Inside Out

Response to prompt #33

I've been writing this since
the day I left for school
knowing something awful was brewing,
reading it in my mom's face
even though she tried to hide her concern.
As I dragged home,
the sick feeling spread through me.
Walking through the door to find
my mom on the couch,
crying in my dad's arms
to be told my Bampa had passed,
a huge part of my life ripped away
at the tender age of nine.

I've been writing this since
we packed up for Florida,
the land of Disney and Gulf beaches,
to grandparents I hardly knew,
who scared me with their strictness
and intensity, wanting to feel a part
of this new family but firmly rooted
in Michigan with cousins and aunts and uncles
I knew--who knew me.
The Sunday evening spread familiar
and oddly delicious with pickled bologna and olives
my cousins and I would pluck off our fingers,
giggling uncontrollably until we got overzealous
and bit our own appendages.

I've been writing this since
the few friends I promised to keep in touch with
were replaced with a few new friends
who were kind enough to embrace a quiet,
painfully shy nerdy girl
with old lady short hair and
babyish matching Garanimal clothes from JC Penney's,
the new kid on the block in a 5th grade class already
cemented with friendships and foes.
They were brave enough to friend the outsider
as I had done for others, knowing I didn't
fit in with the popular crowd,
especially after a failed attempt at playing basketball,
scoring a basket for the opposing team--
the only basket I would make before I quit in shame.

I've been writing this since
I slowly pulled away from a friend in 7th grade when
one of the popular girls invited me to join her crew,
not believing that they thought I was pretty or cool,
babysitting every chance I got so I could afford to
buy the Jordache and Gloria Vanderbilt jeans--
$50 a pop, frivolous and ridiculous to my mom,
but a lifesaver for me.
If only my cotton granny panties wouldn't have
crept out the back when I sat in the plastic desk chairs,
catching the attention of a boy who teased me relentlessly
for the rest of middle school,
exposing the ruse I tried so hard to pass off.

I've been writing this since
boy after boy in high school would dump me
after I declined to "put out,"
going with my gut,
earning me the reputation as a prick tease.
Junior year when I got bold,
ran for Homecoming Queen--
trying to make a point that the popular crowd didn't rule--
not even making court,
still the geek despite my best efforts,
not doing the right things to earn the crown,
a joke among the cheerleaders and football players
at their parties with drugs and alcohol and sex.

I have been writing this since
a married manager at Ponderosa tried to corner me
as we closed the restaurant,
covered in the disgusting goo from the
ice cream sundae machine,
stomach churning from his hot breath too close to me,
his vile suggestions, rushing out with shaky hands,
wanting to just quit but instead standing up
for myself by speaking out and demanding
to never be scheduled to close with him again,
only to find the other manager was sleeping
with a girl from my school--a 17-year-old senior--
even though he was too married--and 35.
I quit the next day,
my naivety and ideals shattered forever.

I have been writing this since
I entered the "real world"
my dad always warned me about,
the one that would not be fair,
would not work in my favor--
at least that's what I was told--
only to find a person with whom
I will end up spending the rest
of my life with, a charmed life
compared to the standards by
which I was brought up,
no yelling matches, threats of leaving,
daily tension, resentment, and blame.