I lucked out with a three day weekend that just happens to be Memorial weekend. This morning, I woke up without an alarm, which was glorious, but that’s where my relaxation ended. Once I was awake all I could think about was all the things I should get done with my free time. I should clean out the refrigerator, go grocery shopping, finish one of seven books I’m reading and on and on. I don’t know when I started feeling guilty about doing absolutely nothing. Am I alone in this?
Except, it’s not a forest — It’s just a section of the Reed College Canyon, a little oasis in the middle of southeast Portland. She has the day off and it’s not raining, which is an omen, so she takes the dog and her iPhone into the woods. She can’t hear the birdsong over Flo-Rida, but she imagines it’s beautiful. The dog tugs her along the trail, sniffing and chewing the tall grass.
It’s been a few months since she came down here. Then, it was cold and wet in the middle of Winter, but still green. Now, it’s obvious even to her, a city-slicker, that spring has touched this place. Small flowers of purple and white crowd together, moss covers fallen logs, bugs flit around her head and she pretends not to care. Every few steps the light hits the creek and shines in such a way that would look perfect on Instagram.
The thing about most autobiographical nonfiction is that the narrator is rarely alone. There are always other people and because nonfiction is, in theory, based on reality, those other people exist. And so when I wrote “Eve” it was hard for not me to wonder if my ex-boyfriend would every see it or wonder how he would feel about it. The truth is if I think too hard about who or what I’m writing about I probably wouldn’t write it.
But anyways, I’m excited to have this piece published at Nailed magazine and I’m excited that the first thing I published of nonfiction is so damn bold.