OUTLINES
(originally published in Zygote in My Coffee)
by Michael Overa

I drew a square on the floor with pale yellow chalk, because yellow is all I could find. The chalk skipped over the seams in the hardwood, making small hiccups in the line.

There, I thought, I have a box.

Then I drew a line down the center of the box, lengthwise. I looked at the two rectangles. Then I halved the rectangles with a second line, this one running width-wise.

There, I thought, I have four boxes.

I tried standing with my feet placed in the boxes of opposite corners. Then I stood with my feet in adjacent boxes. I stood outside the large box and looked in on the four boxes. I knelt down and looked at the yellow dust. Licking my finger I erased the outside lines of the small box closest to me. I erased the sane outside lines of the box diagonal. Leaving only two small boxes touching at their corners. I redrew the lines and erased the corresponding lines on the other two boxes.

I'll redraw the lines, I thought, to see if the box has changed.

I redrew the exterior lines, and erased two of the smaller interior lines, creating one small box nestled in the corner of the large box. I colored in the small box with the flat of the chalk rather than the tip. The chalk made a deep sound as it rubbed over the boards, scattering more yellow dust. I stepped into the shaded box, looking down at my shoes.

I sat down outside of the box and took off my shoes and sox. I could still see the outline of my shoes in the yellow dust of the box. I could see the dust on the soles of my shoes. I stepped back into the box and the chalk felt dry and dusty, like baby powder. I crouched down and blew softly at the yellow dust. I looked out the window.

The wind is picking up, I said out loud.

Damp orange leaves pressed against the window.

Then I thought: I wish my box had blue lines.

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