Friday September 21, 2012
from the sign outside Ezra’s Coffee on Dupont
to start listening with your eyes AND your ears.
to pick me up a vase from the housewares section on your way home from work because you know we don’t need one but you also know that I want one.
to sleep on me instead of me always sleeping on you.
to fall asleep on me instead of me always falling asleep on you. *two different things*
to paint my toenails with clear nail polish so it’s romantic but not messy.
to let me sing to you even if you’ve heard that song before a million times or never times and it interests you not.
to engage in debate.
to engage in aggressive debate.
to engage in aggressive, violent, yet passionate debate.
to fix the light bulb in the kitchen. *throwing out and replacing will do.*
to join a choir with me so we can be more like your parents. *just kidding* *not kidding*
to slap my face when you think I deserve it.
to wake me up from a nap with the smell of toasted cheese sandwiches and tomato.
to tell me that I’m wrong.
to tell me that I’m right.
to let me eat the entire bag of Oreos and not get weird when all I want after that is another one.
to enter the house without talking.
to spend five minutes without saying anything to me even if I have said something to you.
to ignore me.
to implore me.
to sit on me.
to be what you are.
Thursday September 20, 2012 at Sambuca Grill
The back page of The Sun
September 2001-issue 441
Bobby had his blonde hair tied neatly in a bun (which looked better than mine) and I instantly hated him for his artistry and attention to detail. I just thought that he might be too pretty for me. And not in a way that would intimidate me, but in a way that would straight up annoy me. As if he were aware of how well put together he seemed. See, I don’t trust people like that. My kind of people are genuinely shocked when they receive a compliment and Bobby looked like the kind of guy who had been feigning surprise his whole life.
And if he wasn’t surprised, he’d be smug about it.
Mind you, this was before he and I even exchanged two words…but I’m not usually wrong about this stuff.
I was wrong about Bobby.
I judged his perfect ponytail before I had introduced myself and it showed because when he smiled sweetly, I was genuinely shocked and it made my insides ache for a bit.
My mother never raised me to judge like that. I got that from years of feeling like second place wasn’t good enough; that if I didn’t announce my own flaws or others’ flaws, then someone else would.
As it turns out, Bobby was also volunteering at the special needs school down the street and never told a soul about it. Until me.