Acquired Taste: A Descriptive Essay

Sun beats down on gravel, the heat from it bouncing against the rocks and faint steam floated off the rough surface, its coarse redness contrasting with the blue sky and the clouds that dotted it. Large piles of small, smooth and uniform rocks were placed on random spots in our backyard, lining the ends of the path of gravel and towering over me like a mountain. I climb to the top, my toes covered in dust and the strap of my slipper hanging by a thread, almost breaking. I gather handfuls of stones in my frail hands, throw them up into the air and run away with my head ducked under my hands. I almost trip.

Parked against the walls and in front of the aging house with creaking floorboards and leaking faucets where workers would stay at night were massive trucks that were ridden with rust and soil, their headlights and bumpers akin to faces that stared into my soul and met me in my dreams at night. I heard their roars during the day, loud and hoarse, shaking the walls of my bedroom in the morning. I thought they were alive.

My shirt stuck to my back, sweat trickling down the sides of my face and weaving its way through my thin messy hair as I ran across the backyard, my knees bending in awkward positions because of the uneven ground. It didn’t stop me from going faster. I slipped in between the tires of a dump truck, gasping for air in narrow breaths. The pungent smell of oil and rubber coated the insides of the truck; large metal mugs hugged the wheels and protected it from the sun like an oven. Clumps of dirt from in between the creases of the tires clung onto the back of my shirt as I press myself against it and I hold my breath as my brother walks past me shouting ‘come out come out, wherever you are!’ He never finds me.

Then I scramble to my bike, throw a leg over the seat and peddle until I hear the gears scream in protest and let out a soft wheeze when I stop and glide and my sweat dries.

The space is never big enough, so I ride back and forth between the rocky backyard and

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