a taste of what's to come

today I read a story aloud to my intro to lit class and dare I say, in spite of usual modesty, I fucking rocked. I read that story with all the power and presence that I have, I read that story with all the confidence I could muster, I read that story like it was the only thing I was made to do and it was amazing.

the people in my class had never heard me read before, and they seemed blown away at the end. and I felt proud, glad, and happy. It was a nice way to end the semester.

"Best Friends Forever"

My name is Gina and my best friend in the whole wide world has her hands around my throat and she won’t let go. It’s not like I deserve a choke, in any way, shape, or form, but Karen--she's my best friend--she gets a little angry sometimes. I pretend that I’m swimming underwater and have to conserve my breath. It sort of works.

The truth is there’s only two things different about me and my best friend. One, I’m calm, she’s not. Two, I’m skinny with big boobs and she’s not. It’s not like I chose to be this way, said, Dear God, It’s me, Gina, can you give me a big rack and make me skinny everywhere else and God looked down at me and said, Sure Gina, you might as well be twelve and be well developed (as my mama puts it) and boom, I’ve got tits out to here.

Otherwise, we’re like two peas in a pod, as my mama would say. There’s nothing we disagree on and sometimes we finish each other’s sentences. Sometimes it feels like we’re twins separated at birth, until Karen pokes me under the ribs and says teasingly, under her breath, “I can see your nipples.”

The choking isn’t very painful. It’s more like a grip than a choke. I can still breathe a little and I can feel Karen’s breath on my face, see her wide blue eyes staring blankly back at me, her billowy blonde hair swaying from the ceiling fan in my bedroom. It’s not like she wants to hurt me. She just wants to make sure I understand.

I’ve never told anyone about how Karen gets sometimes because I don’t want them to say I shouldn’t be her friend anymore. Grownups always decide the best thing to do is stop doing whatever it is you don’t like a.s.a.p. I think that’s pretty childish. We’re best friends, I can’t just stop talking to her. Mostly I love Karen and just want her to be happy, but I know it’s not easy for her. So when she gets this way I just let her do what she needs to do, and sometimes I have to cover for her. The worst time was when she screamed at me at the top of her lungs because while I was brushing her long blonde hair and I hit a tangle and she got hot headed as fast as a fly on shit. She was screaming like she was possessed by the devil or something and mama came running up the stairs with that protective Who’s-hurting-my-baby? look, like she was going to jump on top of Karen and mangle her and I told her that Karen and I were practicing for a new play at school. Karen kept right on screaming and mama said, “I don’t like the sound of this play of yours.”

Ha ha, mama made a pun and she didn’t even notice. I notice all kinds of things that most people don’t, mostly cause I just pay better attention than most folks do. My daddy says it’s the way our people are, but I haven’t met any of his side of the family and my mama says I shouldn’t plan to, cause they are mean people. So I just have to believe him, I guess, but he’s not the most reliable one in the family.

Karen’s starting to come out of her state. Mostly it lasts a couple of minutes and then she’s all like, whoah, what happened? And I just smile and stick my finger near my ear and twirl it around, the international gesture for going crazy. Karen just laughs. She might be a manic depressive, maybe, with her ups and downs.

There's something different this time. Karen's never tried to choke me before. All I did was tell her that I had a bacon cheeseburger and fries for lunch. But see, Karen's mom just made her go on a diet and packed peanut butter and jelly sandwiches made with rice cakes instead of slices of bread. So, I try not to think about it too much, about the way her body is pressed against mine, the way her bulges feel soft and warm, like the thigh of the person next to you on the bus. I try not to think about her fingers on my neck, because then I want to breathe.

I pull a big gasp of air in and Karen tightens her grip. Then, it feels like she has let me go, and I fall to the carpeted floor. She crumples down next to me on the floor and I begin breathing normally again. I watch the way my chest heaves up and down, the way my breasts linger slightly in the air, then look over at Karen’s chest, which is slumped by fat folds and gravity. Sometimes I wish we were actually twins separated at birth, that the two of us were the same in every way, but then I think it’s good that we’re not, because I can handle her when she’s gets into her moods.

Sometimes I wonder if Karen even knows that if it would make her happy, I would gladly give her anything, even trade bodies with her, but I don’t think that’ll help at all. Still, I’m glad she’s my friend even though we’re different.

Karen sits up and looks at me. I see her frantic eyes tracing the lines of my body and I wonder what she’s doing. She just got done being upset. I thought to myself, “Oh well, here we go again.”

“Gina,” she stammered. “Gina,” she said, while pushing me in the arm, “Wake up, wake up. Wake up,” she screamed. "Why won't you wake up?"