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You know that trust game where you fall backwards into someone’s arms because you know they are standing there waiting to catch you? It’s a trust game because you don’t really know them. That’s how it’s set up in team-building workshops. You don’t really know your “team.” Is this stranger going to catch me? I…

Yeah, you Droopy. You a sad dog.

Who the fuck Big Swole?

Castle Grayskull was a wooden bench swing just on the edge of the Evergreen Forest behind my grandparents’ trailer in Wewa, Florida. My grandma was Skeletor and sat on the swing.

The door was painted white so she wouldn’t see it, unless she could. She could. It wasn’t a dead ghost door. Even if it was a dead ghost door, she could see all ghosts.

I went under twice. Maybe it was because I felt sinful. Maybe it was peer pressure. Maybe I liked getting dunked, not drowning, having someone to lay me down in-between air and water, life and death, birth and rebirth. Maybe I wanted someone to hold me.