Originally from November 2, 2011
I settle into the grassy practice field to eat my lunch. Sounds of kids shrieking and laughing float towards me, settling on the edges of my bubble but never inside. In my space it's quiet. There is wind that fans through my hair, wiping scents into my nose of all the places it's traveled: clover, muddy grass, sweat, pizza crusts, seagulls. In my space there is the overwhelming rush of thoughts, feeli--
"Hey!" The voice bursts through my world.
It's Michelle, but I didn't see her approach from behind. Our buddy DJ trails behind her, signature Jack-in-the-Box meal in tow, his dirty blonde hair flapping in a sudden gust of wind.
"Hey," I greet them, smiling.
Michelle gingerly places her brown leather book bag on the ground next to me, inspecting it first for bugs or damp earth. DJ positions himself to her left so that we're a misshapen arc--like the Web of Weird Mr. Knabe lectured on in English class.
"I'm going to get sunburned," DJ grunts, shielding his pale face with his hand.
I glance around me at the empty field, wondering where Sarah is.
"Look at those faggots," DJ suddenly whines again. Michelle and I follow his gaze towards the parking lot on the far side of the soft-ball fields, where a group of wanna-be-gangsters are hooting and throwing fruit at each other.
"DJ, what did you just say?" Michelle asks, shocked. She leans toward him as if this will excuse the word as a simple misinterpretation.
I know DJ was joking though. "DJ," I squawk, a parrot: "Don't say that!" I wag my sandwich at him for effect.
We laugh, an uncertain sound because I'm not sure whether Michelle will take this as mockery.
"Hey, why don't we do that thing where we say exactly what we're thinking about each other?" DJ suggests, staring at the ground and pulling up grass with his fingers.
"Michelle," I say. She whips her head around and looks at me, waiting. Her eyes are brilliant jade in the sunlight, playful and fresh. "You're a dick," I joke. I think that's the first time I've ever said the word, but it comes out surprisingly smooth.
Michelle giggles, a nervous cackle. "You're getting good at that."
"I practice cussing every night, before I go to sleep. I go down the whole list, five times over, until I can say them all perfectly." I hope no one believes me; DJ is still too distracted by the first-class fruit-fight happening live near center field to even notice the joke.
"I hate them," he says suddenly. I was right.
"What do you think about Michelle, DJ?"
"I think she's a douche." He grins playfully, still looking everywhere but at Michelle me. I glance over at the progress of the rough-housing. Apparently the fight has elevated to a new level: one boy attempts to slam a soda can into another guy's pimpled face, but Pimple Boy ducks swiftly and gallops away hollering.
I'm tired. I slide down onto the grass until my head is resting on my backpack. Maybe I can get some sleep. Maybe DJ and Michelle will sneak a kiss while my eyes are closed.
"Somebody came up to me today and asked if I was suicidal. I told him 'no,' but that I hoped he was." I can tell by the voice that it's DJ.
"DJ!" Michelle's voice is full of disapproval. "How horrible. The guy knew you weren't serious, right?"
"Yeah, he knew."
"You're sure?"
"Yeah."
"Darn it," I budded in suddenly. "If you're ever suicidal DJ then let me know. I was hoping we could do it together."
I was hoping we could do it together.
An image entirely different soars down and lands inside me, ruffling its feathers gently. My cotton dress flutters like delicate rose petals. I can see DJ and I resting in the grass, alone, together, the afternoon sun massaging our backs. "You wanna do it?" I ask. "'K," DJ says simply; his usual response to any question. I start to slip my dress over my head, suddenly wanting him, wanting something I've never wanted before. "Stop," he murmurs, grabbing my wrist. "I wasn't serious."
I laugh again, ignoring the image a little bit, trying to pass the innuendo off as an accidental joke. "Get it, Michelle?"
I open my eyes and see her nod and smile, but DJ stays silent and still. I think I opened a door that should have stayed shut.
I settle into the grassy practice field to eat my lunch. Sounds of kids shrieking and laughing float towards me, settling on the edges of my bubble but never inside. In my space it's quiet. There is wind that fans through my hair, wiping scents into my nose of all the places it's traveled: clover, muddy grass, sweat, pizza crusts, seagulls. In my space there is the overwhelming rush of thoughts, feeli--
"Hey!" The voice bursts through my world.
It's Michelle, but I didn't see her approach from behind. Our buddy DJ trails behind her, signature Jack-in-the-Box meal in tow, his dirty blonde hair flapping in a sudden gust of wind.
"Hey," I greet them, smiling.
Michelle gingerly places her brown leather book bag on the ground next to me, inspecting it first for bugs or damp earth. DJ positions himself to her left so that we're a misshapen arc--like the Web of Weird Mr. Knabe lectured on in English class.
"I'm going to get sunburned," DJ grunts, shielding his pale face with his hand.
I glance around me at the empty field, wondering where Sarah is.
"Look at those faggots," DJ suddenly whines again. Michelle and I follow his gaze towards the parking lot on the far side of the soft-ball fields, where a group of wanna-be-gangsters are hooting and throwing fruit at each other.
"DJ, what did you just say?" Michelle asks, shocked. She leans toward him as if this will excuse the word as a simple misinterpretation.
I know DJ was joking though. "DJ," I squawk, a parrot: "Don't say that!" I wag my sandwich at him for effect.
We laugh, an uncertain sound because I'm not sure whether Michelle will take this as mockery.
"Hey, why don't we do that thing where we say exactly what we're thinking about each other?" DJ suggests, staring at the ground and pulling up grass with his fingers.
"Michelle," I say. She whips her head around and looks at me, waiting. Her eyes are brilliant jade in the sunlight, playful and fresh. "You're a dick," I joke. I think that's the first time I've ever said the word, but it comes out surprisingly smooth.
Michelle giggles, a nervous cackle. "You're getting good at that."
"I practice cussing every night, before I go to sleep. I go down the whole list, five times over, until I can say them all perfectly." I hope no one believes me; DJ is still too distracted by the first-class fruit-fight happening live near center field to even notice the joke.
"I hate them," he says suddenly. I was right.
"What do you think about Michelle, DJ?"
"I think she's a douche." He grins playfully, still looking everywhere but at Michelle me. I glance over at the progress of the rough-housing. Apparently the fight has elevated to a new level: one boy attempts to slam a soda can into another guy's pimpled face, but Pimple Boy ducks swiftly and gallops away hollering.
I'm tired. I slide down onto the grass until my head is resting on my backpack. Maybe I can get some sleep. Maybe DJ and Michelle will sneak a kiss while my eyes are closed.
"Somebody came up to me today and asked if I was suicidal. I told him 'no,' but that I hoped he was." I can tell by the voice that it's DJ.
"DJ!" Michelle's voice is full of disapproval. "How horrible. The guy knew you weren't serious, right?"
"Yeah, he knew."
"You're sure?"
"Yeah."
"Darn it," I budded in suddenly. "If you're ever suicidal DJ then let me know. I was hoping we could do it together."
I was hoping we could do it together.
An image entirely different soars down and lands inside me, ruffling its feathers gently. My cotton dress flutters like delicate rose petals. I can see DJ and I resting in the grass, alone, together, the afternoon sun massaging our backs. "You wanna do it?" I ask. "'K," DJ says simply; his usual response to any question. I start to slip my dress over my head, suddenly wanting him, wanting something I've never wanted before. "Stop," he murmurs, grabbing my wrist. "I wasn't serious."
I laugh again, ignoring the image a little bit, trying to pass the innuendo off as an accidental joke. "Get it, Michelle?"
I open my eyes and see her nod and smile, but DJ stays silent and still. I think I opened a door that should have stayed shut.
