by Alicia Cusano-Weissenbach
You ain’t supposed to see stuff like that, so you just pretend you don’t. It ain’t so weird, y’know. There’s lots of stuff like that—normal stuff that you ain’t supposed to see—so you just keep walking.
Y’know what I mean, don’t you? Like when some fat bitch smacks her kid upside the face in a store and you feel bad, ’cause y’know, you been that kid. Or when you’re walking home and you see some guy tweaking, and it’s the middle of the day and he’s on the sidewalk in front of his building, but you just keep walking.
This is like that, but it ain’t. Difference is that other people see them things and y’know it ’cause they’re trying so hard not to, but with this, no one but me and Benny see it. I saw it first, and then Benny did, but not ’til I pointed and made him look at it.
Well, actually, that ain’t entirely true, ’cause y’see, I think my intestines felt it first. They sorta clenched up and got all wigglyfeeling, like they was bursting, and that’s how I knew to look.
Benny says it’s probably ’cause I got a worm, like the one we saw at the Mütter Museum when his parents took us to Philly. That place was all full of messed-up shit, like body parts in jars and the original Siamese twins. Wish I could be stuck on Benny like that. Guess you’d get tired of being together like that after a while, though.
Still, I had to show Benny, ’cause nothing impresses him. He’s too smart for school, and he gets A’s even though he cuts class. He comes down to see me ’cause it really ain’t that far away from where his parents live. They’re the richest people I ever saw, and they live in the good part of the borough. We don’t go there ’cause people stare at us.
People here stare at Benny, too, but no one ever tried to jump him. He’s asthmatic and thin, and he’s got skin like cream. Wears a Rolex at age 14 and has his little suit like a little business person ’cause his school makes him wear it—and he walks down the street alone!