got no friends, got no lover
Once, when I was probably five or six, my parents signed me up to play t-ball. It must have been something I wanted after watching my older brothers. I remember the first day, standing in the outfield grass under the blue sky. I even remember what I was wearing: a rainbow colored shirt made out of that bubbly, stretchy fabric and jean shorts. Anyway, I was standing out there preparing to field some balls when I looked around and saw all the parents watching and realized I was the only girl on the team. A gradual crescendo of tears welled up inside me and, before I knew it, I was bawling and my mom was getting me out of there. I don't know why I cried. I don't know why I remember it so clearly.
I also remember once I hid in a bathroom for hours so that this friend of my dad's wouldn't see me and pinch my cheeks and hassle me. There was a search party employed to find me. I never wanted people to notice me. I always wanted to blend in.
I also remember once I hid in a bathroom for hours so that this friend of my dad's wouldn't see me and pinch my cheeks and hassle me. There was a search party employed to find me. I never wanted people to notice me. I always wanted to blend in.