It shakes when I try to keep still.
I don’t know when my pinky started doing that.
It just did.
It just does,
reminding me that I have no control.
The most inconsequential part of my body,
and it has the audacity to disrupt my morning.
I’m actually pretending I don’t exist, so could you leave me alone?
I lay awake restless.
My pinky is a proud maestro, queuing in the others,
both hands now loudly shaking.
As I quake, I’m reminded I have a body
that refuses to be silent.
It takes after my mind.
How inexplicably rude of my body to remind me of its existence
and my little control over it.
Let me be anywhere but here.
My eyes take in light but no information.
Vibrations hit my ears, but no sound is heard.
I’m left with no registration of where I am,
who I am, or what I want.
But every time, as if on cue,
the deafening demand for my body to shake
wakes me from my momentary daze.
There you go again, you little shit.
How meek is my pinky.
How irrelevant is my pinky.
It’s not even pink.
What a liar is my pinky.
It won’t stop moving
and as long as that happens,
I’m reminded I exist.
Maybe one day I’ll say, “thank you.”
Genevieve Swanson is a senior at DePaul University, studying Theatre Arts Directing. Although she is mainly a playwright, she likes experimenting with new forms of writing. Her position as Head Writing Fellow at the University Center for Writing-based Learning encourages her to continue to explore and grow as a writer.