mary van milligen

My oldest sister neglected to return her high school literature book to her teacher.

Its home became our shared bedroom closet.

I was 12.

I found the heavy bound collection of words and tried to comprehend the

Tantalizing, torturous, teachable text.  

I wanted to monopolize each read.

It became a game to me.

It made me take the board out of a box and line up all the pieces.

Look up perplexing vocabulary so I could conquer and enjoy the Indiana Ave of

Kurt Vonnegut,

discover Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women that originated on Pennsylvania Ave

and yearn to discover writers that resided on Park Place.

Playing and eventually stumbling, this community chest of literature became too

complex, and I could not pass Go.

At that age, I could not conquer the sheer fear of Shakespeare and his King Lear.

He doth made my head hurt.

I just assumed MacBeth would end in death.

I learned later, I was right.

I learned later, as in life, they blame the wife.

I learned later that “to be or not to be?” is a question I can’t always answer.

I learned later that music is the food of love and must play on.

I learned later that his words serendipitously saturate themselves with synchronicity into my soul and should be compared to a summer’s day.

I rolled the dice and moved six spaces forward and found Emerson and Thoreau.

I stayed there and wanted to buy more houses and hotels and invest in the property of their philosophy.

 Their ideas transcended me.

Questioning chronic conformity and wondering if it gets the best of me and all I see. Sparking reverent notions of defiance while creating an alliance with my shy friend named self-reliance.

 He handed me a permission slip to own my difference in thought that I , alone, could sign.

This abandoned, forgotten school issued text became an artifact of a holy land of human voice that I would showcase to my own students one day.

I learned later how to make the words dance off a page so they would care.

I learned later writing summons a safe sanctuary for them to share what they could not bear.

I learned later that my forgetful, oldest sister unlocked an unknown vault in me

that possessed a teacher

seizing a chance card,

flipping it over,

and collecting a future.