- Vol. 08
- Chapter 11
A boyfriend once called me his tangerine delight. Bright, round and ready to eat. Teachers filled my report cards with positive adjectives. And when I toddled curiously between giants, gripping wooden legs, falling on soft, woollen fibres, people would say, "what a happy baby she is."
I smiled even when my vegetarian lasagne slid off the tray and landed on my neighbours’ lap. I smiled when blue skies turned to black and when four hours later I woke to turbulent waters beneath.
Smiles fixed like a permanent feature until someone in this unfamiliar country said I smiled too much. Is that even possible? I beamed until other people did not beam back and my upturned mouth and defined cupid’s bow caused suspicion.
Midnight wannabe curve tried to run over me. Its success short-lived. I rolled upwards, bioluminescent as citrus juices dripped downward. Despite and because of its opposition to excessive happiness, I reached the summit where you can still find me today.