“A child has more bones than an adult has,” his father explained to him. “And they must grow into each other if you are to be made taller. This is why you sometimes get those pains in all your limbs…” his father droned, as the tone grew fluty, higher-pitched, and far away. He hadn’t noticed getting any taller. In fact, he he'd actively watched the horizon growing, not only higher, but closer too. Perhaps his father had spoken incorrectly, because he hadn't responded sexually to stimulus yet either. He would like to, he imagined. So, sometimes he would walk through the wood not far from school, thinking, if perhaps he picked some flowers and gave them to a girl — as a gesture of intention — this may be the start of things. He stooped to pluck some amaranthus — Pigweed — and, from the corner of his eye, caught a sleeked flash among the green. Following the movement, he saw, now still upon a rock, a hare, arched gracefully, its ears erect. He started to recall what his father said about “extremities,” as his own ears set to surging and pulsating. His hands raised to his head and he felt the ears elongate through his changing fingers. The pains in his legs were not, as his father had suggested, growing pains, but pains of retraction, as the limbs began to bow. They resulted — the pains — he realised, from tottering around up on hind legs. Quite consciously he stumbled, finally, falling on all fours and leaped into the woods.
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“Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed, While I thy amiable cheeks do coy, And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head, And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy.”
A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act IV, Scene I.
issue 11