I’ll never understand why we have to take off our shoes. The carpet is so dirty already. There’s enough grit between the fibers to remind me of the beach. And like the beach, the carpet is damp too. That’s not right. Why, why, why is it damp?
My toes clench in disgust. Even without the dirt and wet it’s still revolting. Blue spirals on a red background? Come on. But it’s something to watch -My big toe tracing the outer circle Of one of the thousands of thousands of ocean blue spirals. Over and over and over and over. I imagine they are snails moving very, very, very slowly – Which is still far more interesting than these echoey speeches That fade into meaningless humming. Like a screaming tea kettle or a hornet in your ear. Starving for being more than just an annoying hornet, Or Mrs. Cardigan’s incessant criticisms. You’re still so small! Doesn’t your mother feed you enough? Well! Well!… isn’t that tan line ‘round your finger light enough? I snapped back, just Frustrated. That she’s in my house, sleeping on Mom’s side of the bed. And In short, that’s why I’m here, Wasting a Sunday Staring at my toes and bruising my behind On wooden chairs that could only be meant to punish us all. For being human and full of sin. So full of sin That it is spilling out of our mouths like bad shrimp food poisoning. Jesus must love sin. He talks about it so much he reminds me of Mrs. Cardigan. Dad never went to church with us before, but now Here he is. Folding his hands, bowing his head, mumbling words That are just words. To make him feel better Or to make her feel better. This emptiness. I suddenly feel sick, but I don’t know What’s to blame food poisoning or hunger pains.