Teenage Woes: Camaraderie

We’ve travelled this path
once before, twice even…maybe three times
Who’s counting?
Never one for mind-numbing streams,
I preferred currents.
Riddled with optimism, dripping with bravery
We didn’t swim.
Across a floating log we crossed, barefoot.
Each time I lost my balance:
I stumbled. She laughed. Into the water I fell.
I stumbled. She pushed. Into the water I fell.
I stumbled. He watched. Into the water I fell.
Same scenario. Different person. Distinct outcome.
Never the one I wanted.
Here I am again,
on this floating log called life, faltering…
Only, this time I’m alone.
Into the water, I fell not.
Across this log, I knew I would cross.
But, I never wanted to do it alone.
Yearning for someone to hold my hand
instead of breaking my heart.

Summer of 1995

Who do you love?
Are you for sure?
Who do you love?
Are you for sure?
Who…do you love?
Are…you…for sure?

Hmmm…I love that song
And not just because LL Cool J is the artist
It takes me back
Summer of 1995
Portsmouth Virginia
Old enough to appreciate
the simple things in life
Too young to know that Portsmouth is not
Ports-mouth

17 and carefree
days consisted of sitting on the porch
with my best friend who
just so happened to be my younger sister
(swatting mosquitos
pass me the calamine lotion)
watching her fall in love
with the boy next door
now three’s a crowd
until I met her boyfriend’s friend

and when the novelty of young crushes
wore off
we formed a girl group with our cousin
practicing dance routines until the
wee hours in the morning
only to come in second place
at a community talent show
still convinced: we’re born-to-be-stars

splitting our $15 winnings three ways at the mall
spotting and eventually shadowing Allen Iverson
ducking behind the clothes racks
whenever he turned around
finally mustering up the nerve
to ask him for his autograph

and when night fell
I wanted nothing more than to win a game
of scrabble against my grandmother
reuniting with my her and my grandfather
after nine years
and meeting my eight-year-old brother
for the first time
wow, he looks just like me
momentous

falling asleep in my dead father’s room
finding comfort in the stillness
and the sound of crickets chirping
a summer full of felicity
summer of 1995
one I’ll never forget

Circus Monkeys

Not quite best friends.
We don’t share secrets,
play dress up, or bake cookies.
Instead, I am your sparring partner.
And we speak loudly without saying words,
competing for his love and attention
while he tosses us peanuts.