Vacillate

“What is your… ethnicity?” From across a small round table. “Because you don’t look white.”

I’m pretty drunk at this point and say something to the effect of, “Lenape-Dutch” and giggle into my tiny red straw.

I walk home alone and its cold. I absently feel around the shape of things in my pockets.

The next day it’s misting outside and my head feels hot and I have a lot of anxiety. So I walk for what seems like a really long time.  

I let the mist collect on my face and the vision in my right eye is blurry. I’m waiting to be acted upon. I praise myself for being able to isolate this thought.

Two days later, I’m standing in front of the library at my school. I’ve got my coat unzipped and the sun is right on me. I let my mouth hang open and kick at some stupid, dead grass.

One time, I spent half an hour staring at a beverage case in a gas station convenience store, trying to decide what drink to buy. I ended up getting a 32 oz fountain soda cup full of Mountain Dew. I drank half of it standing on a corner about half a block down from the store. It my stomach feel terrible so I set it down gently on the sidewalk and walked away. But I kept looking over my shoulder, looking back at the clear plastic cup, the rest of fluorescent green soda glowing in the morning sun, until I turned a corner.