by Marie Cloutier
We're nine and it's huge in my friend Heather's hand, the red calculator, raised white numbers and a white cat whose face you slide to open it. I can count... I release the clasp on my fake pearl bracelet, yard sale hoard. "Trade you." She looks at the calculator, at me, gauging worth. "Let me see." I hand it over. Plastic beads overflow her little girl hand. "I don't know." Please, I think. Please. I wait, my breath aching. Can she tell? Counting seconds. She ponders. She weighs the bracelet, pursing pink lips. "Okay," and gives it over, my treasure.
Marie Cloutier (she/her) writes about girlhood and womanhood and complicated loves and losses. Her work has appeared in Bending Genres, Dorothy Parker's Ashes, the Sheepshead Review and elsewhere. She is at work on a memoir. Her website is www.mariecloutier.com.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Remember that we are here to support each other.