Work in Progress - November 22
Waterpark Mom tells me to have the conversation. And I blurt out how Marianne showed some guy her tattoo, even though this happened months ago. "We used to laugh."
"I remember," Marianne says.
We don't talk about the strange voices in the house now, they stay soft and low, whispers in the dark. But I ask them answers to my questions about why Marianne has the metabolism of a teenager, why she looks pretty no matter how she wears her hair, and why my boyfriend killed himself. But I haven't heard any great wisdom (my stomach growls for the slaw and sandwich she pushed on to a second plate, but this was hours ago).
Her door closes and everything is quiet. There are dreams about ice cold drinks, new hair, and visions of driving to the 7-Eleven. Slurpee's at midnight. Me and Beast are together again - our ghosts bathe in moonlight.
"I remember," Marianne says.
We don't talk about the strange voices in the house now, they stay soft and low, whispers in the dark. But I ask them answers to my questions about why Marianne has the metabolism of a teenager, why she looks pretty no matter how she wears her hair, and why my boyfriend killed himself. But I haven't heard any great wisdom (my stomach growls for the slaw and sandwich she pushed on to a second plate, but this was hours ago).
Her door closes and everything is quiet. There are dreams about ice cold drinks, new hair, and visions of driving to the 7-Eleven. Slurpee's at midnight. Me and Beast are together again - our ghosts bathe in moonlight.
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