Weeds

My hands seemingly vibrate as they graze the chain-linked fence as I'm strolling the perimeter of the school. It's not that I don't have any friends, because I really do; I could easily jump in to that game of basketball and beat all the boys or swing on the swings or jump rope with some of the girls in my class. That's what is great: I can spend time with my classmates or I can wander off on my own and no one will think twice about it. I can do what I want--as long as it's in line with my teacher's rules or it's not against the law or it's okay with my parents. What I mean is, is my classmates are so unassuming and if I'm found by myself I won't be thought weird for it. I can even wear red pants with black stripes and a huge baggy shirt that's mostly white with flowers and they still will view me as normal. Who knows why I wanted to be alone today. Maybe if I was thirteen or sixteen or older then I would need a reason, but, since I'm in elementary school, I don't need a reason; I don't need a reason for the things I do or a reason for the things other people do. As I hear the other children laughing in the background, I scan the grass for those plants with the fragile white seeds that I see people blow on. I was told that if you're able to blow all the seeds off and you make a wish it will come true, so, once I find one (it wasn't very difficult, for the grass seems to be full of them), I close my eyes, manufacture a wish and hope I blew hard enough.

And when I open my eyes again, I'm a woman and I realize how silly it was to blow on such a plant; what I hoped would make my dreams come true, really only planted seeds for more weeds to grow. And then from those weeds that grew, I can only imagine how man kids plucked and blew and spread those invasive killers as well. Although I wouldn't necessarily go back to my personal childhood, a part of me wishes I could go back to some form of ignorance, simplicity and contentment that many other childhoods have to offer--no matter how unreal it really is. But you can't go back, can't take back. All you can do is pull all the weeds out and pray that you dug deep enough and didn't leave the roots as residue. Problem is, I worked on a patch of that grass, thought I pulled out all the weeds and turned my back, thinking it was all over. But it wasn't all over, for when I returned there were even more weeds than before. This time there's no faint laughter from children or a recess, though. Those dandelions are deceiving and my hands are bleeding from these thorns that keep popping up and I wish someone were here to help me get them out, but there isn't.