Nonfiction

Drinking, unlike most things, is easy to predict. Here is what I know: Nine beers will put me on my ass.

The space between my left and right ear rings when nothing’s ringing. In dead silence, white noise. Static is my internal soundtrack.

Once upon a time, you had so much pigment in your skin, darkness pooling in your elbows, your knuckles, and especially your knees.

Without choking, I can now swallow and smile at the same time.

I am bare. Cleared of the years before me, prepped for the ones to come.

I stare at my skin with all its melanin, and feel like a fish on a hook, body thrashing. I tongue the wound and laugh with them.

They had cool girl names like Caitlin and Caroline and wore cool girl things like tank tops and stretchy chokers. “Do you want to play ‘Stranded Helpless in the Woods’ with us?” Caitlin asked.

How fickle is fire, the element of transformation. In a single moment it transmutes joy into terror.