Volcanoes

At some point in my childhood I was briefly but intensely obsessed with volcanoes. I think it was a National Geographic article that inspired this passionate longing.

The topic came up in school not long afterwards. I remember sitting at my desk with this feeling of awe sweeping over me, a spark of self-righteous pride rising through me when the teacher mentioned the difference between lava and magma, because I already knew that. I was absolutely and irrevocably sure that this made me the most informed child in the world on volcano-related matters; the girl people would point at it in the streets and whisper, in part shock and part reverence, “She’s the one who knows about volcanoes.”

I had glorious dreams where my hometown was in terrible danger from a nearby volcano as it threatened to pour red-hot lava over us all; and somehow (this part was always hazy) I would save everyone through my immense library of knowledge about volcanoes and complete lack of fear, also while wearing a cape of some sort.

Then the next National Geographic magazine arrived, featuring an article about the fascinating creatures of the deep sea. I was wildly excited until I remembered that I was an appallingly pathetic swimmer and was somewhat frightened of the ocean.