i hate bologna.
i also dont care much for yellow american cheese. (even
though caroline does.)
but if i take two pieces of white bread, a piece of
bologna, a piece of yellow american cheese, and a squirt of
ordinary yellow mustard, cut the crusts off and cut it in
half, not diagonally the way i usually cut my sandwiches
but just straight down the middle.. then all of a sudden, i
am 10 ten years old, sitting on kendras kitchen counter
with our legs dangling down reaching toward the cheap
concrete floor. elizabeth is hanging onto my swinging leg
and im wondering if their older brother is going to come
home from his nightly drinking and drug binge. we're
trying to decide whether we should take the city bus to
sarasota square mall, or just walk elizabeth down to the
god i remember after i moved here, sitting out at night on
the squeaky tire swing behind her room was so different.
instead of laughing together about which boy we wanted to
go to the next school dance with, i remember crying alone
because she was fucking her boyfriend and he hated her
lesbian best friend. i remember crying because even though
she hugged me and said she loved me no matter what, i saw
the uncertainty in her eyes when i told her i just broke up
with my first girlfriend. i remember vividly the
disappointment on her face when i came home late one
night. she was laying on the bed in yellow smiley shorts
and a black sports bra, reading of course. and i walked in
laughing with sam, we had been on the movie theater roof
smoking pot and i had promised her long before that i was
going to stop that. when i would call her night after
night at ashleys house when we were drunk and she got so
frustrated i almost lost her. and how did i lose her?
because i wouldnt go to her fucking wedding with this
hillbilly white trash redneck asshole who forbid her to see
me because i was a dyke freak.
i hate bologna and im never eating it again.