the Student Council room with all of his clothes off. I donât know why he was naked. He was all alone and sitting really still in one of the homeroom delegate chairs. I had missed my bus cause of a bathroom emergency. I walked into the Student Council room and there he was.
He didnât have a single tattoo.
Itâs funny how we create stories about our bodies.
For instance, the other day I heard Sean Maloney tell Coach Corcoran that he canât wear a jock cause heâs got three testicles. In a few weeks the old woman with the lunchmeat face who works in the Health Office is going to come into the locker room and check all the sixth-grade boys for hernias. Rumor has it that she fondles you and makes you turn your head and cough. Iâll be sure to listen for how many times Sean Maloney coughs.
When the bus leaders come around everyone files out to the parking lot and starts boarding their buses. The rain is coming down in a way that makes you want to ball up and get muscular.
The windshield wipers sound like dogs crying.
When itâs my turn to board I hesitate.
Letâs go, Blacky! the bus driver says.
Her eyes are small like a lizardâs.
Youâre holding up the line, she yells. Letâs go!
My tongue feels like itâs shrinking.
I forgot something, I say.
Then I turn around and walk away from the line.
Janice Caulkoven and Ben Jansen are sharing an umbrella. Itâs so big itâs even stopping the rain thatâs going sideways.
Itâs funny how never having an umbrella can make you feel left out.
I stop at the school doors and turn.
When buses start to move itâs like they got their own imaginations.
For some reason I feel the need to wave goodbye to my bus, so I do.
I wave so hard my hand goes floppy.
As it pulls away I can see four thumbs framed in four different windows.
I walk home on Caton Farm Road cause the buses donât use it. Thereâs a new subdivision going up and the rain makes the houses look like they were dropped out of the sky.
Nobody lives here yet. Itâs all piles of bricks and skeleton wood.
There is a yellow bulldozer parked in mud. The door is open so I go inside. This feels highly illegal but it is thrilling to be a smalltime criminal.
I imagine it takes special skill to operate a bulldozer cause the controls are all sticks and levers.
There is a black hardhat on the seat. I put it on and imagine myself playing dodgeball. I break all the rules and charge Steve Degerald and Evan Keefler with my head. They slam up against the bleachers and I can hear their ribs crack. I can almost feel their bones breaking in my teeth.
From the cab of the bulldozer I can see into the half-made house. Itâs all skinny wood and chicken wire. I think about how houses have bones too.
I wonder when they put the walls in cause the walls are skin.
I wonder how electricity works cause electricityâs like veins. Trying to figure this out makes me sleepy.
My hair is soaked and so are the bottoms of my jeans.
I can smell my body. Itâs like meat with spices.
I doubt that this is a pleasant experience to inhale.
Ma says I donât need to start using deodorant yet but I think I do.
The bulldozer windshield is getting all steamy and I write a letter with my finger.
Boy,
Where are you? I miss you.
Girl
I see Al Johnson in jail.
They shave his head and beat him with sticks.
He falls to his knees and begs for mercy.
And then a guard with a gold tooth urinates on his skull.
My breath steams over the words on the windshield and my letter is gone.
I walk the rest of the way home.
You always hear about gang activity on this side of town. The Vicelords and the Latin Kings.
Watch out for the gangs, Blacky, Ma says sometimes. I guess Chicago isnât big enough for them.
You can tell who they are cause they cock their hats funny.
Eric Duggan said that once he was at Aladdinâs Castle in the mall and a Vicelord walked up to
He didnât have a single tattoo.
Itâs funny how we create stories about our bodies.
For instance, the other day I heard Sean Maloney tell Coach Corcoran that he canât wear a jock cause heâs got three testicles. In a few weeks the old woman with the lunchmeat face who works in the Health Office is going to come into the locker room and check all the sixth-grade boys for hernias. Rumor has it that she fondles you and makes you turn your head and cough. Iâll be sure to listen for how many times Sean Maloney coughs.
When the bus leaders come around everyone files out to the parking lot and starts boarding their buses. The rain is coming down in a way that makes you want to ball up and get muscular.
The windshield wipers sound like dogs crying.
When itâs my turn to board I hesitate.
Letâs go, Blacky! the bus driver says.
Her eyes are small like a lizardâs.
Youâre holding up the line, she yells. Letâs go!
My tongue feels like itâs shrinking.
I forgot something, I say.
Then I turn around and walk away from the line.
Janice Caulkoven and Ben Jansen are sharing an umbrella. Itâs so big itâs even stopping the rain thatâs going sideways.
Itâs funny how never having an umbrella can make you feel left out.
I stop at the school doors and turn.
When buses start to move itâs like they got their own imaginations.
For some reason I feel the need to wave goodbye to my bus, so I do.
I wave so hard my hand goes floppy.
As it pulls away I can see four thumbs framed in four different windows.
I walk home on Caton Farm Road cause the buses donât use it. Thereâs a new subdivision going up and the rain makes the houses look like they were dropped out of the sky.
Nobody lives here yet. Itâs all piles of bricks and skeleton wood.
There is a yellow bulldozer parked in mud. The door is open so I go inside. This feels highly illegal but it is thrilling to be a smalltime criminal.
I imagine it takes special skill to operate a bulldozer cause the controls are all sticks and levers.
There is a black hardhat on the seat. I put it on and imagine myself playing dodgeball. I break all the rules and charge Steve Degerald and Evan Keefler with my head. They slam up against the bleachers and I can hear their ribs crack. I can almost feel their bones breaking in my teeth.
From the cab of the bulldozer I can see into the half-made house. Itâs all skinny wood and chicken wire. I think about how houses have bones too.
I wonder when they put the walls in cause the walls are skin.
I wonder how electricity works cause electricityâs like veins. Trying to figure this out makes me sleepy.
My hair is soaked and so are the bottoms of my jeans.
I can smell my body. Itâs like meat with spices.
I doubt that this is a pleasant experience to inhale.
Ma says I donât need to start using deodorant yet but I think I do.
The bulldozer windshield is getting all steamy and I write a letter with my finger.
Boy,
Where are you? I miss you.
Girl
I see Al Johnson in jail.
They shave his head and beat him with sticks.
He falls to his knees and begs for mercy.
And then a guard with a gold tooth urinates on his skull.
My breath steams over the words on the windshield and my letter is gone.
I walk the rest of the way home.
You always hear about gang activity on this side of town. The Vicelords and the Latin Kings.
Watch out for the gangs, Blacky, Ma says sometimes. I guess Chicago isnât big enough for them.
You can tell who they are cause they cock their hats funny.
Eric Duggan said that once he was at Aladdinâs Castle in the mall and a Vicelord walked up to
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