I OPENED MY EYES.
Grandma’s kitchen floor is grayish marble tiles. They are ugly, but very clean.
The air smells unusual. Like Grandma’s bathroom. A nasty sterile aroma. God I hate this smell. It’s like having a can of Lysol jammed up your nose. Now that I think of it I don’t like Grandma much either. The bitch used to hit me. Tell me I was useless, then lock me in the basement until I promised to sleep beside her that night.
Why am I looking at the floor?
Grandma got what she deserved. God she was horrible! That time she beat me with the tennis racket was the last straw. I couldn’t just let her do that anymore. I was bleeding like that poor woman, Nicole Simpson.
I wish I could get at OJ! The murdering nigger pig! He should be in jail. Or better yet, DEAD! Like Grandma. My nose itches.
I need to send a letter to Bill. He has been fucking everything up. Thank God he will only be around for a couple more months. I might have to do something about him too. That’s too long. And that Volunteer assistant of his, he better not take over or I will be forced into action. Mother would be upset if I did that. She likes him.
This floor is very clean. But it smells bad. My nose still itches.
Grandma gave me a air pump for my bike for my eleventh birthday. I liked it so much I killed her with it for my twelfth birthday. She kept getting blood on my clothes. That was my favorite shirt! When I hit her face her left eye sort of exploded. Blood everywhere. I liked it so much I did the same thing to her right eye. Mom was mad at me. I lost that shirt. I had too. I know she would have been real mad if she knew I made Grandma’s eyes blow up. I would have been in deep shit for sure.
I see a speck of something over there on the floor! It ain’t so clean. My Goddamn nose itches!
I ran over a dog last week. I cried. I love dogs. He didn’t deserve to be run over. That kid loved the dog. Too bad he mouthed off at me. I didn’t mean to kill his dog. He really shouldn’t have talked so mean to me. I told him I was sorry. I even said I would get him a new dog. He didn’t have to call me a freak! I had to take him away. Any boy who was so mean needed to be taken away. I wonder if he is still in the basement? I wonder if he met Grandma?
Who’s there? Who’s talking there?
“You have dirty shoes.”, I noticed out loud (I think), “I bet that’s why there is dirt on this floor. You got dirt on Grandma’s floor you son of a bitch!”
Grandma didn’t allow dirty shoes in the house. They were to be taken off outside on the porch. And if your shoes were muddy they came off on the steps. I wore dirty shoes in Grandma’s kitchen when I took the air pump there for my birthday.
The man with the dirty shoes is ignoring me I think. Is it a man? Yes, most definitely a man. His feet smell bad. But at least that fucking smell from Grandma’s bathroom is gone.
I should probably talk to that man with the dirty shoes. He needs to know how upset Grandma will be if he doesn’t go take them off on the porch.
What will I write to Bill this time?
Dear Mr. Clinton,
I am a vet of Desert Storm. I saw action over there with those camel jockeys.