❝ I was the possession of my obsession. I both mattered and did not matter. Rather, the facets of my existence mattered but my perspective did not. I would close my eyes and run my hands over my face, my fingers skirting over each imperfection, repulsed by it all, intent on fixing each aspect, all of them ultimately immutable.

I remember the day the foundation of that obsession cracked. It didn't come tumbling down but it was the first fissure that would eventually lead to its destruction.

My aunt and I sat on her porch. She lived near the mountains and I was always glad to see her. She was far older than my parents, an age where the veins stood out on her hands and her spectacles hung on a chain.

Dearest, she said. She always called me dearest.

Yes, Auntie?

Dearest, today I feel like the mountain.

How so?

Look at it.

I did.

Isn't it beautiful?

I agreed.

With all its crevasses and pockmarks, the living things it cares for.

It's beautiful, I agreed.

My face, she said. My face has crevasses and pockmarks and I care for many things, like you, my dearest.

I was silent.

And so, I am beautiful. See how the sun rises behind it? And we are sheltered from the heat in its shadow. Look at its silhouette, does it not cut a fine figure?

I agreed, quietly. But the sun pokes out behind it, I said.

My aunt slowly stood

Indeed it does, dearest.

She walked in front of me. Between me and the mountain and the sun.

And don't I cut a fine figure? She said, leaning on her cane.

She did. I said as much.

She knelt down in front of me.

Auntie, your knees!

She smiled but ignored my concern. She held my face in her hands.

I love the mountains, she said. I love the valleys and the plateaus. The rivers and lakes. I love the geography of the land almost as much as I love the geography of your face.

She kissed my forehead, got up, and went inside. ❞

⸻ The Far Meridian, Ep. 8: A Fine Figure. Written by Eli Barraza, Directed & Sound Design by Mischa Staton