When I was in 5th grade my small group of friends and I would hang out in the woods during recess, away from the eyes and ears of the bored faculty monitor. There was a small creek. We would talk. Step on stones. 

(REWORK THIS PARAGRAPH)

We didn’t have words or an understanding for it yet, but we were outcasts. The girls who, in high school, the next time I’d be with these people (after an unwilling stint in private school, very related to all this information), would be similarly at the boundaries of the school—but this time smoking a joint or performing for boys.

I can’t remember most of what we talked about, but I do remember lying, quite a bit, about supposed occult experiences. I don’t really know what I do or don’t believe in respect to the occult/paranormal, but I do know that I’ve never personally experienced anything that implies there is anything suspect or mysterious happening just below the veil of our perceived reality. By the creek, though, I spun tales about wandering into the woods behind my house, picking up a black rock, and passing out.

<go back>