What is your most treasured completely inconsequential memory? One that others would not find important at all.
I was embarrassed when I did this as a child, maybe no more then 11? 12?
To me, too old to play pretend with my grandmothers clothes, a fur coat bigger and almost heavier then I was, it felt.
Yet, still young at heart, young enough to imagine what it'd be like to be that curious cat, that adventurous leopard.
I came from the basement closet, walking on all fours, rawrs like a fearsome beast, approaching my grandfather who chuckled at the display. To which I promptly doft the jacket, cheecks flushed red at the humor found in my display.
I feel there was another, my mother possibly, maybe father? Doubtful though, most likely an uncle or grandmother perhaps, regardless, pointless to point out these miniscule details.
What stuck to me, stays to me to this minute moment is that memory. A sign, one of countless many more shaded, suppressed signs, that I was not meant for this skin. I wasn't destined to be a man, or woman, or person between, just a creature, an animal of the wild, spiritually linked to a cacophony of species unrelated to man.
And hear I stand, trot, pace down the sidewalk. Proud of what I am.
