An Early Beginning to Summer Break

The AC hummed on full blast. I sat criss-cross applesauce on the black and blue tiles of my homeroom, goose bumps covering my little legs. I shivered, and my entire body trembled as if I was the only one in the room experiencing an earthquake. Out the window and in the school parking lot the teacher’s economic sedans had taken on a distorted quality under the clear blue sky. Another class was outside for recess, swinging on the creaky set and running through the jungle gym. The twinkling of their light-up Power Ranger shoes looked like Ferris wheels as their legs churned up the yellow ladder to the blue slide.

I sat there, watching from the floor and rolling a red toy fire truck back and forth, accelerating and reversing. My tiny mouth emulated the oOoOooOhhhhhhhhhs and AaAaAahhhhhs of the screaming siren. I looked outside again, and then to my teacher. I caught her bespectacled eye, and pointed hesitantly to the playground. She shook her head, and her wattle waved like an agitated turkey. I clenched my fists, and felt a revving anxiety build steam within my chest. I stood, and rolled my truck into a block castle meticulously constructed by a pair of pony-taled girls wearing overalls. Then, into a block tower belonging to a peer named Tyler. Their sour screwfaces shot me dirty glances encrusted in slime and hate. My nose scrunched up. The wafting smell of chocolate chip cookies and home fishhooked itself into my nostril, pulling my attention to my teacher as her ancient voice warbled a delicate, “Snack time, children! It is time to clean up your toys and replace them where you found them. After that, we can have some cookies and juice.”

Tyler had already cleaned up the remains of his tower, putting them side-by-side in the toy bin. Tyler was a good boy. I ignored my teacher, as I had already made a serious commitment to putting out all the fires in the classroom. I continued my accelerate-reverse game, and the oOoOoOOhhhing and AaAaAaAaAahhhhhhhing. A shadow covered the truck for a moment, and I looked up to find Tyler standing over me with a smirk on his face. “Play time is OVER!” he taunted as he jerked the fire truck away from my hands. Salty tears welled up in my eyes and ran down my rosy check into my mouth. I hated his voice; it sounded like swishy pants and nails on a chalkboard. I hated it. I jumped onto his back as he turned away from me, and sunk my teeth into the fleshy blade of his shoulder. It tasted soapy, like detergent. Cotton fibers came from the shirt as I pulled my head back. A wail pierced the room, and he began to cry too. Vindicated, I let go and began to walk to my seat where cookies and apple juice awaited me. The teacher rushed over, having seen this occur, and grabbed me by the forearm with her leathery hands. She marched me down the dim hall towards the principal’s office; anger could be traced in the many lines of her face; her skin drooped like a bloodhound’s. “You’re in so much trouble!” she muttered murderously under her catnip breath.

An idea forced itself into my head, and consumed me. I had to get out of trouble, but how? How? I looked at my free forearm – the one not shackled in my teacher’s bony grip – brought it to my mouth, and bit. It tasted of desperate sweat. I had bit hard enough to actually draw blood. In the confines of the principal’s office my motives were questioned. Why did you bite Tyler? Why did you bite yourself? My only answer was simple: “Tyler bit me first! Look at my arm!” They shook their heads, and talked amongst themselves. Too low for me to hear, but I felt as if I was at the doctor’s awaiting test results, or a guilty defendant about to face sentencing. This continued on until my mother arrived. Her hair was all over the place, she was sweating, and her face bore the same look as my teacher and principal. The verdict was announced: Expelled from pre-school on the last day. My mom’s grip on my hand was ferocious and white-knuckled as we exited the building and walked towards our car. She was yelling at me, spittle raining down, but I ignored it. I turned my face to the summer sun, let its rays warm my skin, and smiled.

Just a Cup

Oh! What it’s like to be filled up! Up, UP!, to my brim, my smooth lip that brushes against your dry and prickly pair. I pour my contentment into you! Oh, what a thing! Perhaps I’m bubbling sappy and sugary and empty calories, but, then again, and again, and again, you need me

Not me, exactly….

No matter, no matter at all! It’s what’s inside that counts, right? But where does that leave me? On occasion I have a heart of gold, of pulp, of substance, and of nourishment. Sometimes I’m filled with a blackness that’s just pure dripping energy and blood surging through your eyelids and sinus-choking cigarette smoke. Sometimes I’m a taste of clarity, plain and simple. It depends on you, you, you.

Not me, exactly….

Ours is a relationship for the ages; give and take; the push/pull; the friends with benefits dynamo; the mutual thirst for the coalescence of our perspiration on a warped and blurry summer’s day; the inching icy winter evenings spent lapping wet mouths…

You need me….

You think of me as a cheap trinket, a conglomeration of who gives a hoot…yet you treat my family with delicacy, venerability, Love. The way you run the pad of your pointed down the dewy translucent spine of my brother… my soul stagnates in emptiness. So, fine. Fine. Drop me, lush. Knock me down, souse. Over, and over, and over. My longevity, my long game; this is what you crave. Or, a long slow sip of me –from me, rather.

You need me….

You need me, but you toss me headfirst into the moist and rank rot with the other riff raff. Do you need them too? Do you? No, you don’t. You use them for sheer convenience, like you use me. You don’t need them. You could hold your sustenance in the palm of your hand; feed your soul with your fingers….but the mess. You use them like you use me. You lazy, inconsiderate ingrate… no matter. You don’t need them, but you need me. My essence cannot simply be grasped by your kind, but by harnessing me, exercising my intrinsic purpose, you use me, and I love it.

And I love you.