Buying Cheap Glue and Praying it Doesnāt Harden
Standing in craft aisle at Walmart at 3am, blinking under the harsh fluorescent lights. A boy deciding who to love, to cherish. Heās trying to put a name to the feeling inside him, so he can finally rest. I shake my head to clear the spots dancing in my vision, trying to remember why I came here, what I came for. A girl who pushes everyone away, then cries and rages and demands to know why no one ever stays. My hand trembles as I slip it into my back pocket, reaching for the list I wrote on the back of my dentistās business card. A boy who questions all heās ever been told. A black sheep staring out at what might lie beyond his shepherdās fold. I squint at the ink smudged with fingerprints and salt water, making out the words, but only barely. A girl who seems to always think the worst, who forgets that cars and movies are easier than words to put in reverse. Gripping my prize white-knuckled in the checkout. Loosening my grasp just long enough to drop it in the bag and reach for my wallet. A boy who doesnāt understand, but does, maybe. Heās slipping away a little more each year until you know heāll never leave. Driving back in the dark with the radio on low, floating aimlessly, yet strangely grounded by that gentle, static voice. A girl who sits at the kitchen table and takes a great big breath. Her world is crashing down with just this last push left. Turning off the car and thinking I could sleep here. Forcing myself to get out, walk up the stairs, through the door. A boy who gave in. A boy who lost hope. A boy who decided he knew best how to make the heartache stop. Seeing my mother there and watching her stare at the prayer list that drags behind her as she paces the kitchen floor in her nightgown, as she wonders aloud, āWhat do you do when your children break your heart?ā
