Sixth Grade
Sierra Brown
You were barely twelve
and still itchy in a bra
and smeared with pineapple lip-gloss When you realized "Love"
was one of those big words
like "Death" and "Life."
Mark's friend had to ask you
to "go with him" on that windy February day
while you waited for your mother
because Mark was too nervous,
on his bicycle on the other side of the park
behind the school
waiting to ride away with the answer.
You said OK and asked Mark's last name
because you weren't sure
and told his friend to tell him "hi" for you
and his friend handed you Mark's number
on a crumpled piece of binder paper.
You went home and wrote about it
in the first diary you ever kept
and hid it under your bed
so your mother wouldn't find it.
Then you memorized his number
and flushed it down the toilet.
When the Yard Duties weren't watching at recess one day,
Mark grabbed your hand
and sneaked you behind the Music Portable,
your heart racing furiously,
where you balanced against the building and his shoulder
and tried to keep from stepping in the mud
and he put his tongue in your mouth.
In an instant, your life became divided between
being with him
and being without him.
You wrote his name in your green Trapper Keeper
with colored pen that smelled like strawberries
like you had seen other girls doing,
and you named the children you were going to have together:
Ashley, Nancy, and Travis.
After a month or so, his friend met you after school again.
He said Mark wanted to break up.
You looked across the grass,
but Mark wasn't watching you
from the other side of the park
this time.
You said OK and his friend rode away on his bicycle.
You stood alone in the March breeze
wiping the hair from your face
noticing how rough your hands felt
waiting for your mother to pick you up
and wondered what to feel
and whether you could've said no.
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