em Nguyen

I don’t know exactly who I am, but I’m learning. I’m chaotic, erratic because I don’t necessarily fit into one box or another. When it comes to societal categories, I fit into millions. I haven’t always been so accepting. I used to cram all of who I truly was into one box. I was convinced I had found myself, irrevocably flattening all of me into a simplicity I did not deserve.

I’m soft, but I’ve learned to stand up for myself—how not to be a doormat. I’m a ray of sunshine, but I have rainy days, too. I hate violence, but there’s a few people in this world I would punch in the face if I could. I’m an earth lover, a stoner hippie who doesn’t smoke pot and will ALWAYS wear shoes. A night owl, but only until 10 p.m. on weekdays and always asleep before her friends on weekends. An nature-obsessed girl who you’ll find holding a slimy marine creature but freaking out over the centipede in her dorm room. A writer who loves poetry but despises essays. A city girl whose ears are charmed by police sirens, car horns, and loud banter but who fell in love with the suburb of Winter Park, Florida. A girl who feels more comfortable in baggy clothes but doesn’t mind an opportunity to show off the body she used to hate.

I am magical. I was dimming my light, tampering with my full potential. I’m mysterious, and I like that. I guess you could say I am never boring. I cannot be categorized. And if there’s one thing I love about myself, it’s that g

Wri en by Brendan Manning Designed and Illustrated by Jeanie Liang

“And remember, never let those ruby slippers o your feet for a moment, or you will be at the mercy of the Wicked Witch of the West,” she said to Judy Garland on the TV. My evil grandma gave the same ones to my older sister, the ones that sparkle in scarlet. And when she outgrew the land of lollipops and rainbows, she gave them to me, and my parents allowed it. My father showed me his Elton John record, a man with shoes just like mine.

“If Tom caught our boys wearing something like that, he would whip them.” ough I did not know it at the me, our neighbor watched on as my father spun me around the living room and the maroon sparkle burned her eyes. She remarked to my mother about it, who shrugged it o and declined the invita on to the women’s Bible study.

“Wear other shoes if you go outside,” my mother told me. I wasn’t safe walking along the yellow brick road yet. So I kept it inside, for there’s no place like home.

But the shoes were too big, and one day I ipped on my way down the steps. Bluebirds y over the rainbow— why, oh, why can’t I? I tumbled and tumbled, the most ungraceful tornado. I landed at the bo om with a thud. e bones broken and bent. I was punished, just as the neighbor had said.

Bluebirds fly over the rainbow — why, oh, why can't I?

“You took quite a tumble,” said the doctor man. My cast was blue, like Dorothy’s dress in technicolor. But nobody would ever make the comparison.

My mother took the shoes away so I could not hurt myself anymore. “I’m sorry,” she said, and I watched her place them on the highest shelf in a never-ending game of hide and seek. As we skipped around the backyard during my Wizard of Oz birthday par , I soiled my shoes that were made for li le boys and everything turned burgundy. Nothing like the rubies that were taken om me.

I could have had any color of the rainbow, but I always chose red. I wonder why. Why, oh, why can’t I? 