Today it is my great honor to present as a guest blogger my friend Laura-Marie. Laura-Marie is a sweet person and an awesome poet and writer of personal prose. Today she is sharing with us three vignettes that are part of a forthcoming zine called lost child 2.
We were in Reno visiting a crazy friend, the one who kept broken mirror fragments in his pockets and read difficult books. He found things on his late night walks, looking in dumpsters.
His sister, the house they shared, a meal made with dumpstered veggies.
We woke up and I needed to pee, so we walked to the In & Out but it was closed.
Later that day there was an eclipse. We went back to the In & Out and people were in the parking lot looking at the sun. We ate grilled cheese sandwiches. It got dark for a moment then light again.
When I had my first manic episode, when I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, I thought I’d have a lot more manic episodes. So I took a ziplock bag and stole a lot of Benedryl from my mom. The pills were hot pink. Then I put that bag into a tin, like a tin for mints.
I thought when I started having another manic episode, I would take some Benedryl and it would help me sleep.
This was ten years ago. I still have the Benedryl, bright enough to burn your eyes. I never took any of it.
Mom had a glass jar in her bathroom with pink soaps in it. The soaps were shaped like seashells. I wanted to wash my hands with them so badly. But they were for decoration only. They smelled perfumey, and my longing for them was mixed up with my longing for all the childhood things I was denied.
Lite brite. A certain kind of bedside lamp the neighbor kids had. When my brother was being potty trained and I was banished to other rooms.
I feel sure that color of pink will always be with me. The soaps got dusty. She must have thrown them away when we moved.
Laura-Marie is a zinester and peace activist living in Las Vegas, Nevada. She likes cold brew tea, writing letters, and visiting friends.