6.6

I don't know what she
makes me want from myself
- - - -
I can always remember this day 6/6/6 because the perfect thing happened. It is strange to think that this will once bring me to sound dated, and that 6/6/1906 and my 6/6/2006 were probably very different.

I had flunked a bunch of high school. My computer addiction was full fledged. Smosh videos were what I was about, along with buying cake mix from Walmart Neighborhood market for 79 cents. I could pay for it in my spare change. Every night from the hours of 8pm-1pm, I locked myself in my tiny tower of a bedroom, pulled out a tupperware, mixed a little cake mix and water (a trick learned from summer camp), and youtubed until passing out.
I had failed English because I had little to no interest in Alaskan dog-sled racing, and a hearty dash of teen angst. My dad said he would pay for summer school, but I had to ride my bike there and back every day. School was 7 miles away, and there was a separate bike-trail for most of it.

There were a handful of issues.
1. I am a girl. Sweating before and after school as a teenager wasn't really in my hair's favor.
2. It is June in tornado alley with big storms happening almost every night. Wet road= wet streak up your butt when arriving to class.
3. I had to cross over a lot of creeks between 6:40-7:10 am.

Pretty much every morning I am trying to pull a windbreaker over my ass, keep my hair off my forehead and blindly peddling through dense fog on bridges.

So it is around 7 am, 6/6/6, and I am finger-combing out my wavy, cherry red locks with my left hand while my right hand is squeezing my handlebar in rhythm with pirated Karen O screams. I've been kinda excited for today. As a young, alternative adult, I'd entertained some possible happenings with the local hooligans, but "gotta get up early for school lol kk tootles". It was perfectly foggy, like milk was mixed in the air, and I turn up onto my last bridge.
Just right there. Just right in front of me. A babies arm.
lols, wahh?
I decide the middle of the bridge is probably the safest for the last 15 ft, and as soon as I make this decision my front tire pulls a moses on a pentagram with baby parts piled in the middle. I jerk to the left so quickly that I immediately fall off my bike and smear myself in the sticky red substance.
I begin weeping. I can feel the curtain close as I pick up my bike, backpack and dust off my jacket, further smearing my mess. I don't look back as the standing ovation begins. They are sucked into the fog as I push my peddles down. I am sobbing with so much suction that the gnats are getting stuck in my throat.
Walking into class after a performance like that was like floating on air.
I showed those kids the man's blood on my jacket from my fight last night. Told them he'd lost 3 teeth. I just got out of jail. When it was my turn to read out loud, I could hear the metal kids whispering about me. My voice was steady and strong. I got some girl to buy me skittles.
All in all it was a good day.