Lynxie

Dad never calls me Liz. I’m Lynxie after the great elusive wild cat. He says it’s because I’m fearless. I don’t get squirrely with snakes, mice, spiders, or even bats. I’m okay creeping from cabin to biffy on the deepest darkest moonless nights because to me it is only an extension of our living space. The walls are there to keep Mom happy. I don’t need them. When I was six I followed a firefly deep into the bush with no shoes on. Dad didn’t worry because I wasn’t lost. He knew exactly where I was because of my habitual singing and eventually I’d follow his voice home. He teases that I move about so well in the dark because I am kin to bats and dolphins due to my innate echolocation. He has it too.

Mom says she learned to sing so she could fit in with us but it never helped her navigate the woods like it does us. She hates most things that creep, slide, or skitter. She has a special hatred reserved for the long legged fishing spiders that tan on the dock. She has reconditioned an old flip-flop into a murdering device and has impeccable aim. Dock spiders have very short lifespans here. When she was a teen a dock spider decided that her long curly hair was a perfect place to suntan. She and her cousin Joyce lay side by side on the dock all greased up with suntan oil looking like two little hotdogs on a grill. Joyce rolled over and screamed and Mom lost it. So, we have a flip-flop-whack on the dock at all times.

I am just fine being Lynxie. I do often wonder if Dad had an ulterior motive for my nick-name. I could never be Wolfie because I have no pack. He is kind to say it is my fearlessness but I know my fear well because it is deeply rooted in my core. I am kin to the lynx because I’ve perfected the art of travelling undetected. No one sees me and that suits me well. I may be one with the forest but will never be one with the world. There are too many people in it.