Bite 'Em Down

When I was a little girl I used to bite my nails. I used to bite them hardcore. I never half-assed homework assignments and I never half-assed biting my nails. It was all too common that I’d wake up with blood on my pillow or face from my bleeding nail beds. I couldn’t open plastic wrapped items such as DVD’s or Snapple bottles and I certainly couldn’t handle citrus fruit, no matter how much I loved to lick lemons. Sometimes my jagged edged tips would catch on a piece of fabric and rip through my cuticle, causing me to collapse to the ground. Despite the bewildering pain shooting from my fingertips through my hand and half way up my arm, my fingers would be back in my mouth dancing the tango with my incisors.

I bit my nails so much I etched notches in my front teeth and my mom said that if I didn’t stop biting my nails my front teeth would look like little carpenters saw’s and my beautiful smile would be ruined. I’d be chipping away while listening, holding my neck in a painful and awkward position to get the best piece of keratin to rip from my digits. The feeling of relief when that bit of nail would rip off was like ecstasy. I could breathe easier.

I remember the day I stopped. Someone called me unattractive. I was devastated. I decided I was going to stop but not before I bit my nails the shortest they had ever been. I wore ten band aids on my fingers for a week after that. My brother had come home from college with his girlfriend and I couldn’t wait to tell him the good news. “Look!” I said, “Look how long my nails are!” My brother looked at my hands, “Its about damned time you quit that filthy habit.” I knew how he meant it but it was not the response I was looking for. His girlfriend saved him by piping in. “Oh, really?” she asked excitedly. “My sisters and I used to bit out nails when we were kids. When did you stop biting?” She had a hold of my hands when I said excitedly, “two weeks!” “Oh,” she said. Why was no one impressed!

Cut to six years later and I am a reformed nail biter; ninety-nine percent of the time. “Mom,” I say in a heavy voice. “Look what I did.” My eyes were still red and raw from crying and my words still held the remnants of a whimper. My breath was labored and my saliva was thick, causing me to swallow hard.

My mom looked at my hands and crooned. “Oh, honey.” She took my hands and shone more light on them. “What did you do, you’re nails were healthy and long.”

“Habits die hard,” I choked. “But I don’t remember biting being this painful.” I shut my eyes.

Vomit Hair and Failure

I hear my answering machine beep as I walk in through my front door. It’s late and I’m exhausted. I contemplate ignoring the message so I can take a nice, hot bath and remove the smell of dog vomit from my hair; a perk of not getting into veterinary school. I stiffen as I get a second round of vomit smell as I remove my ponytail, letting my hair fall to my face. I stare at the machine. It’s only one message, so I play it.

“Hey, we’ve done something terribly wrong and need your help. We can’t talk about it over the phone. Please meet us at the spot where we made our pact back in high school. You know the place.” Beep.

“I wish I hadn’t played that,” I say out loud. Nervously, I grab my coat, again, and car keys and walk out the door.

Ladmer had made herself scarce the past two weeks, and was that Benson in the background? It’s raining so I drive slowly. They got themselves into trouble; they could wait another five minutes. Besides, my parent’s house was a few blocks away; they could have walked here all on their own…like adults.

I pull into my driveway. My car now smells faintly of Chester, the worlds dumbest-overweight-chocolate-eating golden retriever. Awesome.

I step out of the car and take a long drag of cold air; it burns. I shuffle to my old front door and ring the bell; I’m not as agile as I was back in high school so I’m not going to scale my own damn fence. And if Ladmer and Benson think I’m going to climb that cicada infested death trap then they’re sadly mistaken. It’s nearly eleven and I just worked a 12 hour shift. They can-

My mother answers the door, “Oh hi honey!”

“Hi mom,” I said while being hugged, and suffocated by my mother’s curls.

“What are you doing here?”

I don’t say anything.

“Oh, one of those days huh?” She says, raising an eyebrow. “They’re out back aren’t they?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll get a pot of coffee up. And tell those girls not to track mud into the house. They’re not sixteen anymore and I ain’t funny,” she says as her words trail into the kitchen.

I walk to the sliding glass doors, twist open the lock and pull on the door. It won’t budge. I nearly lose my head before I see a two foot stick on the track – that’s world class home security, Long Island style.

I step outside and click the patio light. Nothing, not even a flicker. I wish I was taking my bath. If this turns out to be anything like the “emergency” where Benson got silly putty stuck in her hair or the time when Ladmer decided to become a gymnast and jump out of my window onto a makeshift trampoline, then I’m out of here. What is wrong with this damn light?!

I punch the switch in last effort and then BAM! There is screaming, so much screaming and big movie-set lights shining directly on me. I can’t see who is in front of me and can’t tell who is touching my ass but he’s about to lose a finger.

“Ouch!” someone yells. No more overzealous toucher, but I still can’t see.

More lights shine over the backyard and I can see all my old friends and some family members (who know better) jumping over my mother’s makeshift vegetable garden. My mom is behind me, hold a cake shaped like a dog with a bandage around its legs.

“HAPPY NOT GETTING INTO VET SCHOOL!” was shouted, then strobe lights began…doing what strobe lights do. Music was blasting and Ladmer ran over to give me a beer.

She looks at me as I take a swig and says, “And you said we couldn’t celebrate failure.”

Sterile

They come in sterile white boxes

50 pairs of dental examination gloves

They smell sour and rotten

They are the same off-white latex gloves that my dad has worn for years

Fine powder rises up in a mist when he snaps them against his hand

They are smooth against one another, like rubbing two pieces of satin

But they leave rough, cracked cuticles in their wake

I chewed one once; they’re tasteless. The only flavor is that of your hand

They’re fun to blow up but the sound when they burst is alarming. It always makes my heart race

I blow them up anyway. I like to bounce them on my finger tips like birthday balloons

Their stretch has a limit – too often I have slapped my skin with ricocheting rubber

They pull at your lips before they are wetted

Then they slip over your teeth and gums like a blade over ice

Sonnet

The salmon girl had slanting eyes,

And a projection for a nose:

But still she was hot to all the guys,

Or so the story goes:

In Sunday mass she'd strike a toke,

And then she'd get really dumb:

Always the butt of a funny joke,

And always leaving crumbs:

But if you ask, "what girl is this?"

For this I have no answer,

She shakes around her dwarfish fist:

And sticks around like cancer,

But what is this bully to do

When all she has to tease, is you.

I chose the Shakespearean sonnet because I like the flow and beat of it. I don't know how it complements the image or idea; I guess it is all encompassing. I didn't stray from the form, I kept the ababcdcdefefgg format.

Speaker

I came with certain expectations of "The Green Manifesto" that David Gessner did not live up to. I thought his book was going to be technical and informative... like a manifesto. It did not resonate with me. I had a lot on my mind and didn't pay too close attention. Not to mention it was 8 o'clock at night on a Monday - that's not the most conducive environment. That mean's that there are only two types of audience members, those that chose to be there and those that are required to be there.

That said, I most likely won't read his book. I like fiction novels or Biographical A-Day-In-The-Life books about Veterinarians or Animal Medicine.

Where the Sidewalk Ends (Shel Silverstein)

When I was a little kid, my grandma gave me copies of "Where the Sidewalk Ends" and "A Light in the Attic" and "Falling Up" for Hanukkah. I'd have my mother read the poems to me before bed. Sometimes I'd have her read the same poem over and over again until she'd fall asleep with the book open in her hands. I don't know what it is about his poems that I enjoyed (and still enjoy) so much. Maybe it is the fact they are short and easy to read, and they're fun and nonsensical. Even now, childhood memories aside, I seem to gravitate to his books and try to write in his tone of voice.

"Hug O'War" by Shel Silverstein

I will not play at tug o’war.

I’d rather play at hug o’war,

Where everyone hugs

Instead of tugs,

Where everyone giggles

And rolls on the rug,

Where everyone kisses,

And everyone grins,

And everyone cuddles,

And everyone wins.

...Even when I'm upset and need to vent my frustration.

My Reply

I will never step foot in hug o’war.

I’d rather play at tug o’war,

Where everyone suffers

Instead of buffers,

Where everyone bleeds

And rolls on their lovers,

Where everyone screams,

And everyone cries,

And everyone withers,

And everyone dies.

Here to Serve

Hey You! You standing there

Wont you sit down in this chair?

Can't you sit down for a while?

I see you want to from that smile

Face flushed and grinning wide

Follow me. Come on inside.

What's that now? Don't turn away!

Won't you hear what I have to say?!

Take off your coat, keep off those feet-

Here, let me help you find a seat?

See now? Isn't this nice?

Perhaps some hot tea will suffice

Stay right there- I'll grab a pot

Be careful though, the kettle's hot

Excuse me? What was that?

To you, I shouldn't turn my back?

My dear sir, I'm so confused

You wonder if the soup is used?

I beg your pardon, I'd never serve--

How dare you Sir! You've got some nerve.

I'll answer your questions; however vague

And I doubt that you'll contract the plague

But once I do, I've had enough

And may ask you to grab your stuff

So Sir. If you must know

Here are your answers before I go

Perhaps you will fall the down the stairs

Maybe you will get caught unawares

There's always a chance you'll lose some cash

Sir please! I cannot ID that rash!

Now that I must avert my eyes

I ask you to replace your guise

Maybe you will inherit diamond rings

But Sir- how am I to know these things?

I'll bring you a menu and a beer

For I am just a waitress here.