Underneath

Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. The air crisp on my pale skin. I could not remember a time when the air was not piercing. The cold sang its beautifully sullen song every day, with no sign of becoming fatigued. It kept me on my toes. For here, if you place one wrong foot, you risk losing it. I had seen it happen many times, and never again will I not look down at my footing. There were brave ones who walked in groups; each week counting the casualties. There were those who didn't move at all, and those who only moved in a rhythmic pattern. Then there were those like me, lone wanderers. That is what they call us. The ones no one pays attention to. The ghosts. But whatever the role you chose, it didn't really matter. Because every night at midnight we all stopped, took a deep breath of bravery, and looked up. That one habitual act of reverence tied us all together, only moments before the clouds turned to a dark, looming green. The spell was broken, and we all went on our ways.

The ground always stirred around the same time. Those who lurk beneath knew our eyes would have to adjust from the brightness of purple. It was their prime opportunity to catch a victim of their own dissociation. Serenity came at a cost for some, but for I? I did not believe in sacrifice. I thirsted for what was out there. I wanted to devour it all. To become one with it. The enticing trees spoke to me often as a child. I would climb their thin, low branches until I reached the thickest one. I'd unpack my bag of bread, blanket, and book. Leave a trail of crumbs for the friends who homed the trunk. Time was simple then. The time before my 10th birthday. Most children feared the turning of time because their parents had such big monsters under their feet; random outcries of fear from their caregivers. It created their nightmares and painted their worlds in faded blue. Turning 10 years seemed like a curse to them. It wasn't that my parents lacked monsters. They had bigger ones than any I had ever heard of. Most children don't see their parents' monsters, but my parents' monsters were very large. They thrashed through a dimension they weren't meant to be a part of. And maybe that is why I did not mind inheriting mine on my 10th birthday. There was a knowing, from the glimpses of my parents underneath, exactly what I was in for. Maybe every child had the right to know the fate of their path, but maybe it was the not knowing that kept so many alive on the inside.

I watched from up in my tree. They thrashed just as the ones my parents had. My monster was young and violent. This tree was safety. The branches curled out just for me, guiding me upwards, and made a dip where my butt was cradled. This is where I took space from my attackers. I would sit up here, listen to what the trees had to tell me that day, and watch as my underneath writhed below. If you can, imagine a wave made of grass. Each blade growing longer then shorter as it heaves one way and another. Like the Earth was trying to crawl out of itself. A green hole hungry to expand.

I saw my Uncle step on his once. That's all it took and we never saw him again. He was coming home from the bar. Didn't know where he was. One foot is all it needs to consume you as a whole. No one knows what happens after you fall.

I spent most of my youth in the trees. The newer generations caught on as well. Height and distance meant rest. Soon after, there were whole cities lining the bushy treetops. I started spending most of my time at the base of the trunks, giving up my apologies. As if my intentions would heal generations from destruction. If only I could make them see that we were the monsters underneath. Then what would they do with that? Would they all start taking up more space so their monsters had room to roam? Would they tighten their space and put everyone in lock down? Would they start shooting each other? Would fear take over? Or hope and gratitude?

I feared the worst. So I continue my affirmations of grief to the trees as I find my footing elsewhere.

I enjoyed the exploration. Something you couldn't gracefully do in numbers. I had affection for the life around me. Others' presence tended to stifle the iridescence in me. Every few miles I would run into another lone wanderer. We don't acknowledge each other, but I do find it hard to keep my gaze down. I have so many questions for others like me. Like, do you get afraid sometimes too? What about loneliness do you enjoy most? I was midthought when I noticed another lifted gaze. It was the first set of eyes I had seen in centuries. They were pitch black; a playful threatening glow shone from them. I had seen that look once, in my own face. I felt I was looking into a mirror now. There was age in those eyes but not body. When you spend a long life inside yourself, you learn to speak without words. I call it, The Knowing. I was so lost in these eyes that days could have passed without my realization. It was at least hours, for the purple sky sirened for midnight; for everyone to pause and look up. It left as quickly as my exhale and as my eyes slowly returned to the ground I saw a pair of feet that were not my own. I sighed, shook my head yes, and went on my way. Those strange mirror eyes falling behind me at a respectful distance. I did not mind this company.

Those eyes and I would sit all day watching the other. Our new favorite thing to do, as to study one another. They seemed to hold more secrets than I. We would momentarily get the privilege of witnessing the other wrestle with their underneaths. It wasn't frightening to watch them take on their monster, not like it had terrified me watching my brother take on his and lose. That was clunky and unfortunate. But with those eyes, it felt like watching a dancer make love to fluidity. The movement was so light you thought they both might be floating. It inspired me to gain a new perspective on my underneath. Why should I battle when there is proof right in front of my eyes that I can create space for both myself and my monster. My brain rumbles with ideas and hopes and dreams when I watch those eyes take in the world. It was art in a generation of landfills. I was in love. I was no longer a lone wanderer. And so we walked on our way, respectfully distanced so our underneaths could not get to the other, and explored every inch of the world while we could.

You would think the melancholic air and hypervigilance to the ground would weaken our spirits. And in a way, you could say that it did.

We are the melancholy in the air. And the green haze in the clouds after midnight. The monsters that lurked at our feet. The darkness in our eyes.

I guess that is why I chose to journey alone for so long. For I knew my ancestor's monsters well. I would have rather died at my own fate than become victim to someone else's monster. That was until I found another whose underneath was just as playful as my own. So we went on our way. And our monsters lived on.