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Small

Last night we put more lights up on the house. They are supposed to be those hanging icicle lights, but fresh out of the box they do not hang, they mostly bunch up. We could have stopped to pull each strand down into it’s “proper” form, but I decided I like them better the way they are. Maybe it’s the Asperger’s, but the little bunches of lights (ours are blue) remind me of constellations, and I find that soothing somehow.

I’ve always liked going out to look at the stars. When I was young, my father would pack me and the telescope into the car and we’d go out to an old cemetery that had no lights around it and stargaze. I would lie on my back (probably on some unfortunate deceased person) and stare up and up into the dizzying heights of the cosmos. I very much enjoy doing that, and the feeling it brings over me. It’s the same feeling I get when I’m walking alone in a large city. I like that anonymity, and I like being small in the midst of something so much bigger. There’s a comfort in it I cannot describe, an easing of some internal pressure. It’s like feeling cradled in huge hands.

At home I am large indeed; one look from me can send people running from a room. Too, I am the person everyone comes to when something is needed, or needs to be done. I like being important, but wielding such power is also tiring. And when I get tired, I want to go away somewhere and be small again.

I’m sure the neighbors are all laughing at our tangle of lights, but I don’t care because they make me happy. I will go out every evening and stand in front of the house and look at my little blue constellations. I will breathe deep and know there are bigger things in the world, that although I am strong I do not have to always be the strongest, and that there are such things as quiet and space. And then I will go back inside, into the warmth and the crowd, take up my scepter and don my mantle once more.

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M

Writer/Screenwriter

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