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Prosies - two paths diverged
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Prosies
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July 29, 2003 Sometimes you just have to show up. Sometimes that's the hardest thing to do. She was a soul-sistah, ass-kickah, jerry-curl, milk-chocolate-skinned, mixed-raced girl. She had a last name that meant "married" in Spanish. She was my best friend, and she lived down the hall. Then something happened. I did my homework, hid in the library. She hung out in the playground as the sun went down, and let thuggish-looking boys touch her burgeoning ass. While I was applying to colleges, she was having her first baby. The baby's father lived in Bridgeport. I moved to Poughkeepsie. Gina, whatever happened to you? Do you remember your nerdy friend? If we passed on the street today, would you give me the time of day? Do you remember the games we used to play in your grandmother's apartment? Do you remember how we discovered the correct way to pronounce the clinical word for female genitalia? Or how you lay on top of me and writhed and moaned and showed me how it was that grown-ups did it?
Why is it that I escaped the fate of early motherhood, and you did not?
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