Stop Signs

Do I know how to do this? To write once I’ve followed a golden thread, or do I only know how to write as a student does: crafting sentences that will please a teacher or a professor and earn that much coveted A?

Learning that you are a victim of crimes against humanity shakes you. It shakes you awake with the vehemence of an older sister who needs you to be in the car before she can get behind the wheel, back out of the driveway, and descend to the stop sign, which will be the first of many encountered on the way to school.

How many stop signs are there in an average life? “Stop playing; it’s time to come inside for your bath!” That’s one of the earliest I remember, but there have been thousands of others. Most of them come down to some form of “Stop dreaming; you need to make a life that is approved.” I was so good at that, until one day, I didn’t come to a complete stop. I slowed down and then rolled on through the empty intersection. It must have been liberating in some way, because I started to do it more often, taking bigger chances, going faster, barely tapping the brake, until I arrived where I am now: in a house filled with books and young people that shelters me from a world obsessed with those red and white hexagons.