Seeds and Balloons--a neurodivergent story

 All Us Seeds

 

I bought this little bag of flax seeds.

I don’t know why.

Okay, I do know why.

The seeds are tan, and tear shaped. They look like tomato seeds, only not that slimy. They are dry and smooth. When I feel like it, I pinch a helping out of the bag and sift them into my mouth. I crunch all at once, though a few escape to a dip beneath my tongue. At first, they have a waxy taste and texture then as my saliva surrounds them, they turn soft and become coated with a thick goo. I play a mouth game where I search for leftovers and draw each one to my front teeth to be split open. I think I do this because I am lonely. 

Today I went to the library. It was lonely there too. I was looking for books to read, which is the only reason to go, unless you’re looking for a friend. But I wouldn’t recommend the library as a good place to find a friend, because people are quiet there. The more the silent a person is, the more secrets they have. I should know. I am quiet. I did not find a friend at the library today. Only books. Which is why I went.

I guess a good place to find a friend is at a bar. Everyone there is looking for someone, or something. Maybe they should try flax seeds. I can picture us sitting at little round tables, some drinking, some not drinking, holding little bags and pouring the seeds into our open mouths. Crunch, crunch, crunch. And then search, search, search. All night, all of us crunching and searching.

Do you remember when you were a kid, and someone invited you to a birthday party? There was cake and punch and little napkins, and balloons. The mom would explain that you had to pop a balloon until you found a note inside. That meant winning a prize. Some kid holds up a piece of paper while the rest of us sit among latex shrapnel. The prize was always some little plastic thing you could buy in a candy machine.

You know what a kid really wants? A balloon.

I’ll tell you where I bought the seeds: a health store in town, right next to the pet store. I hate going there because there are dogs in cages with sad faces pressed against the wire mesh. Maybe that’s why I bought the seeds, because I saw them and cried. It made me feel so lonely. Cage-to-cage. All those stores and all of us, elbow-to-elbow. That's how I felt. Alone. I’d adopt one, but my mom said I'm allergic. Anyway, the apartment owner says the walls are too thin.

One day I’ll reach into the cabinet and find the seeds are gone. Then I’ll have to buy more. Then I’ll see the puppies and remember how lonely I am. And then I’ll end up at the library, or maybe the bar. If they put balloons in bars, everyone would have a much better time.

Or maybe I’ll go nowhere at all.

 

Free book . . .

Hey, you lovely bloggers, if you haven't had a chance to read The Time Seekers yet, then today's the day. It's currently free for e-download, so get out yer Kindles, or whatever gadget you're required to own in order to do this sort of thing, and download your little heart out. And many thanks if you do!

The Library

After the divorce Mom was forced to find a way to make a living, the savings from her New York airline days already long depleted. Her first stint was at the Russell Stover factory up in Kansas City which, let's face it, was the best job any kids could ever want their mother to have. She walked into the house every night with a butterscotch for each of us, and tales of having eaten endless chocolate all through the day. Bemoaning the fact of how much weight she was gaining, she kept working until she saw a position being offered right there in Spring Hill as the multi-service clerk for the library up on Main. She, giving us a glimpse of the fighter within, took on the city council to secure the position away from a long standing citizen--a man. The look on her face when she walked into the house that afternoon was of disbelief and pride. "I did it." She sunk down into the brown print love seat with her purse slumping alongside her feet. "They almost gave it to him, but I kept saying how much I loved books--that I had three kids at home, and they said I could have the job."

Of course, it makes sense that our car would die right before her first day. She'd have to make the long walk through town every morning and evening. No problem, she'd see us off to school and the walk would be good--get rid of all that chocolate she'd eaten.

Spring Hill was small, like a regular town minus everything. The library was nestled between an American Legion and a drugstore, each housed behind the fake storefronts faded, yet still remaining, from the days of old West. One of the stops on the way to Quatrill's infamous raid, the town had no other claim to celebrity other than the fact that one of its ancestors was a woman doctor, fitting perhaps for my mother who now would serve many duties in the town besides just checking out books. She would pass out Government staples, food, welfare, counsel. She would organize immunizations and children's programs. But most of all, she would sit and wait and . . . read. This is, for the most part, how I remember her: a paperback novel in her hands and radio playing tunes quietly from up on the metal file cabinet.

The library was miniscule, but fulfilled its need appropriately. There were no fines, but Mom was good at giving an evil look to those who were late with their returns. This kept the patrons in check, and I took note of it, sitting every day at one of the long wooden tables with a magazine laid out in front of me. Cheryl Tiegs was the hot model of the day with her golden hair and sparkling blue eyes. I had a notebook full of personal studies done in leaded lines that I strove to improve. If I could just perfect the lines of her nose so it wouldn't look so deformed. I applied shading, light pressure on the curves . . . still no success. But I was good at ears and eyes.

It was the time of girls struggling to reach equality, yet they still fought for position. Men stood out on the front sidewalk by the barbershop in different colored suits, like boastful roosters; their images mixing strangely with its peppermint swirl pole.

It was the time of change, not only for the world, but for me. Change in so many ways I cannot explain, yet can still feel as a thunderstorm sickens the sky and moves across plain land with aching and anticipation, then leaves; quiet, yet full of sorrow.