she began to walk, taking time to breathe in the freshness of the spring dew. She was wearing her grey Houndstooth that her mother had bought her and carrying her brother’s gun by her side, the barrel pointed up into her armpit. She feared the eyes of her neighbors and began to think of excuses should one of them come out to question what she was doing with the BB gun. She reached the woods and was strolling down the path now, heart still beating a little faster than normal. She came to the clearing where Patrick had showed her how to shoot and sat on a piece of log that jutted out of the ground, reminiscent of a fallen tree that had been gored in a storm. She looked around and admired the tranquility for a moment then began to carefully examine the BB gun. She flipped it over and turned off the safety. She cleaned it with her sleeve and inspected it for abrasions, just as she had been taught, then held it in her arms and admired the beauty in its power. The books she had read and the movies she had watched all talked about this feeling of control. She felt as if the gun were an extension of herself, and with it, she could do whatever she wanted. She could feel whatever she wanted. She began to look at the weapon in the same way that she imagined an artist looked at a paintbrush or a writer a pen and pad. She saw the weapon as a means to entire worlds of experience. Her curiosity was beginning to burn a hole inside her head, and she sat in a dark ball of anxious compulsion. All around her on this beautiful morning, the birds were calling to each other. The bugs chirped away, squirrels rustled through the trees, and sticks clicked together as the wind blew songs through the leaves. It was a beautiful woodland symphony, and Natalie wanted silence. She stood and walked to the brush, then crouched as her brother had shown her. The eleven-year-old began to scan nearby branches for birds or squirrels. Or anything really, I don’t think it mattered much to her. She watched closely for what felt like an hour (but was really only ten minutes), and finally, on a branch not three feet away from her, landed a bluebird. It was beautiful and vibrant, and when Natalie lifted up the BB gun in its direction, its bright royal feathers seemed to pulse even more definite. It was saturated and clear, like a shining ball of nebulous. It was an incredible breathing sapphire that perched before her, and Natalie could almost poke it with the barrel of a gun. She drew air carefully, and time seemed to slow. Everything began to fade from her, except the bird and the branch. Only experience would satisfy her insatiable hunger. Her eyes were married to the bright oceanic vibrancy, and her incessant curiosity bit her one more time.
Breathe in…
SYCAMORE 23