i don’t know why i crawled through wet and muddy grass in dry-clean only clothes.
rainy school day in the middle of the beautifully manicured grounds, i was faced down in the grass. blades of grass like razor blades on opened skin, i cried with helplessness and biological turmoil.
escorted by pseudo-caring teachers to the safety of the office and the promise of mum. i lost my way into a garden of many azalea bushes.
wet mulch, wet leaves, wet flowers, wet me.
i took off clothes as a nod to my non-conformity. an audience of five on the edge of the garden. i laid down in wet mulch, wet leaves, wet flowers, wearing only stockings and bra. wet me.
sad me. crying me. screaming me. screaming so that everyone could hear.
why did i do that? and in dry-clean only clothes…!
he entered the garden bed and scooped me up and put me in the car and didn’t say a word and left me and i put the radio on and i kept crying and ‘let it be’ was on the radio and mum drove me home.
and i was fine.