Zoe sat quietly by the side of the road, she sat upon her throne—a rock large enough to be that throne. It was larger than a chair, but not as big as a mountain. 

The rock had been there for generations, but only there for Zoe. The throne was her best secret, one of many, we’ll come to find out. She wouldn’t tell you about the time she crawled under the road or the time she kissed Billy Joe on the cheek because he made her laugh. That was a rare, spontaneous moment; usually, she planned things more carefully.

She first found the throne while hiding from her older brother. It had a sort of seat carved by time on itself. It was not soft, as you would imagine with a rock. She spoke to it, listening for its story. 

She guessed its story began long before humans, maybe even before the dinosaurs. Rocks came first, after all. Rocks come in all shapes and sizes, just like people, and they evolve, too, over time, yet always keeping their personality from their inception. 

Zoe thought it was silly that people didn’t see how similar rocks and humans were. Or maybe they did, and she just hadn’t learned it in school yet. “Stupid school,” she told her rock. “They never teach the interesting stuff.” Zoe saved her best thoughts for her rock instead. That’s why she always stopped at her throne, lost in the woods for all to find—but only Zoe did, because others were too busy to notice.

Zoe didn’t mind keeping the rock to herself, a place to meditate in the quiet woods when the noises became too loud. She slept on the floor at home. She likes hard surfaces, yet she is not hard herself, but rather, she is gentle and kind. Kind, like the time she sang to a bird that landed on her throne. Every spring, she waited for the bird, but one year it didn’t return. She shouted her song, “Three Little Birds Upon My Doorstep,” hoping it would hear, but the bird never came. The throne and Zoe sat there crying together. After that, Zoe brought her sketchbook and sketched whatever she saw, like the bear she never finished drawing. We aren’t sure if that’s where the story ended.

Zoe shared her stories with her throne: a princess who saved herself, a dinosaur who only slept on Sundays, a frog who wore goggles because he hated getting water in his eyes. She offered snacks to the rock. It was passive, receptive, and reserved, yet it listened in a way only a throne sharing the DNA of a little girl could. Sometimes, Zoe yelled, “Why won’t you listen to me? You never listen!” But all the throne did was listen. She threw pebbles at it when she got mad, and the rock stood silent, accepting.

Zoe wondered if she could ever be as wise as her throne, feeling sorry for herself. 

She sat beside it, dejected. She wondered if she could ever have a best friend like her throne.“But you don’t even have a name, do you?” she whispered. The throne, as per usual, didn’t reply.

“If you won’t tell me your name, I’ll name you myself. You’re…you’re…you’re… stupid. No, I’m sorry. That was mean. You didn’t deserve that. I’m the stupid one.” She slapped herself in the face. “I want to call you…” She paused, a frown creeping over her face as she noticed the fresh spray-painted letters: Kilroy was here.

“Kilroy? Who’s Kilroy? Do you have other visitors? Aren’t you loyal to me?” she demanded. “Fine. I’ll call you Traitor!” And she crossed her arms across her body and pouted.

Then she looked at her rock with sympathy, “Oh, you didn’t invite Kilroy.”

 “Oh, I shouldn’t have gotten jealous. I’ve known you for years and yet don’t know anything about you…your name. Why won’t you tell me your name?” She admired its soft shades of gray and how the sunlight danced on its surface, speckled through the trees. She rubbed her hand across its surface.

Zoe turned to look at her throne, “I know! I’ll call you Dusty.”

Dusty sat there pondering its new name as a breeze swirled leaves around them, brushing dust into Zoe’s eye.

“Oh, you don’t like the name? How about Felicia?” She giggled as a downpour began, soaking them both. They laughed together, Zoe and her rock. She leaned down, gave it a kiss, and said, “See you tomorrow, Amon, the hidden one.” And Zoe skipped away.