REWRITE
Once in the years of Reagan on a yellow tricycle, he rode around the block and showed his mom look no hands because that’s how he felt for a moment which was free and that’s what he thought she wanted to hear and his mother gave him a hug and a high five and called his brother outside to watch. That was the year his father tucked him in every night and told him stories of the war and stories of love for his mother and he would always whistle as he clicked off the light. That was the year his teacher gave him a gold star for his paper on mammals and his mother hung it on the refrigerator door and called his aunts to tell them about it and his brother would make forts out of pillows and blankets while his mother baked pies and his mother and father were always laughing and a girl moved in across the street and asked him to hold her hand and for a moment life seemed really, really perfect.
Once in the years of the blue moon on a yellow bus he rode down the street and told his mom I’ll be fine because that’s what he thought he should tell her and that’s what he thought she needed to hear and his mother half waved and his brother wasn’t home. That was the year his teacher gave him an A for his paper on ‘Freedom: the internal struggle’ but he handed it over with a strange and steady look and his mother never hung it on the refrigerator door because all of the magnets were gone. That was the year his father started drinking and his brother scored a touchdown to win the championship game and every girl in school couldn’t stop talking about him except the one across the street who came to school with bruises on her arm and begged him not to tell. That was the year his brother showed him the magazines under his bed and pointed to the parts of all the girls and explained what each was and he had to ask his father what those parts were for and his father avoided the question because he was always so busy and his mother and father never laughed anymore and he couldn’t remember the last time he heard his father whistle.
Once in the years of the orange seasons in a yellow Camaro stolen from his brother he tore out of the driveway and flipped off his mom as he went because that’s how he felt about her and this time he didn’t care what she needed to hear. That was the year his professor gave him a C and told him to write more clearly and his mother never hung it on the refrigerator door because he never showed her. That was the year his father fell to the bottom of the bottle and he walked in on his mother and another man and his brother got in a car accident that crushed his leg so bad he would never play football again. That was the year he punched the dad of the girl across the street and told him if he ever touched her again he’d kill him. That was also the year he finally kissed her long and hard.
Once in the years of the red skies in a yellow trailer he bought from a crooked salesman he traveled across country because he couldn’t get far enough. That was the year his brother smoked him out and showed him all of the different drugs under his bed and explained what each did and this time he didn’t have to ask anyone about anything because he knew enough already and they would have avoided the question anyway and his mother and father never lived in that tiny home together again and the girl across the street moved away without goodbye.
That’s why on the back of a brown paper bag he wrote one last paper and he called it nothing because that’s what it was really all about and he gave himself an A and a slash on each damned wrist and he hung it on the bathroom door because this time he didn’t think he could reach the kitchen.
Once in the years of the blue moon on a yellow bus he rode down the street and told his mom I’ll be fine because that’s what he thought he should tell her and that’s what he thought she needed to hear and his mother half waved and his brother wasn’t home. That was the year his teacher gave him an A for his paper on ‘Freedom: the internal struggle’ but he handed it over with a strange and steady look and his mother never hung it on the refrigerator door because all of the magnets were gone. That was the year his father started drinking and his brother scored a touchdown to win the championship game and every girl in school couldn’t stop talking about him except the one across the street who came to school with bruises on her arm and begged him not to tell. That was the year his brother showed him the magazines under his bed and pointed to the parts of all the girls and explained what each was and he had to ask his father what those parts were for and his father avoided the question because he was always so busy and his mother and father never laughed anymore and he couldn’t remember the last time he heard his father whistle.
Once in the years of the orange seasons in a yellow Camaro stolen from his brother he tore out of the driveway and flipped off his mom as he went because that’s how he felt about her and this time he didn’t care what she needed to hear. That was the year his professor gave him a C and told him to write more clearly and his mother never hung it on the refrigerator door because he never showed her. That was the year his father fell to the bottom of the bottle and he walked in on his mother and another man and his brother got in a car accident that crushed his leg so bad he would never play football again. That was the year he punched the dad of the girl across the street and told him if he ever touched her again he’d kill him. That was also the year he finally kissed her long and hard.
Once in the years of the red skies in a yellow trailer he bought from a crooked salesman he traveled across country because he couldn’t get far enough. That was the year his brother smoked him out and showed him all of the different drugs under his bed and explained what each did and this time he didn’t have to ask anyone about anything because he knew enough already and they would have avoided the question anyway and his mother and father never lived in that tiny home together again and the girl across the street moved away without goodbye.
That’s why on the back of a brown paper bag he wrote one last paper and he called it nothing because that’s what it was really all about and he gave himself an A and a slash on each damned wrist and he hung it on the bathroom door because this time he didn’t think he could reach the kitchen.