Donna Bigus
Priscilla Rodriguez.
BFF's before BFFs.
Whispers.
Sit next to me.
Notes.
Be my partner.
Double dutch.
3 - 4, shut the door.
BFF's.
In school.
I'd go by their house, on my purple spider bike.
After school, a Saturday? a Sunday? Summer?
Sun shining on
sparkly banana seat got hot in the sun.
sparkly squishy handles
streamers wavering.
I'd stand there, untangling them.
Nobody invited me.
Priscilla would look up then down.
Our stand next to me's forgotten.
Donna, hair hanging over one eye, like always.
No, I can't play.
But the other eye jumpy, looking back at her house.
I can't play.
Digging her toe in the lawn.
Jumpy.
Then a jump, when a grown-up voice calls her name.
I GOTTA GO.
Turn and run.
Leave me holding my bike
untangling my streamers.
Leave me.
Monday.
Whispers.
Sit next to me.
Be my partner.
Double dutch.
3 - 4, shut the door.
*
3 comments:
You have an amzing memory. I have hard remembering a lot of early childhood like sounds and smells and details. I should go under hypnosis.
Grownups, using the term loosely, can ruin the goodness of childhood and children.
I had this type of thing too. Me, Kelli, and Jenny. When it was just me and one of them we were BFF, and they would tell me they hated the other one. Then when we were all together, I was the odd man out. What gives?
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