You Smiled Before the Cemetery
Thursday went on and on.
I showered too long and fixed my hair too fast. I'm enjoying the crumpled, frizzy, and voluptuous things my hair can do. Before me, the slightly attractive guy in church on Wednesday night might have looked unkept in a red t-shirt. I'm slipping straps and heeling high-tops. He looked right past me.
My crazy hair, my tiara, and I sail up, down, and around. Necker and Fai are suitably impressed by new Beatles paperback, from 1964. Brittany didn't understand the signifigance of the year. What has she spent her whole life doing that convinced her that gays are disgusting, drugs are sexy, and anything popular is great?
Necker has Trivial Pursuit Junior. "Dork," says Fai. The two of them are so good together that they've worn it out completely. It's a nice rut, even if they could stand to break it sometimes. Zebras are black with white stripes. Who knew?
I fail an examination, pass one, and walk upstairs. Our locker's shockingly empty. I cram my bag with the last notebooks. Those fugitive shoes of mine are still in residence, but there's not much chance of my being able to find Fai and appoint her their steward. I stuff them into my satchel.
Every one of my pictures are still taped inside the door. I try to get them off. Corners rip. I know I won't have time. Cursed desperation sticking down my escape. I tear out the ones I feel shouldn't be left. Sam. Alexis. Bouncy, Blue, Purple, and I. Then I take off.
Hours later I'm wearing new shoes and walking. "Have a good summer," says the neighbor boy on his bike as he sails past me. I've hated him. I wonder where he's been. Could that have been six years ago I loved him? We don't mention it. Look at us now, talking loud to make sure we hear each other behind our earbuds.
I'm dressed like the kind of girl who would beat you up. I couldn't. "You too," I say. The businessman who waits for me to cross the street is sort of fascinated when I wave to him. The old Indian woman is speaking loud Hindi to her plants as she turns the hose on the garden.
Sitting inside the doors of the library is Prissy. It's been a year to the day, and what a day it was, a year ago. Thursday, different people were shedding my same sobs. I check out Madonna's picture book.
It's summer. I can relax. It'll be good for my skin. I've been sunburned already, sometime inbetween jumping in the fountain, the cream soda, and that Beatles book. By Friday, I lost track of the date. Lots of people told me my hair smells nice. The weekend's gone on and on.
I showered too long and fixed my hair too fast. I'm enjoying the crumpled, frizzy, and voluptuous things my hair can do. Before me, the slightly attractive guy in church on Wednesday night might have looked unkept in a red t-shirt. I'm slipping straps and heeling high-tops. He looked right past me.
My crazy hair, my tiara, and I sail up, down, and around. Necker and Fai are suitably impressed by new Beatles paperback, from 1964. Brittany didn't understand the signifigance of the year. What has she spent her whole life doing that convinced her that gays are disgusting, drugs are sexy, and anything popular is great?
Necker has Trivial Pursuit Junior. "Dork," says Fai. The two of them are so good together that they've worn it out completely. It's a nice rut, even if they could stand to break it sometimes. Zebras are black with white stripes. Who knew?
I fail an examination, pass one, and walk upstairs. Our locker's shockingly empty. I cram my bag with the last notebooks. Those fugitive shoes of mine are still in residence, but there's not much chance of my being able to find Fai and appoint her their steward. I stuff them into my satchel.
Every one of my pictures are still taped inside the door. I try to get them off. Corners rip. I know I won't have time. Cursed desperation sticking down my escape. I tear out the ones I feel shouldn't be left. Sam. Alexis. Bouncy, Blue, Purple, and I. Then I take off.
Hours later I'm wearing new shoes and walking. "Have a good summer," says the neighbor boy on his bike as he sails past me. I've hated him. I wonder where he's been. Could that have been six years ago I loved him? We don't mention it. Look at us now, talking loud to make sure we hear each other behind our earbuds.
I'm dressed like the kind of girl who would beat you up. I couldn't. "You too," I say. The businessman who waits for me to cross the street is sort of fascinated when I wave to him. The old Indian woman is speaking loud Hindi to her plants as she turns the hose on the garden.
Sitting inside the doors of the library is Prissy. It's been a year to the day, and what a day it was, a year ago. Thursday, different people were shedding my same sobs. I check out Madonna's picture book.
It's summer. I can relax. It'll be good for my skin. I've been sunburned already, sometime inbetween jumping in the fountain, the cream soda, and that Beatles book. By Friday, I lost track of the date. Lots of people told me my hair smells nice. The weekend's gone on and on.
posted by Anna at 5:38 PM
2 Comments:
Oh, yes, it was fun.
We should get together and play Psychiatrist again sometime...
And dear Anna, dear Anna, why do you hang out with Brittany if you scorn her so?
haha, man, you are lost without me aren't you? Call Sometime Doll, if I'm not here, I'll get the message, I just forgot your phone number, otherwise i would have called you today, anyway, I'm sure you miss my company,(sarcasm) I'm less of an ass. I was just sort of an ass then, it's all better. anyway, don't despair, life is wonderful
Post a Comment
<< Home