September 24, 2007
This year I told him to leave it alone. He kept asking me if he could rent a room at the beach or organize a party. “It’s the big three oh,” he argued, “You can’t ignore it. Your friends will want to celebrate.” Then I remembered my mom, “You’ll be turning five. It’s a big age. In a few months you’ll start the first grade!” And then she smothered me, stuffed me into her skin and polyester, the smell of her sweat and Jean Nate perfume. I wished my kitten could interrupt, kindly claw her leg so she’d drop me.