Tuesday, November 19, 2013

18/30 & 19/30


Today I miss my grandmother's pincurled mornings. Pancakes, pincurls, the framed picture of bread loaf and prayer to the left of my grandfather's seat. How the glass of curio cabinet rattled if you walked too hard through the kitchen. She watched us without complaint, always made whatever breakfast we desired. She would pour a wet bowl of Rice Krispies for me, knowing I couldn't stand the taste of milk. But I wanted to hear it, so she played it for me.


In third grade I had a crush on a boy named Robert. There was nothing remarkable about him, nothing I remember really except the name and his love for the Ninja Turtles. He was the one who piled all of the candy onto his pizza slice, reasoning that if it was good enough for Michelangelo, then it was good enough for him. I watched his teeth crush through M&Ms and marinara. How brave, I thought.

Five minutes later he picked his nose and broke my heart.

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