This Isn't Poetic, Nor Is It Just
When I first moved to Owen Sound, Ontario, we lived in a duplex in town, in the transition between arrival and finding out beautiful country house which we lived in for the next 6 years.Across the street was an empty stretch of land where no duplex's had been built, and there I played in the mud and built forts out of leftover pieces of wood and cardboard.
Occasionally, the girl who lived behind me (named Jenn) and a boy from a block away (whose name, to this day, I do not know) would play with me, imagining we were builders or bandits or strangers lost in a barren wasteland. I think occasionally this boy was mean to us, but it was two to one, so we were generally safe.
One tragic day, I seemed to be caught off guard or unprotected, and this boy managed to grab my shoulders and kiss me forcefully on the cheek. The only feeling I get when I think about this moment is that I felt I had dirt all over my cheek as a result.
I ran home in tears, and cried and yelled in fury that this boy would do such a thing. I demanded my father go to his house and tell his parents, so that he could get the punishment he deserved. But justice was never served on that day.
posted by Unknown @ 6:57 AM
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