FOUR STORIES UP
I am sitting in my room. I am sitting in my room in a chair pulled up to my desk, snugly. I am typing. I am listening to music. I am finishing my homework. I am typing and thinking in pedagogical terms: to express, to discover, to investigate. I am daydreaming. I am thinking of Lucky Charms and whether or not I really think a Ginseng pill can make me smarter, or whether it's possible that I can become smarter by simply thinking that a Ginseng pill makes me smarter and therefore skip taking the pill altogether, or whether it's possible that by thinking the Ginseng pill is working, without really taking it, I am practicing reverse psychology on myself. I am at the window. I am no longer thinking of Ginseng or Lucky Charms. I am looking below. Below there is a boy lying in the grass. His head is propped on his book bag. He is looking up. He does not see me. He is tapping his foot. I think he is listening to music. He is a handsome boy. I am thinking that if I were younger I would go downstairs with my own book bag and lie down next to this boy. I am thinking of things we might have in common. He is wearing Pumas. I am wearing Pumas. His Pumas are white, mine are black. I am remembering that when I was young I would never have had the never to lie down next to a strange boy, handsome or not. I am sitting back down. Blondie is playing through my headphones. I like this song. It reminds me of whiskey and cigarettes. I am thinking about how I need to go to the grocery store before it gets dark. I am thinking about the homeless man who is always standing in front of the grocery store where I shop for bread and cereal. I am wondering if he will still be standing there, shaking his cup, when it is cold here and I am long gone for home and someone else is living in this room.