Fall Autumn, Fall
I like collecting.
To be concise, I like collecting seasons.
There are only four, you might say, but only an experienced collector like me would tell you contrarily. Not all seasons are created equal.
sure, there's 4 factions that they can be grouped into. Spring, summer, fall ,winter, like any "normal" person would say.
But I'm hardly normal.
I'm Autumn, I'm mute, and I think I'm okay.
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Any mute person would tell you that they can talk. But how many mute people have you talked to?
Caught you off guard, didn't I?
I remember the day I was born. That's not something you hear everyday, but I do. I remember that it was chilly, but there was a warmth to the cold, like the wind almost felt bad for you. According to Mum, the day I was born was September 27th. Fall.
And thus, the first season I collected.
Fall is an interesting choice, Mum always told me. She said that if Mother Nature had any perception, she would mark down my name sometime in January, preferably New Year's.
"A fresh start for all of us, Autumn," she said.
Mom and Dad had a child before me, but he was born dead. When they found out I was mute, they weren't much happier. But I was alive.
Mom told me that I was always meant to be, and I believe her.
She told me that New Year's is a new beginning, but I think Fall is just as good. Fall is a new start too. The leaves turn brown, then cascade towards the floor, leaving room for newer, better things. I picked up a leaf that year. That was my beginning. This collection's beginning
The next season I collected was Spring.
See, I skipped Winter. When I collected Spring, It was 5 years after Fall.
The First Spring was a joyful one. A simple one. A tiny shard of red and white checkered fabric, from a picnic under a monster white oak, leaves swaying in the breeze.
It was around this time that I made my Box.
In kindergarten, I was told that boxes were for collecting things. My Box was for seasons. My teachers probably would have laughed if I told them. But I didn't say anything. One of the benefits of being mute.
My Box was wonderful. A shoebox, really, painted with splotches of beautiful auburn, green, white and blue. The leaf went in, and so did the picnic basket.
Winter, as it turns out was harder. After 2 more years of pondering, I thought that I should just be at least a little normal, and collect a little snow or something. Turns out I should have paid attention when teachers taught me about changes of state.
So one more year passed, and as Winter rolled around again, I was ready. That year was particularly difficult. Mum died, and her funeral was on New Year's Day. So much for new beginnings I thought to myself that day. I was holding the reception form, and I let a single tear drip down onto it. I saved the only tear I ever shed, and added it to my Box as Winter.
6 years passed. I had nearly forgotten about the Box, until one day, Dad and I were packing up to move houses, and I found it, stashed alongside the picnic baskets, the rake, and the wig.
I was so tired now, of collecting. So I made my decision. My last season, to complete 4, even though I wanted more. Summer, I decided, would be my last.
And I put it off. 1, 2 more years passed.
The whispers, the stares, the Mother's Days.
Until finally.
Enough was enough.
With Box in hand, down to the lake I went, in a simple jacket and shorts. Just before I jumped into the water, I put a single, heat-worn, lake-smoothed rock into the box, heavy enough so the box sank. Using the shoelace that came with the shoebox, I tied it to my wrist.
And jumped.
In the water, my voice sounded so much more clear to myself. If only everyone else could hear.
fall like a leaf
so quick, so brief
fall autumn, fall
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Just so we're clear here.
I am not mute.
My name is not Autumn
I am not dead
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