to be out to my whole school.
I’m thinking about Rowan.
I’m thinking about Kieran.
I’m thinking about going to Hell when I die
and a living Hell on Earth.
I never wear gloves when washing
the dishes. I use more Fairy Liquid
than I need to. I stare into the bubbles.
My bare hands in the water; it’s not
scalding but hot enough that I feel
something. My hands. Nothing else.
My actions are automatic. I don’t
realize I’m crying until Mum comes
in and asks, “What’s the matter?”
“I asked someone out today,” I say.
“What did she say?” asks Mum.
“He said no, Mummy. HE said NO!”
It’s gloriously dramatic, the way
I throw myself to the floor and begin
to sob. Mum is the only audience
I need for this moment. It’s the rejection,
it’s the relief, it’s a rejoicing of sorts.
Mum kneels down next to me
and I curl onto her lap
and she rubs my back,
and she says, “It’s okay,”
and I shout, “I know it is!”
and she silently rubs my back,
then she says, “You have to be careful.
You have to use condoms.
