[ “sweet, buttered toast”]
Caitlin Banning was the first girl I met in Claysville.
[imagine a slice of thin white toast, dry.]
[what for?]
[why, to spread, of course]
She was 1 of 3: Caitlin, Alec, and Tina. They were nice. Pretty. Similar. Scary.
O children!
What sweet memories you share,
Pureblood sisters,
Golden hair,
Toned tights on the soccer field,
Truth and dare.
In summer camp and dirty dicks,
Your trio’s protective, loving care,
Competition always picked,
A plastered breast held high,
Trinity!
Frictions awry,
CAT!
Rubbed red cherry pies.
So, fine, I’m a bit bitter. They were nice girls. Really. At least as well as anyone else. I was just Fat, buttering up Bread, Pasta and Potatoes, weighing them down. Frankly, I just imposed myself, trying to fit in.
I asked Caitlin to see a movie with me, Saturday. Then, whiny and desperate, I asked my mom to drive.
Sympathetic to my social peril, my mother chauffeured with her mouth taped shut.
I was nervous, socially inept. I planned out the event perfectly: we were supposed to bond, talk taboos and tampons.
“What station do you listen to?” asked Caitlin. I didn’t know: we never played music in the car, it distracted. I stammered,
“Dunno…what’s good?”
Caitlin shrugged, “I like Jammin’…you know, 93-5”.
and we played cats-cradle in the backseat.
My mother sat next to me in the movies. But not quite. Three seats away.
She bought popcorn for Heather and I to share, and I constantly wondered if I took too much. God knows what the movie was about. White Bread seemed pretty intent on it, though she’d seen it before. Wasted afternoon, but never a word of complaint.
When the Carbohydrates cast me away, a week later, I never blamed them.
Though I didn’t forgive my mother for years.
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