I Came from the Swamp

I Came from the Swamp

When I was around six or seven, I would wake up early and eat a quick breakfast and do what I did best, disappeared.  I was a little girl who learned early the magic trick of vanishing.  I was a master of illusion.   I had two favorite spots that hid me well and kept me for the better part of any day.  One place was full of enchantment and will remain my secret, but I will tell you the other place, the habitat where I happened from.  I came from the swamp.

I am not sure how many acres my childhood home rested upon.  Where we dwelled, it was commonly referred to as the Boon-Docks.  To this day, I don’t think that was anything good or of great respect.  Kind of like being from the ‘Sticks’.  The backyard was big to a small girl like me.  Willow trees dotting the yard, a big vegetable garden and lots of grass.  The very back of our grassy yard was a Swamp.  It was a nice sized Swamp.  Beyond the Swamp was a hill, more grass and woods, but that is another story, todays tale is about Swamp.

I loved Swamp.  She was full of tall grasses, cat tails, reeds and water.  In the summer I would look for bigger puddles that had a bit of depth so I could splash and cool off.  In the winter these small bodies of water would freeze and I would slap on my ice-skates and skate over them, pretending to be Dutch and this is how it must have felt to be a little girl skating the canals in the Netherlands.

It didn’t matter what time of year it was.  The grasses were always high enough to hide my existence.  I would make forts in the grass and connect one fort to another with secret paths that no one, even my snoopy sisters could find.  If I could snitch some food from the pantry it was a perfect day in my Swamp.

I was not allowed to play in the Swamp.  There were tall tales that children who played in swamps got headlice and worms and perhaps some other cootie that was not conducive for little girls.  I was a brave little girl who threw caution to the wind.  Bring on the lice, worms didn’t scare me and cooties were something only boys had. 

The Swamp was my refuge.  My safe place to play the hours away by myself and away from the chaos that life sometimes drops on little kids.

It did come with its risk.  Saturday morning cartoons would have to be skipped for an early departure from the house under the cover of early morning and the rest of the house still in bed sleeping.  Eventually my lack of presence would be noticed.

“Chrrriiissss!”  Usually a sister first would yell for me from the back door at the insistence of my mother.

I always ignored my sisters. 

“Chrrriiiiissss, mom wants you.”  She would yell.  “NOW!”

Still ignoring.

Sometimes it ended there.  Other times it kept going.

“You’re going to get it.  Mom’s coming and she is mad.”

Still, unfazed.  Afterall, I was invisible.  

“Christina Marie, where are you?”  Mother would yell from the kitchen window.

“I’m over here.”  I would yell back.

“Where?”

“OVER HERE”

“Where goddamn it?”

“I told you, over here by the tree.”

Now sometimes that actually worked.

“Well get your ass in here and clean your room.”

“Ok.”  I would yell with not one intention of leaving my beloved Swamp.

Sometimes that actually worked.  I think she just wanted to make sure I was still alive.  Besides, one of the three curtain climbers were out from under her feet and the other two didn’t bother her as much as I did.

There were times where I had to dig deep into my bag of tricks.  Sometimes you can’t fool everyone all the time.

It went a little bit like this.

“Where are you, goddamn it?”

“I told you, over here, by the tree.”

“What tree?  I can’t see you?”

“Well, I can see you.  I am looking right at you and you are looking right at me.”

“Yeah, what am I doing right now?”

“Standing on the porch yelling at me.” 

What a smart ass.

“What am I wearing?”

“Your bathrobe, the light blue one.  I can see through it and you’re not wearing any underwear.” 

 I could really push buttons.

There were times where it would end right there.  Sometimes it continued like this.

“Where are you?  You better not be in that swamp; I will give you a spanking with the belt if you are in there.”

Always, like a great magician, I had plenty of tricks up my sleeve.  While keeping the dialog going, I was able to sneak out of the swamp and come up from behind the garage without being seen.  That’s where throwing my voice came in.

“See, I’m right here.”

“What are you doing down there?  You said you were over by the tree.”

“I am, look.”  I said pointing to the nearest tree. “See?”

“You’re not supposed to be down there.  Get up here and play where I can see you.”  She would snap.

I would shrug my shoulders and wait it out.  Eventually, she would go back inside and I suspected she was watching me from a window to see if I would go back to my Swamp. I was a kid and contrary to what adults think, we do have patience. 

Eventually, enough time would pass and I would climb back into my Swamp.  My refuge.

As I grew, I had to up the magic.  Eventually magic can be deciphered or at least part of the illusion can.  I would work harder. 

“Where are you?”

“I told you, I am over here by the tree.  Look, I am waving my hat,” I sometimes hid a hat in the willow tree.  “can’t you see me?”

“No!” 

“Oh my god woman, look.”

She would just scream something loaded with anger and frustration and go back into the house.  I knew I was being deceptive.

It didn’t always end there.

My Swamp was my home.  The place where I felt safe.  There were no unhappy times ever in my Swamp.  Swamp could cradle me and hide me from the dangers of the world.  The reeds and tall grasses told me stories and sang me songs.  The water cooled me and yes, like all kids, I drank from it.  The Swamp was a part of me because I grew out from her.  It gave and I took.  I wanted the Swamp to be my home.  Looking back, I clearly see it was.

There were times at the end of the day that my magic was weak from an entire day of frolic.  Every now and then I was found out, for whatever reason. Oh man, did those butt whooping’s hurt.  I deserved them, perhaps.  Perhaps not.  What I do know for sure, it never stopped me from going back home to my Swamp the next day.

I wonder, does my Swamp remember me?  Would my Swamp recognize me?  Does my Swamp miss me?  I miss my Swamp.

I came from the Swamp, because the Swamp was my refuge.