Euphoria

by Lily King

My brothers didn’t make it look easy. John agreed to everything my father said, and Martin next to nothing. Neither road looked all that sunny to me, so I was happy to sprawl in my mother’s lap for a good long time.

Its bark had shed and the trunk was smooth and streaked with orange and bright green and indigo.

‘It’s that moment about two months in, when you think you’ve finally got a handle on the place. Suddenly it feels within your grasp. It’s a delusion—you’ve only been there eight weeks—and it’s followed by the complete despair of ever understanding anything. But at that moment the place feels entirely yours. It’s the briefest, purest euphoria.’

What she said that night comes back to me at least once a day. Have I ever said anything to anyone that has come back once a day for 8 years?

And maybe I will never find it all in one culture but maybe I can find parts of it in several cultures, maybe I can piece it together like a mosaic and unveil it to the world.