Goat Dance

She remembers the day...the exact moment...she awoke. She was fifteen and she'd come home from shopping with her friends. She'd bought ring, a cheap gaudy ring, an absurd ring with a cloudy, misshapen stone that looked to her like the head of a goat. She'd bought it simply because it pleased her. Because it made her smile. Because it spoke to something inside her, spoke to some cloudy, misshapen, goat-headed aspect of her being.

"You don't like that," her mother said. But yes, she did. "You're not going to wear it." But yes, she was. "Your friends will make fun of you," her mother said. And yes, they had.

And it bothered her. But not enough to give up the ring. And that was the moment, that was when she awoke. She realized a thing could be cloudy and still provide clarity, a thing could be seen as misshapen and still be perfectly formed. She awoke and determined never again to go back to sleep. She would live her life the way a goat dances, gamboling and leaping, assured of her balance.

Others would understand. Or fail to understand. Or be cruel. Or be proud. She'd continue to care about those others, and she'd smile or weep or rage or laugh at what they'd say. But that ring would always make her smile.

posted by greg @ 4:22 PM