Terrifying Truth Number 3

 

Terrifying Truth

 

I live in a yurt. Not many people do. If you've never been inside one, there is something important to know: there are no corners.

My bathroom is round. No corners. My bedroom is round. No corners. I have no closets because I could never build one without creating a corner.

The walls of my yurt curve like waves on an ocean, flowing continuously around me. Nothing interrupts their movement. No sharp edges. No angles. No corners.

I live alone. I work alone. I work in my yurt.

I have a garden where I grow fruits and vegetables. It, too, is round. No corners.

I do not drive. There are too many corners where streets meet, too many sharp angles in the world. When I go into town, I walk with an almost unconscious avoidance of corners. I stay away from the edges of buildings and where walls meet. I weave left and right, always moving in a curved stride.

There is a method to my movement.

There is a reason.

He grabbed me and twisted my arm.

“You will do what I say, or you can stand in the corner until you do.”

I am shaking.

He dragged me to the corner and pushed my face between the two walls.

“You will eat what we give you. If it is liver and onions, then you will eat it.”

I close my eyes as he pushes me deeper into the corner.

He huffs, then walks away.

This was my daily upbringing.

My mother was silent.

My sister was silent.

My father was raging.

And I learned, very young, that corners were not simply where two walls met.

They were where fear lived.

The Terrifying Truth is that sometimes, I miss the corners.