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Showing posts from November, 2018

Passing it on

WHAT I HEARD AT THE DISCOUNT DEPARTMENT STORE Don’t touch that. And stop your whining too. Stop it. I mean it. You know I do. If you don’t stop, I’ll give you fucking something to cry about right here and don’t you think I won’t either. So she did. She slapped him across the face. And you could hear the snap of flesh against flesh half-way across the store. Then he wasn’t whining anymore. Instead, he wept. His little body heaved and shivered and wept. He was seven or eight. She was maybe thirty. Above her left breast, the pin said: Nurse’s Aide. Now they walk hand in hand down the aisle between the tables piled with tennis shoes and underpants and plastic bags of socks. I told you I would. You knew I would. You can’t get away with shit like that with me, You know you can’t. You’re not in school anymore. You’re with your mother now. You can get away with fucking murder there, but you can’t get away with shit like that with me. Stop that cry

Autobiography In Five Chapters

1. I walk down the street.  There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.  I fall in.  I am lost … I am hopeless.  It isn’t my fault.  It takes forever to find a way out.  2. I walk down the same street.  There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.  I pretend I don’t see it.  I fall in again.  I can’t believe I’m in the same place.  But it isn’t my fault.  It still takes a long time to get out.  3. I walk down the same street.  There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.  I see it is there.  I still fall in … it’s a habit.  My eyes are open.  I know where I am.  It is my fault.  I get out immediately.  4. I walk down the same street.  There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.  I walk around it.  5. I walk down another street.  PORTIA NELSON