My friend tells me he was born 1984. I was born then. My friend tells me he ran cross country in middle school. I ran track. My friend tells me he ran a marathon. I ran one last year. My friend tells me he ran his in ‘81. I tell my friend to shut up. He never talks again and I haven’t run a day in my life.
My dad tells me about his wife. “She’s kind of a beautiful woman.” I remind him he’s not married. “She has the hair of a lioness.” I don’t even know what that means. “She prowls around with intent.” I remind him he walks around aimlessly and wonder why mom didn’t leave him sooner.
My brother tells me I don’t understand anything. I tell him I understand that. He tells me I need to grow up. I kick him in the groin and tell him to man up. He cries like me. [Read more…]