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She told me that I couldn’t throw gravel. I ignored her. She was only a few inches taller than I was and I knew I could take her down if I needed to. So I kept throwing gravel. The only reason I was really throwing gravel was because I liked the word gravel. It had nothing to do with the actual rocks that I picked up from the driveway, handfuls at a time, and threw as far as I could. I had enough sense not to throw gravel towards cars or people walking by. I wasn’t malicious. I just liked the word, I liked to think the word, I liked to say the word, over and over again, as long as no one was around. If someone was around I would toss the gravel, underhand, gently and whisper the word in my head. I didn’t want anyone to think I was crazy. But as soon as they disappeared, I would throw the gravel overhand and try, with each handful, to throw farther than the last handful. It was a contest against me. I wouldn’t let anyone else play with me, this was a private game. It was a solitary game. I had started throwing gravel one summer day when I was standing in my bedroom looking out over the driveway trying to decide what to do. It was just hot enough upstairs that I figured I would be better off downstairs or outside. So, in front of my open window, the sash blowing ever so gently in the nearly non-existent breeze, I decided between downstairs and outside. I looked down at my driveway, so empty with both cars gone, and the rocks were catching the sunlight and they looked like they were dancing. I thought about dancing and then I thought about gravel, and started saying the word gravel over and over again in my head. And then I said the word gravel out loud a few times, softly at first, afraid someone might hear, and then louder because it sounded so good. It sounded so good that I couldn’t stop, and so I decided outside over downstairs, and went down the stairs to get outside. When I opened the front door and stood momentarily on the porch in the shade I saw the gravel was still dancing and seemed to be wiggling its hips as if enticing me off of the porch. So I walked down the porch steps and on to the gravel driveway and stomped around for a minute, listening to the crunch of gravel. Then I picked up a handful and spread my fingers, listening to the gravel fall onto more gravel. Soon I was picking up the gravel by the handful and throwing. Nothing had ever felt so good. The gravel was warm from the sun, and I watched it fly and dance in the air before falling into the grass and disappearing. I started a song about gravel and was dancing and singing until I fell down in exhaustion and lay on the gravel, so warm, and I could feel each individual piece in my back.