Empoword

Part One: Description, Narration, and Reflection 143 the lenses I had on determined that everyone was doing and saying anything to further their personal convictions, regardless of how uninformed they were, or anyone who defied them. Including myself. Especially myself. So, I shut up. Everyone is self-serving , I’d remind myself. I became cynical of everyone’s intentions. I longed for authentic empathy. No, unachievable . I muted myself behind layers upon layers of verbal irony. No one could attack me if I followed my lines with nervous laugh, and I don’t know! Just kidding! I prescribed myself large doses of Charlie Kaufman films, acid, and absurdist texts. At least Beckett and Camus see the gray. “Now ladies,” Mr. Clark said. “I know you don’t agree with her, but she’s had a rough life. Please try to understand where she came from.” I don’t think anyone there would have done the same. Blood & Chocolate Milk 54 The stick of gauze, the tinny primal taste of blood and the sweet creaminess of chocolate milk is what I remember. It was a spring day of my junior year in high school. It was the day I lost my wisdom teeth. The night before my surgery Dad showed up and cooked us dinner. He made spaghetti, those meatballs he makes with the drop of plum sauce on the top, and a salad of spring greens topped with bright balsamic dressing and twirls of carrot. Then Mom, Dad and I watched a movie and Dad tucked me in for the first time in a long time. He slept on the couch. *** It was strange that we were all together. My parents divorced before I could talk. I don’t think about them as a pair. Other than birthdays and drop-offs they were never in the same place. They were always separate entities that I saw half a week at a time. ***