June Third

   "What's been going on?" An old friend inquires honestly, I shrug, several times.
Cut to: sitting outside on a dirty plank of wood watching my brother from afar. He explains the origin of weed, its strains, lands, and dominant and recessive traits, comparing it to kids. He describes an epiphany to me that he had on an acid trip that he really finds plausible, and he tells me that he could do it if he was prepared to forfeit his need for power. 
   "I feel like you've been hiding." She says tentatively, in a familiar parking lot, watching eyes look to mine. 
Cut to: me laying in the center of my bed on my back, head on two pillows, arms and legs straight, no light, no music, I blink and the hours roll by. I say to myself that I will remain in this house as long as I am possibly able. I sweep the concrete path, put a water dish out for the cats, or animals, try to kill bugs.
   "Come'on, that movie was awful." Someone I admire speaks through the phone passionately, while I agree, I also tell her that it too closely resembled my life. I say that I am practically back in my hometown writing young adult novels.
Cut to: Creating a movie scene in my head, and trying to word it, the scene would be before and after a dream, and my phone has been off for days. Cut to: Myself trying to learn Garage Band, splicing two songs together poorly for opening song for my movie that has a forth of a screen play, I wondered if my Microsoft Word program has run out of it's trial version.
   "I feel the same way." I read on my phone quickly, sliding it back in my pocket, feeling the whirl of unforgotten memories, briefly, publicly. 
Cut to: Me, anywhere, doing anything, stuck years back, replaying trivial, insignificant events and conversations repeatedly. 
   "How do you know that guy?" A far too friendly, very unfamiliar cashier asks me to my surprise.
Cut to: That Guy standing tall and naked in my bedroom, to the right of my bed, right in front of me sitting on it. He moved my hair, then continues to walk out the bedroom door.
   "People drew all sorts of things, one woman painted these elephants." My dad tells me, about his painting workshop, unaware of his trigger.
Cut to: Me in a dreamy state, laying on a plush white carpet, staring upwards in appreciation, there were massive painting on those walls I was so accustomed to. Among the others, right in the center, above the mantle there was an incredible painting, with color and detail beyond my grasp, oil painted elephants.