From a Little Piece of Gold

Hailee felt tall when she stood up but there was nothing to measure herself against. Her body was soft and achy like when a fever breaks or after a long, unintentional sleep. As she stretched, her arms reached much further toward the sky than felt familiar and her elbow looked like two braided strands of a large knotted tree. Dust and a flat Earth spread as far as Hailee could see. She blinked as if to wash away a dream. Whipping her head from side to side, looking for color, or shape, texture, and density, Hailee wanted to make sense of the empty world. Her movements sounded like stormy winds.

When Hailee’s heavy chin dropped to her chest with a thud, her feet were far, far away. She traced the contours of her body like peeks and recesses of a drought stricken hill. She was large like Gulliver washed up on the island. In the distance, she spied her toes. The light lemon sun picked up a glimmer in the dirty caked sand and Hailee folded in half to explore a shiny thing, partly buried but only mildly dulled. She thought it was a pebble and dislodged it with her thumb. Hailee gently rubbed away the clumps and the soft gold lit up under pressure from the two digits she used to methodically caress away the grime.

The rock was a bulbous heart-shaped moon, a gold locket that she closed around like a fan. Hailee heard the frenzied buzz of insects singing in the melodious night which was humid like a sweltering city July and the treasure in her palm started to thump like something alive. “Put it down! Put it down,” a beaconing chorus of angels chanted but Hailee felt possessive. She felt a pinch of greed creeping through her heart and she did not want to release her hand. Suppose it was a new kind of money.

But then the golden locket grew hot. It started to steam and turned the color of a black cracked casing glowing with molten lava. She smelled skin and the fiery nugget dropped back to the ground. Hailee knew she was a giant because as the gold tumbled, she watched it like a star falling down a stretch of open sky. She remembered, in just that moment, to be scared and the heart burst opened when it touched down. After one full silent pause, the massive planet shook underneath her.

Slowly opening at the hinges like a book on its spine, the locket sprayed a world into the air with the force of a tremendous geyser. Like spring returning after all the death of a long deep winter freeze, a garden unfolded and draped itself over the desolate landscape with a loud entitled breath of permanence. The moon-kissed surface let out a sigh that rang through Hailee’s ears, reminding her of an exhausted and well built lover, relieved of pretense and defenses.

She found herself at the mouth of a golden road made from youthful brown skinned bodies. The path stretched out before her like a brick-layers pride and teeth sparkled underfoot like the diamonds that shine from the grey of a fine high end cement. As she stepped along, the road personified and each square spoke its name, “Micheal, Tamir, Sandra, Freddie, Bre.” The cobblestones stood up and dusted themselves off, dressed to the nines and smiling. They laughed and hugged like neighborhood friends at a backyard barbecue party. Where each hero stood, a tree took root and Hailee sat at the base of their trunks crying a river that bled down the bark and ran into the soil. It was the only thing she could think of to do.

The forrest mocked her. No one heard Hailee crying. No one saw her at all. The trees waltzed in beautiful ball gowns and well tailored waistcoats that swept effortlessly across the ground. It was not fair. The rich fabrics whipped across her swollen face and the dancing creatures spun. “The Arts! The Arts!” they sang. The music slowed and servers delivered trays of wines, hors d’oeuvres and fluted glasses of champagne. Hailee’s tears were gigantic and firm. The clear blue elongated orbs landed with the high hollow reverb of vibraphone notes. They burst open like slow motion water balloons. Hailee’s grief was profound.

One of those droplets polished away at the soiled, open locket and from the pool of water, out reached a hand. It wrapped around her bony fingers, pulled up from some other time-scape and steadied itself in her grip. The locket was birthing sages that sprang up youthful and refreshed. The first was her soccer coach. “Racism is not your fault,” comforted the vibrant blond former mentor. “You are a perfect human form,” said the family pediatrician. “This too shall pass in time,” cooed the lady preacher and they all sat down on the bed of the new green Earth to demand both conflict and acceptance, the freedom to protest and the right to be confused out loud.

These human creatures seemed docile and loving but were actually anxious to spit poison darts through hollowed stalks from sunflower fields if new feelings proved challenging or unmanageable. That was just their unfortunate nature. But the tree-people were stately, proud and strangely undisturbed. They did not notice the haphazard tribe of fools. They did not hear the pleas or the unintended insults. In fact, the shrieking voices of confusion and shallow thought were forever lost to the wind.

The locket spread wide like the wings of a butterfly fluttering its curvy edges across the horizon. The open wings lit the atmosphere like sheets of translucent silver and gold. One gold locket plus one silver lining times (hate plus fear over greed) divided by Armageddon equals freedom minus destruction. This was the story of how Hailee used weeping and privilege to solve for X. The end.