Strawberry Splash

Stories from the year I turned 16, an ode to the girl that made it through

Somewhere in the year 2006
   there is a girl with purple hair and bubblegum lips
   to mask the scent of the blueberry kush
   followed by 
   a Camel wide

Her eyes hide behind
   cherry red heart shaped sun glasses
   she tells people she wears them
   because they remind her to see the world
      with more love

That was a pretty lie
   she never needed help
   looking for love
   in a world where love goes to die

Such was her problem

She wore them to hide the tears
   that flowed when she saw a homeless man 
   with a dog, smiling 
   despite being stuck in 112 degrees
   or a seventy-year-old woman
   working the cash register at 7-11
   arthritic hands handling bills
   instead of someone holding her
   like the fine China
   she had to sell
   to pay for her husband's funeral
      something delicate
      precious
      white and blue veins
      cradled tenderly

Of course
   she doesn't really know
   the crone's story
   but she imagines it wasn't happy
   nobody wants to collect money
   for Coca-Cola slushies
   when they should be 
   spending sunlit afternoons
   relaxed, reading
      
People say
   they want the real you
   until she comes crawling
   half blinded 
   because the moonlight
   reminded her of that one time
      she ran naked through a golf course at midnight
      and this was the first time
      she ever felt the starry desert wind
      on her bare maiden skin

Nobody knows
   how to handle that level
   of emotional honesty

During winter
   she drives with the windows down
   and the heater on
   toes sweating in her boots
   while the rushing air
   freezes her fingertips

Softly weeping
   at the way stars look
   brighter 
   in cold weather

And if she gets stopped
   she can blame the tears
   on the biting atmosphere
   she thinks about these things
      because she's always speeding

She thinks about 
   that stupid fucking bumper sticker
   "Never Drive Faster Than Your Angels Can Fly"

What good is an angel
   that can't fly faster 
   than a 2001 Saturn?

Summer months
   come to pass
   and she drives
   to Central and Camelback
     for a strawberry Italian soda
     topped with fresh cold cream

She sits on the long wooden bench
   her journal open on the uneven table
   and as the sun bakes her arms
   like cinnamon cake
      her heart writes it's secret beliefs

Some guy
   sees her sticky soda lipgloss mouth
   and pretends he likes poetry
   she’s not really interested 
   but flirts anyway
      only for the fun of the game 

When he asks for her number 
   she says 
   “I’m gay.”

It's half true

The girl she loves
   moved away
   a cavern grew
   in the space
   teenage lust once knew

She asks her co-worker
   (no school anymore, 
   not for her)
   to buy her a bottle of rum
   and hides it in her closet

After her parents go to bed
   she gets a glass of apple juice
   from the stainless steel fridge
   and uses it to chase
   her fermented sugarcane beverage

They say you're an alcoholic
   when you start to drink alone
   little do they know
   her head was full of ghosts

Before her girlfriend left
   she burned two copies
   of the same CD
   a playlist of songs
   full of ache
   and what it means to long
      for something you'll never have

When she works the morning shift
   she passes the bus 
   heading toward her 
   would be high school
      and these are the moments
      when parallel realties collide
      one version of her still on the yellow ride

Those early work days
   ended just in time
   for her to smoke a bowl
   before picking up her bro

Heart shaped glasses
   fending off the last rays of sunshine
   Strawberry Splash gum
   snapping and blowing bubbles
   thinking about her hidden rum

Her and Double E
   spend the rest of the night
   finding secret spots
   to light up the next joint
   or cruising to the top of a nearby peak
   after paying a stranger
   to buy them some 40s

If they heard of a party
   the team would roll up
   a sack of dank to trade
   for whatever jungle juice was made

She would hunt
   for someone to make out with
   because it was better than
   the sorrow 
   of missing her gone one's kiss

Months measured
   in strangers' lips
   hazy hedges
   driving past the edges
   of her city
   wild desert land
   where the Saguaro blooms
   white trumpets
   at moonrise
   and the bats come to drink
   from those ivory cups

And despite her broken heart
   or all the ways she tries to run
   she looks at all the life
   in a landscape most label
   as strife
   she sees the swooping bats
   serpents circling in the sand
   and finds her reflection there

Beauty thriving 
   in a world so severe
   

I’ve been thinking about this girl a lot lately. I can still taste the Strawberry Splash Bubblicious and tobacco stains in my mouth. She doesn’t know it, but she gave me something priceless: a journey full of shattering angst and ache that became something so much more. I think I’ll be exploring her stories more often.