The bathroom stall's door hangs on unsteady hinges and the lock when it's locked can shift out of place, exposing you with your black marker or tissues below or a sex book or rolling the pad into too-small square bits of thin paper, your face frozen in a silent, choked gasp. Then you and me, we burst into laughter because this is midddle school and we're so young and secretive and scared and excited and our hair is looking so, so fine today. You slam the door shut and finally scream, finishing your business. I start to do mine.
You come out and spruce in the fogged mirror lined with cracks that haven't yet met the surface of the glass, twisting your mouth and squinting your eyes in judgement as you wonder about the lipstick you should have snagged from your mom's purse before she grabbed it away and hurried you into the truck to get to school on time. You scratch your calf, a mosquito bite, and lick your lips.
"I saw him today," I say as I paint the words on the metal wall next to me.
"M-hm...by the gym."
You giggle and tap your foot. I finish my job and step outside, waving my hand to you to show my handiwork in black, with stars and hearts in red. You scream and pull me by my sleeve and we're back out in the sun just as the bell rings and then we disappear into the crowd that enveloped us like a wave of water at the beach. We're off to English, fourth period. I furrow my brows and worry and look at my Van's and think, think, god, think with everything I have inside my whole self, should I have the pizza or the nachos after?
I love J. S. he's a hottie.
Found on the girls' bathroom wall...an ode to my sixth grade son apparently, told to me this morning by my husband who teaches in the same school where our son attends...my husband who heard it from the mouth of a female student of his who couldn't wait to tell him.