I found a rock today. Actually it was more stone like because it was rather large and heavy. I don’t know what it was about that stone but I immediately tried to pick it up. It took me a while but I hoisted it on my shoulders and walked all the way home with it.
The rock was mine. I found it therefore it belonged to me. I used to take it everywhere with me: school, store, family functions. The stone and I were best friends and were damn near inseparable.
After a while though, people began to talk. I didn’t care at first because I was very proud of my stone but after a while it started to annoy me. Then it began to infuriate me. Everywhere I go I could tell people were just talking about me or about to start talking about me now that they had seen me. The stone had gotten lighter through the years but now it seemed like a burden on my shoulders. One day I just didn’t feel like lifting up the stone anymore so I left it in my room by itself.
I never stopped liking that stone. In fact, while it remained dormant in my room I began to paint it extravagant colors. After a while that wasn’t enough. I began to paint certain designs on it then elegant fabrics were applied. It got to the point where it didn’t even look like the stone anymore but that was ok with me. I thought it had finally reached the point where I can take it in public and people wouldn’t laugh or make snide comments behind my back.
On my way to town for the first time I crossed over a bridge that went over a stream. I stopped for a while and thought and then looked at my stone. It was the first time in years that I had actually remembered what it actually was. I looked over it again and began to lament what it had become. This fake imposter of a rock that no longer resembled anything it used to. I became immediately ashamed of what I had done to it and without thought I threw it over the railing and into the water.
I wrote this short story because of the book we are currently reading Fun House. The father, whom this book it mostly about, makes dirty things and makes them shine like gold whether it be their house, garden, or family photo. However all of these things have a fake feel to them. I don’t know whether he killed himself or not but I think after a while he may have just come to the realization that everything in his life way a lie. It was all colorful paint and giant curtains to cover up what was really there. I think maybe a sudden realization of such a fact would make anyone “jump back”.