Thursday, January 30, 2014

January 30th, 2014


He said, I've been thinking. Maybe if I get a B for the rest of the year, graduate, don't forget,
I'm already 19, and if I have a job, can I take you to dinner? Please? At that restaurant you
like that I saw you coming out of that night in the summer with your friends? And, how
gathered the courage and how gentle the asking, and how do I respond kindly with a door
that is forever closed but still honors, in the closing, that, in this child that would be, and
wishes to be, a man. I smile and say no, and then something about him not even being 21.
He accepts this rebuff, wishes me a good afternoon, and disappears through the front door.
I assume all will be forgotten by fourth period tomorrow. The piercer this afternoon was
better than any other I'd been to, except the one I walked to in a snow storm in college when
I was 20. He was handsome and interesting and right before he pierced me he looked deep
into my eyes and said: This will hurt. You will cry. Do not touch your face. I will wipe away
your tears. It did hurt but I did not cry. He wore checkered pants that looked like they were
from a thrift store and all I could think of was you and how you would never look like
him, and yet how I wanted you all the more for it.

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