“Booger’s Big Grab” by Scott Kaiser
“Lousy son of a . . . a . . . bitch! . . . He d . . . d . . . deserved it anyway! . . .”
“Lousy son of a . . . a . . . bitch! . . . He d . . . d . . . deserved it anyway! . . .”
Stella and Chris were arguing again—something about the television. They made me want to pick it up and just throw it out the window onto the street, Led Zeppelin–style . . .
I light my cigarette lovingly, laughingly, with a light purple lighter. Burn, baby, burn . . .
“No one else ever needs to know about this . . .”
I spill coffee on the bed. The white quilt is stained.
How can I fix this? I tiptoe up the stairs to their kitchen, soak a wad of paper towels in the sink. I go back down the stairs, rub the paper towels into the stain. I scrub and scrub. The sun is rising; the stain is not. I lay back down on the bed. Hopelessness . . .
This is me at fifteen, splayed out on Carly’s giant trampoline—stargazing, helpless, hopeful, smiling through a mouthful of stolen popcorn . . .
Emptiness walked in uninvited and refused to leave. When? How? I can’t recall . . .
We decided that one thing we could do with the money is buy a house, so we looked at some houses and it was weird and to offset the weird we got tattoos . . .