Wild Things

Wild Things

“Got any matchbox cars in there?”  Thom asks.

I put fake curls on my head and he cracks a smile.  He helps me pull out other things from the box, mostly books and a couple of National Geographic magazines I stole from my other aunt.

We look through the magazines at pictures of lions roaring.  I had read that D.H. Lawrence said he never saw a wild thing that was sorry or something like that.  

“I wish I could morph into something so fearless that could flee this place and Soccer Boys and Mondays at new schools.”

“I would be very sorry if you turned into a lion,” Thom says.

“Why?”

“Because then you wouldn’t be able to stay.”

I smooth my cheeks back with my hands and pretend I’m putting on a lion’s mask.  Then my nose twitches as I sniff the air.  My eyes grow big and I look around the room, but it is not a room anymore, it is the jungle, and the floppy canvas purse in the corner has snacks.  In seconds, I pounce on top of the bag and swat at it with my paws.  Thom thinks it’s funny when I try to pull a moon pie out with my teeth.  And then we both turn into lions.  That pie is gone in milliseconds.

“Can I borrow your lion?” Thom asks.

He points to the family of fierce looking lions on the cover of the magazine on the floor and then disappears with it tucked underneath his arm, and I return to playing with the synthetic but strangely real feeling hair on my head.  I wander around my giant new cave with its own bathroom.  How long will we be allowed to stay this time?

I straighten and comb out my disguise and glance long enough at my reflection to see that I don’t look ridiculous.  It is as if I am dressing up for crazy hair day again or maybe I am a circus clown instead of a lion and I’m going to the new school, Denman high, to entertain the students at a large assembly.  Wouldn’t it be prettier for me if either of these things were true?  Both seem like better fortunes than what I imagine will happen if Soccer Boy recognizes me and points me out to all of his friends.

When I look back in the mirror, I see a fairy twirling the ends of my new faux mane.  I start thinking about earrings and what color to paint my nails and soon more fairies drop by to help me peel back the layer of brightness in the room.  We close the blinds and turn the lights down low.  I blow a kiss to the fairy in the mirror.  She has twisted and twirled my pink hair into a ponytail.  She whispers to me about learning how to fly.  I lean out of my doorway and listen to the sound of my voice vibrate the walls down the long hall.

“Thom, show me your tallest trees.”