AN: This is very experimental for me, but I hope you enjoy it! it was for an English project.... you'll notice each of the 5 sections have a different style. that was my goal. The second section can be read any way, but it is two poems placed side by side, so it makes sense to read one before the other. I hope it’s not too confusing… Please read and review!

I

She is at home in bed, feverish yet seeking out the warmth of her blankets. Her body itches painfully and every time she turns it is as though her skin is on fire. Breathing is a chore for her constricted throat, which is raw and sore when she swallows. Tossing and turning, she cannot get comfortable. Moving only chafes the bumps covering her body, and makes the itching rise to an agonizing level.

Chicken pox. She has been warned it would be bad, but this torture has been beyond even her creative imagination. Why did she have to get it? It is bad enough that some of her friends had been missing days of preschool because of the illness. But now she is stuck at home too, itchy, tired, achy, bored, and lonely. More importantly, she is terribly thirsty, but is unsure of whether she can even swallow the sweet, cool water her throat so desperately needs.

The girl reaches feebly out from under the sheets for her water glass on the dresser, but it is empty. Weakly, she calls to her mother for assistance, but the words catch in her throat. Only a dry rasp emits from her lips. Her mother would not have heard her anyway from the floor below. She pouts slightly at her failure, her forehead wrinkling in thought. She knows that she needs to do something.

Desperate for attention and some soothing remedy, the girl weakly stands. This process is difficult due to the itchy bumps on her feet. Trying to step as lightly as possible, she crosses the room to get her pink fuzzy slippers. She painstakingly puts them on, trying hard not to touch the sores. Determined despite her discomfort, she pads softly out of her room to the landing at the top of the stairs.

Grasping the handrails to keep from wobbling precariously down the stairs, the girl peers down to the floor below. No one is in sight. She again tries to call her mother, but little sound escapes and her attempted cries are in vain. She calls over and over, her voice strengthening a bit though not enough to do any good. Her mother does not hear,

Unwilling to brave the stairs, she turns around and glances mournfully backward down the stairs. She dejectedly returns to her room, whimpering softly, upset that no one came to her aid. She takes off her slippers and climbs carefully back into bed, still making little sounds of desperation in the back of her throat. Itching, feverish, and alone, she cries herself back to sleep.

II

We were friends once / My best friend and I have a special bond

I know, that’s a laugh. / We can each tell what the other is thinking without saying a word

Now we’re enemies,

Or as close to it as I can imagine./ But we do talk, and we talk a lot

But why? About everything and nothing

Years ago, we were real close./ We first met in kindergarten

Talking and laughing,/ And proclaimed ourselves “best friends forever” in third grade

Being completely wild,

Uninhibited and free./ From then to middle school, we called each other on the phone

But then things changed./ Almost every single day

You grew distant,

Started talking about me,/ We were great for each other

Behind my back.

I was hurt,/ She comforted me when I cried

I didn’t understand why./ I gave her a shoulder to lean on

I knew about it

From a true friend,/ We gave each other everlasting friendship

One who would never lie to me.

You acted as if/ And good advice on everything the other would want

Nothing had happened.

Then you started dissing me/The summer before seventh grade, she moved away

Right to my face./ Her dad got a great job offer

Insults thrown

With malice behind them./So we were sad, but we knew

I hated you./ We would still be “best friends forever”

I couldn’t take it any longer.

You were so abusive, a toxic friend./ Her new life was tough

I told you that, and

I said, “I don’t think/ Being the new kid in school

We should be friends anymore.”

You shrugged, said

“Whatever,” as if/ I could tell when she wanted me to call

You didn’t care./ Was having trouble with school, friends, or was just depressed

You just didn’t get it.

I walked away./ She could tell too

Then, months later

You were begging,/ So one of us called and said

Pleading for me

To give you/“I knew you wanted me to call. What’s the matter?”

Another chance.

So, that’s what I get?

You stab me in the back,/ The other would be amazed and say

Leave me lying

On the cold, hard ground/ “I was just thinking about you.”

To bleed to death from your hate?

Then when the wounds are almost healed, / So we still know when we are needed

You come running back

To save me?

You try to help me get up,/ We talk on the phone maybe once a week

As if that will make a difference./ See each other maybe once a month

Well it doesn’t.

A pathetic plea doesn’t make me forget/ It’s hard to get together

All the wounds you gave me./ But we still are close as ever

They’re all scarred over now,

But I remember. / Comfort each other when we are down

I refused to take you back./ Laugh until our stomachs ache

You were so cruel,/ And just have fun

I didn’t trust you anymore.

You failed to bring back/ We are always there for each other

The friendship gone to Hell./ That’s what friends are for

III

Sunday, December 7th, 2002. The evening before my fifteenth birthday. We’re sprawled out across my living room, chattering happily and listening to my bizarre mix CD courtesy of my best friend. Hilarity ensues when another friend mishears the lyrics of a song, giving them a dirty twist. She blurts, “Did he just say, ‘girl, jump in my crotch’???” After cracking up for a bit, I have to explain that, no, the guy is talking about a car. A BMW to be precise, which he wants the girl to jump into. But it’s not my friend’s fault the Russian singer’s English pronunciation is weird. That keeps us entertained for a while, but we lapse back into randomness. It’s been a fun party, and we’ve all gotten to the point where we’re comfortable acting more than a little crazy.

We’ve already watched the movie, filled ourselves up with junk food, and I’ve opened my presents. Lots of good gifts. He gave me a stuffed bear with lotion from Bath & Body Works. Right now I’m holding the bear and sitting snuggled up next to him on the couch. Mmm, comfy. Wait, not anymore – he moves to unhook his cell phone from the waist of his pants, which is ringing to some cheery tune I don’t remember the name of. His cell phone, that is, not his pants. He speaks briefly into the phone in Russian, and the room falls silent in interest, only my best friend understanding what he’s saying.

Momentarily, he closes the phone and enlightens us all to the fact that he has to leave. After he says his good-byes to my friends, including a quick Russian dialogue with my best friend, which is a bit annoying to the rest of us, I walk him downstairs where he puts on his coat and enormous shoes. As usual, we delay our parting for as long as possible. We talk a little about the night, about my birthday the next day, but finally I walk him out the door, and past the gate onto the front step, where we stop.

This is where things get a bit hazy. We hug for a long time, my face buried in his chest, our arms locked around each other’s backs. That’s kind of a habit for us, long good-byes ended in long embraces. But this time, something different happens. I don’t know how. When we part, there’s a sudden touch, feather-light, of lips on lips. His on mine. Only for a brief moment. And before I can respond, he’s gone. Vanished into the night.

I can only wonder, what just happened? Did he really just kiss me? Did I imagine it? Our first kiss. For each of us, and for both of us. Not like you read about in books, with the awkwardness of noses getting in the way, or lips missing the mark and catching an ear or chin instead. No, it was too quick for that. Just a brief moment. So much that I would doubt it had ever occurred if it weren’t for the small sensation that remains where his lips had met mine.

Why had he left so suddenly? Was he afraid of how I would react? I was just shocked, that was all, and more from his abrupt departure than from the kiss itself. I wish I could go back just a minute, and when he starts to leave, I could grab him, make him stay, and kiss me properly. I would let him know, that yes, I wanted this too. There was no need to be nervous. He didn’t need to run.

But it’s too late for that now. Tomorrow when I see him, I’ll know what to do. Until then, I have to go back in the house and face my friends. I wonder how they would react if they knew. I don’t think I’ll tell them just yet. With a slight smile on my still tingling lips, I close the gate and go back inside.

IV

Tension, building up, discordant with the outside environment, but purposeful. What is the future? How can we know? We don’t know where we’re going, but there’s some destination that beckons us, calls to us, we know we want it, but what is it? Since we don’t know where we’re going, there’s this anticipation in the air, a static electricity, an invisible intensity. Or does no one else feel it? Am I the only one who knows that something strange has a hidden hand pushing us, pulling us towards the source of that energy? Chaotic energy contained in such a way that it influences silently, making its mark on us even if we don’t realize the truth. Being under the control of the unknown, it frightens me. Am I not the master of my own fate? It seems not; I think my choices are my own but every cell in my body is being told what to do by something else. And I’m scared. I continually wonder, is it only me? Am I crazy? I feel the energy, do you? Does it call to you as well? It must… I cannot be the only one. I cannot be alone in this. So there must be others who feel it, experience it, know it’s there. It is not something we speak of… maybe we are just too scared to admit we are not in control of our own futures. That’s humanity for you, always acting self-sufficient when what we really need is the help of another. If we are open, if we are trying to figure out this mysterious presence that drives us, what will happen next? Will we continue on, knowing we are being pulled to an unknown future? Or will the energy dissipate, once we acknowledge its existence? If so, what will we do then when we must create our own future?

V

Screeeeetch! arrival of train marks a new beginning thank god I’m finally getting out of here this shit this city makes no sense. So what I grew up here yeah but I’ve been ready for a change for years and now finally I’m leaving I step onto the train the doors whump! closed and whrrrr! the engines start we’re moving now klunk! klunk! klunk! picking up speed and I feel so alive more than I have in years. Memories of a lifetime flooding back dropping sippy cup on the floor laughing and dropping it again when mom picks it up red crayon Halloween costume wreaking havoc in Three Bears Park playing with shaving cream at synagogue slash preschool. Flash forward to thirteen years of compulsory education excitement confusion true friends false friends why did I hang out with the popular girls at first anyway they were so cruel I didn’t fit in thank goodness I found real friends and had wised up by middle school but damn those years were hard looking back that seems like too much work for a little kid but I guess it got me ready for high school which was even worse why was there so much stress? it was ridiculous my friends were what I had to keep me sane and by the end I had had more than enough and my soul was begging to break free. And now I’m finally out of here and the train’s moving fast beneath me and the city is fading behind its buildings shrinking against the backdrop of twilight.