I’d come from digging a hole in the dirt, hands smeared with muddied earth, some making a home underneath my fingernails. They were always cut short and rounded to the tips so they wouldn’t clatter along the keys that I was impelled to practice on daily. Most days, my little heart just wanted to play; roll around in the grass and run through the woods as if they extended endlessly, becoming an overgrown forest of euphoria… a place where pockets of reality opened and I could become someone else–be somewhere else. Almost like I could go home at any moment.
As I poured water into the hole, I saw an earthworm wriggling into the tiny pool. The worm managed to move into this serous concavity, curling themself into a spiral as the liquid slowly seeped back into the soil. My eyes never left this coiled dragon. I went onto my belly, head resting happily in my palms, knees kicking, fixated on this marvel. They always knew to scrunch whenever human hands would touch them, cautiously, I poked. At first, I was offended then, a little scared, thinking I may have caused them pain. My index and thumb carefully pinched the smooth body, both ends squirming around until they writhed in the center of my palm. I could almost feel how old they were… how they knew Earth before the dinosaurs.
I would stare into their cylindrical bodies, seeing gestating dirt moving past the segmented band. How incredible it is that they can digest matter and create a substance full of nutrients that in turn, feed and nourish us. These narrow and depreciated alchemists can do what we noxiously tarnish. I enjoyed holding them, protecting them–appreciating them. Sometimes, I would gather them and see if they wanted to hang out together. I wondered if they were familiars in this vast landscape.
There was some part of my six year old self that knew these little beings were extraordinary, cupping them dearly in my hands, pleasured that they simply exist. Gently placing them back into the hole, piling dirt back on top of them, and wishing them, “good night.”
Later that year, I was drifting off into dreams, laying on the bottom bunk—I woke from limbo, face tingling. The room was dark and the hallway light was feint enough to somehow show my sister through the mattress, writhing above me. Something was following her movements, something viscous, unparalleled and otherworldly.
There was an chill in the air, crisp—uncertain. An air that only autumn knew. The gaps between tingling gradually grew, and pulses grew stronger. I realized I was losing control of my tiny body…
I was having my first seizure.