in Washington
February 28th, 2006
There was a lake on the mountains where the woods sort of melted into it. There was a sandbar too, and when I was small I would run off there and pretend I lived on an island. Sometimes I packed food and clothes so that I could, and did stay there for days.
My mother said someday a madman in the woods would kill me. It made me uncomfortable when she said things like that. Not because they could be true, but because Mother seemed to say it with a laugh and a cry at the same time. That sickly sad laugh made me want to go to the woods even more.
My father said I was running away from my problems and it made me feel even worse, because I knew it was true. His voice was deep and dark, like the voices in your soul that tell the truth even when you deny it. Like the judgment voice of God. I used to think that God had different voices, like Grandpa has different tie pins, and one of them was Dad’s.
I don’t believe there is any real God. Not anymore. But when I went to the sandbar it was like I was searching for Him, or trying to make Him talk to me. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever find him.
My grandpa says, yeah yeah I'll find him. Yeah cause he did too, once when he was really just a teenager and in the war... I look like my Grandpa, freckles and all. He says a lot of things I don't belive.
Like the stuff about angels.
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