Saturday, December 20, 2014


I have three of these pink balls.  Two are Spaldeens, and the other is a Hi-Bounce Pinky, which used to be my favorite.  It's spongy and feels good when you squeeze it.  I never should have picked at the foam, though.  Now, it has all these little holes and one big one.  I'm keeping it because it still bounces, sort of.  I just wish I hadn't ruined it.

One of the Spaldeens has a split across the seam and flops open when it hits the ground.  But I wrote J.P. Rogers' name on it in script with red ink and the outline of a heart around the letters.  It came out really good, so I don't want to get rid of that one either.

The third ball I found yesterday, just resting in a pothole on Zerega Avenue when I was walking the dog after school.  My mother doesn't want me going in the street, so I looked around to make sure nobody was watching.  Then I ran half way across and back.  This new ball is so clean.  No marks or writing on it yet.  I can't believe somebody just left it there.  What a find.

I have a crush on J.P. Rogers.  He lives around the corner in the light green house on Herschell Street.  He is younger than me.  I am ten, and he is still eight.  I don't think it matters too much.  He has two older sisters.  Susan is nice, but Joanne is kinda tough.  Her mom lets her wear tube tops, and I saw her smoking a cigarette once.

Last week, J.P. turned the hose on me when we were in his yard, playing frisbee.  I can throw okay, but not catch.  I thought everything was going great, and I tried to hug him.  Next thing I knew, he sprayed me and my clothes got soaked.  I almost cried, but I stopped myself.  He was laughing, and I wanted him to like me.  So I smiled instead.  I made like I thought it was funny.

My mother was mad when I got home.

"You stay away from that boy," she warned.  "He's not for you."

"Why is he like that?" I sobbed.

"There's something the matter with him.  Are you hearing me?"

I nodded.  I heard her.  She peeled my clothes off and let me wear her robe, the one she keeps on a hook in the kitchen.  She dried the ends of my hair with paper towels. She positioned a tissue in front of my left nostril and squeezed my shoulder.

"Blow," she commanded.  I did what I was told.

Mom finished making the supper.  I went inside and turned on the TV.

I still bounce my ball past J.P.'s house, hoping he's around.  I want him to be my boyfriend. 

No comments:

Post a Comment