auld acquaintance be forgot,
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
disappointments, is the truism that we all end up in the same place.
we put forth our best efforts, and keep our noses clean, a wealth of
opportunities and riches await us in our futures.
stock of this much-fabled do-better-in-the-long-run theorem of childhood
who stole from Spencer’s will end up in lives nearly identical to the kids who
placed first at science fairs.
Courthouse. The day was bitter cold, and the wind was whipping at my
extremities with a brute force that made my knuckles weep.
bookbag, the heels of my pumps etching life from the Arlington pavement with my
every slew-footed step, I could tolerate the frost at my fingertips no further,
and stopped, suddenly. I wasn’t going to move another inch until I’d donned a
pair of gloves.
and there, fumbling over pens, glasses, business cards, but nothing, nothing with
the familiarity of kid leather.
fervently, willing myself not to focus on the cold, or my growing frustration, when
my hand snagged at something smooth. I recognized, immediately, that whatever I
was grasping wasn’t a glove, but curiosity demanded I withdraw it from my bag’s
drawes on the corner of Courthouse and Wilson.
discovered, only to have my hand caught, again, by a smooth fabric-y something
or other. Removing my hand, once more, I looked to my palm.
my person, and proceeded to the parking deck, hands freezing, nose running, and
several curses ever-present on my lips.
become, but, on this day in particular, the expensive lining of my bag being
kept warm by my unmentionables, I paused.
that I couldn’t deign to sleep at my own house, everything in its proper place,
panties on poon, not in purse?
myself and a teenaged slut I once knew.
long forgotten sprang to mind once more….
musty-as-a-motherfucker-seeming to my 13 year old eyes, so I didn’t really fool
with her too much.
attended any of the 3 elementary schools whose graduates now teemed the halls
of Brandon Middle) and had every appearance of trouble about her.
Jenkins’ motley assortment of derelict girls didn’t bode well for her either.
offering up opinion on her presence at our school, even when asked directly.
But her every move captured my attention. Something about this girl fascinated
suspect her hair was originally fashioned in the style of a bob, but had
somehow lost its way when she’d elected to deprioritize consistent relaxers.
keenly aware of this fact, as Meka had the misfortune of being something of a
fared no better or worse than any of us, but for one distinguishing set-apart:
Meka’s face was covered in a veritable sea of blackheads; blackheads that she,
by all appearances, was rather fond of
so without the slightest touch of hyperbole.
joking with her. By Wednesday she’d be “stinky, ugly” Meka, on whose desk they’d
deposit a wash cloth and soap before class. True story.
lined up to get at her, as her virtue was said to be free for the taking.
happened…Meka got a steady boyfriend.
friend of Remonica Jenkins.
the first water. She was tall and slight of frame, but scary as all hell,
repeatedly in trouble, and awash with enthusiasm at the prospect of fucking up
anyone who dared step in her path.
defied known science day after day, and managed to put it in a ponytail (think
of one of those ittybitty dwarf ponies that only come to your knees, and make
you kinda sad to look at).
about Monique, was the ever-present layer of dry, crusty, chappy, rashy ash
that circled her full lips in a perfect oval.
crusty, chappy, rashy ash at all costs.
like, say, oh….idunno…CONCEALER….
from Police Academy.
restroom. She’d raise her left hand, whilst covering her mouth with her right.
When called upon, she’d mumble her request THROUGH her fingers.
under there, and I’m certain that mushrooms thrived in the webbed cartilage between
directly related to the chronic slow burn plaguing her forearm that never
deviated from its 45° angle.
Dart, and by all accounts, was giving up the bads to him on a fairly regular
Remonica and her crew, trying desperately to win their affections—some days she
was the bird, but most days she was the statue.
with a teacher, and by the time I hit the halls for a quick run to my locker
the corridor was thick with a crush of seventh graders.
the very center, hands outstretched above their heads, fingertips avidly reaching
for something. I saw something being passed from person to person, and I couldn’t
make it out, but the mystery object was driving my schoolmates into a frenzy.
appeared by my side, giggling and grinning.
she drawled before firing out the next sentence with a rush of information, “MekaputherdrawesinanenvelopeandtriedtogivethemtoJustinbutRemonicaandthemgotemandnowtheypassinthemaroundeverywhere!!!”
happenings, noted that the object did
appear to be a pair of women’s underwear—black, satin panties.
rancid drawes (I’m taking some license,
here) in an envelope, brought them to
school, and tried to give them to
much give off “sexy” as they do “evidence collected from a crime scene,” they
were now being passed around from person to person, her humiliation more
profound now, than ever before.
looking dumbfounded. She wasn’t even trying to get them back as much as steel
herself from the noise all about her. She looked a bit bewildered; as though
she couldn’t comprehend how things had gotten to this point. And I remember, for the first time, feeling
truly sorry for her.
think of Meka, that cold day in December.
of good friends.
loose with the ass.
same pair of black, satin drawes.
mind, or common damned decency to leave those sonsofbitches at home.
Meka was me.
never brought to mind?” I say, “Shit, no!”
my cup o’ kindness to the tarnished memory of Meka, the slut that Time may have
forgot, but not I…..