99.
My arms reached outwards, feeling the warm air cushioning each thick finger. I hopped from rock to rock. The stepping stones curled around the garden, leading to a wooden structure decorated with pensive flowers. I admired each corner, exploring it like another planet. I must be five years old. I squatted before a flat, brown plaque engraved with golden writing.
At this point I could read English well. I squinted, trying to cut off the harsh sunlight reflecting from the fine points of the metal.
"The stepping stones were used in Japanese Culture to inspire thoughtfulness, a slow pensiveness to seep through the walker's mind. As he reached for the next step he would have to balance and place it correctly, watching each progression through life as a parallel line with his voyage across the rocks."
Then there was a quote from a poem I could not decipher. I stood back up and hopped across the rocks, trying to think about my life. I was too young to think about it seriously. I thought of Tino and my friends. Their faces flashed in my mind, laughing or hitting playfully. Then I thought about the girl who stole my book and the boy who tripped me as I walked through the halls. I was a big boy at the time. I didn't know what inspired him to take me down. Maybe I was too much like a boulder: I fell and couldn't fight back.
I grew sad with each thought and began to skip rocks or accidentally squash small, plump flowers that grew along the rim of the road. Maybe that's when my life changed so much. I thought about it. I held on to the feeling. Then I let it drop.
I was both there and not. I could feel the rocks hitting the base of my foot as I landed ungracefully and I could watch as the sole of my foot made contact with the smooth surface, nearly slipping once or twice.
I was the actor.
I was the man in the movie theatre.
I was the producer.
I was the stranger outside of the movie theatre taking a late night stroll.
I was the sun.
I was the moon.
I was the sky and clouds and planes and cars and streets.
I was everything.
I was darkness.
I was light.
I was nothing.
I reached the end of the path where the lip of the cement road reached out towards us. I stepped on to it lightly, looking for someone, parents perhaps. I found them admiring a bonsai tree. I let them watch it.
The cement road sprawled past the small garden, to a barbed wire fence. I walked towards it and stopped just short, standing on my toes. I was a large child, but I still could not see over the fence. I managed to find a spot not packed with kinky black coils and peer through.
An empty expanse opened up, swallowing any plants or warm sunshine. Packed dirt surrounded a gray building without any colors. I tried to look past and saw several cars with dark windows roaming past. I looked around the fence for a sign cautioning against electrocution. I found none. I touched the fence and pulled myself up higher so I could see a strip of clear land. My forearms trembled with the effort.
In front of the building I saw a man with a large mechanism slung across his back. He wore a cloth around his nose and mouth and dark glasses covering his eyes. The rest of his person was clad in dark colors. He roamed through a thin stretch of land. When he reached the end of his path his legs came together. Then he twisted in a singly, snapping movement and roamed to the other end. He did so three times in the time it took for me to give up. My forearms stung. I dropped back to the ground and rubbed the deep red marks from my hands.
I had seen these areas before. At school we called them "Protection Units". I did not understand what we needed protection against. Now I do.
My parents now went to explore the stepping stones. Father held mother's arms, hard and muscular. He adjusted his glasses. He was wiry and loose. Mother was compact and stern. Both loved beauty and photography and each other. I walked across to greet them. Mother patted my back and told me about how the Japanese held Tea Ceremonies and how each plant functioned. I listened and took in the information.
Shade seized us briefly. A passing cloud blocked the sun. Mother took her sunglasses from her pocket, blinking in the darkness. Father took me by the hand and led me out of the garden.
We entered a circle of bricks and flowers that defined the park. Mother stood behind me. She put her glasses on. The surface was smooth and black, glistening. I looked up, seeing a bent version of my reflection. My eyes were on either side of a bulging face, like a fish. I laughed at it. Mother laughed to. I felt the ground slip from under me, dragging me to a different time in my life. I submitted.
I enjoyed the feeling with my arms spread out like an airplane I once saw in a picture book.
