Z
zeloypia “n. fantastical enthusiasm in advocating a cause, or carrying out an enterprise.” (Webster’s)*
One of my earliest memories. I must have been three or, at most, four years old. There’s a boy in our driveway. The boy is visiting with his father who stands on the gravel talking with my father. The boy must be about my age. I circle him, achingly. I want to give him something, as if giving him something will close the gap between us. I have nothing to give him except, in my pocket, a bobby pin. It’s not enough to give him a bobby pin. I circle and circle the boy until he and his father leave and I am still circling with a shy, aching approximation of love: the way I feel as I attempt to finish writing this novel.
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