Thursday, July 21, 2011

"I Don't Know," is Sometimes the Best Answer.


He is persistent.


"Can I see your tonsils?"


"Why Not, You can look at mine, mommy says we should share." And he opens his mouth so wide and grabs my face in his hands to position it just right to catch the light gleaming off his pink tonsils dancing in the back of his throat.

I smile and pry his hands off my face. "I don't have any."

"How come."

The Doctor took them out when I was a little girl.

"How come. Were you being bad? Mommy takes away my fighting me sometimes when I don't play nicely with them..."

"They made me sick."

"How come?"

"Well they were broken, kind of, they weren't working."

"YOU BROKE your tonsils??" His mind struggled to comprehend me in light of this new information that suggested I was possibly NOT a heavenly all-perfect being.

Ya, sort of I guess ... I think your mommy is calling you.

Did it hurt? When you broke them? Do you miss them? Why didn't you buy new ones? How much do they cost? Was your mommy mad? What ARE tonsils? How come we have them?


And then the little hand is there patting your arm and blue eyes looking at you with the same concern he had for the little bird with the broken wing and you realize no-one ever grieved for those damn tonsils before. They lied to you, and handed you a stuffed toy and Popsicle like that was supposed to make it all up and what the heck do tonsils do anyway and some things are better left unanswered ....

We sat there in the silence, the tonsil amputee and the perfect child. And then the moment passed.

"Wanna come watch me spit?"


SKIN: Redgrave
EYES: Fashism
LASHES: Damned
PURSE: Les Petit Details
BELT: HS (no longer available)
SHOES: NX-Nardcotix
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