Ties to the Past
Once there was a white house on top of a golden white hill that was always encapsulated by an off-white cloudy sky. In this house lived a woman who wore nothing but white and who prized a string of lovely white pearls around her meaty little white neck. She lived with another woman, her love, and together they spoke vivaciously of purity and the utmost beauty of the world in which they lived. This went on for many years, but for some reason they slowly grew apart.
One day Pearl was crying out of isolation. Lover never spoke to her any more, they rarely shared eye contact, and they hadn’t partaken in physical relations for several long months. On top of all of this Pearl had been missing her necklace for quite some time now and she blamed Lover for stealing it. Pearl had sunk so deep into depression that in a fit of rage she burned the house and ran away forever. Now all that remains is a charred hill and a gray smokey sky.
Anyways that’s the story of Pearl and Lover that my daddy used to tell me when I was really small. Now that I’m older I think it’s funny because Pearl lost her necklace and Lover was anything but. I guess the moral of the story is— if there is one— that your name, the cards you’re dealt, that kinda thing… that those don’t define you.
August 27th, 2013. Today I found and listened to an old cassette tape of me retelling the story of Pearl and Lover to the tape recorder dad bought me for my birthday. I felt I owed it to my past self, that long gone innocent child, to visit Black Hill and finally learn the truth. Many hours of hiking brought me to an untouched mountain of ash— a string of pearls rested neatly amid a heap of seared timber.