Snowflakes Bouncing for Gold

First she said something she shouldn’t have. It slipped out. She apologized, but the hurt was there. The hurt was real. The hurt was deep. The hurt was already out. The words, “You don't look fat. Your outfit looks nice, Better than the last one. I didn't mean to say you don't look fat. Not that you ever did. I mean sometimes we all do, cause we have our bloated days. Like whales. We're like whales.”

Others came in. One to get the staples, one to refill his coffee cup, another to make photo copies. The rest of them to see what the fuss was. So the two of you were yammering like puppets. Strings being pulled, jerking your mouths wide open, your arms flailing about. Strings you had no control over. None of you could stop. You were sobbing. She was sobbing. You all were sobbing. Nobody meant anything. Somebody blamed the president, another mentioned coffee, someone said cannabis, and the last one spurted out saying it was gluttony, but as the eyes focused and narrowed and widened, you took it back; said you were kidding and together laughed that nervous laugh you give. You were all hurting. This was true. One by one you each gave a tale. It started with a paper cut. A stubbed toe. The sandal taken off to show the bruised toe. Somebody cried saying they wanted blue tacks, not pink. A bra undone to show the bites from the office mites. Belts loosened to show the C-sections. The kidney scars. The doctors' scalpel markings. You were all on the office floor naked, wailing, when the CEOs, HR reps, and policemen came in. Inside the police car you noticed how when the car swerved, the seat burned your bum. You vowed to sue them. Sue them so hard they'd never know what it was that hit them. The policemen said, “What does that have to do with us? We didn't make them. It was the factories.” You were quiet for a moment and then brawled out together, “We'll sue the factories then!” The policemen rolled their eyes. The lights above flashed and wailed, wailed and flashed. It was giving you a headache. “Shut that thing off,” you cried. “Can't,” they said. “It's the law.” So you vowed to sue the lawmakers as well. You're frowning, chewing your lower lips into bloody strips when you remembered your father, your mother, your teachers. How if only your parents could of made it better for you, how if they only would of let you have Sparky like you wanted, then none of this would of happened and the first thing you're going to do when you're out of prison is dig up your father's bones. You'll hang them up in your den. You have a lot to tell him.