friday heart attack

You can understand, then, why the last pop tart flavor I wanted to be was strawberry. I felt doomed as I waited for my eater to retrieve me. I hoped that at least it would be a sweet little Sam boy or a cherub angel that would nibble me outdoors or on a swing. I hoped I would transform into a Tagalong cookie, instead. My favorite Girlscout cookie, the kind filled with peanut butter and coated with chocolate, the kind I was never allowed to eat at home. The kind that stuck to your teeth and palate and turned it all brown with gunk.

But nobody came and I sat there all day, patient, stale. I could feel the strawberry turn congealed and cold, and the sharp rainbow flecks flake off.

And then a sound. And then a girl. No not a girl, a woman. With hair like mine and skin like mine, and those three moles, right, there, like mine. And you know what she did? She held me. She pressed me to her chest until I warmed up again. My little strip of frosting softened and smeared onto her little chest. Then she opened the window. Then she frisbeed me away and I flew. Past the pigeons and the high rises and the oak and fig and sycamore and I flew and flew and flew, until I wasn’t a pop tart anymore. I was just crumbs, and I was everywhere. I wasn’t a pop tart –I swear, I was everywhere.

elena montilla (elena montilla)

i saw the david foster wallace movie and i wondered what the movie would look like if it had been made based on my 7th grade interview with him, as opposed to the unlikeable david lipsky’s. in 7th grade english we had to write reports on what we wanted to be when we grew up. i proposed travel writer, because it seemed an easier version of writer with the perks of free travel. mamá said go interview david, her friend and tennis partner. i wasn’t so sure…the last time we had seen him was when his dog died and he told us to come over to retrieve all the photos of his black lab in his house to help with his grief. my mom said, yes, interview david, he will give good advice. so i did. after dinner at our place. he had marlboro cartons in his socks and dirty hair and a couple months after he got in a big fight with my mom and he stopped coming over smelling of ranch dressing. i think he didn’t like being interviewed, even by a 12 year old. but i think he liked 12 year olds more than grownups, because back then i didn’t know what loneliness felt. or rather, i knew it more thoroughly and reasonably than i do now.

303173_10150483480744202_1672642668_ni went to fort tilden beach yesterday at 9.30am and it was the best time to go to the beach. to see big ole wieners wrapped in red saran wrap basking in the sun, to see children build their breakfast sand castles, and to get pinched by a crab on the big toe. foto-blancanieves-23-751 (cristina garcia rodero)

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