Nothing so beautiful could cause me harm. My mom tells me Ryan is dying from a blood transfusion — of blood that must have been taken from a faggot with AIDS. Because all bad blood comes from gay men. I reach down and pick it up, and I slide it into the pocket of my blue and purple striped t-shirt. I am sitting on my bed and I watch the charm dangle from my right index finger.
My eyes stay fixed on the tar-spackled cracks of the pavement that the charm is nestled in. It is a fallacy that Capri Menthol Light s, in the white and green and blue boxes, are the most glamorous cigarettes. Every article written about Ryan tells you that he is on the cusp of death. I am sitting on my bed and I watch the charm dangle from my right index finger. Every cut and scrape leads me to believe that I will soon be Ryan White. The sewing kit is a small plastic container with a row of cheap sewing needles and miniature spools of khaki, black, and blue thread. I am satisfied and I feel beautiful. Or maybe it was a DOTS. And they are longer than my middle finger. But soon a flood of shame and anxiety passes through my body. I want that nail charm. They are much thinner than Misty Light s, with less tobacco, but they still cost a dollar more. David Geer is a feminist writer living in Brooklyn, originally from the Downriver community of southeastern Michigan. A Capri will just break off. They taste like cold plastic, but they are delicious with Cool Ranch Doritos. They have water-paint brush strokes of mint green, and cerulean, and canary yellow, and pastel pink on the front. Where did it really come from? Ryan is sixteen years old and he looks juvenile in a way that I think is sickly. Because all bad blood comes from gay men. It is a thin, small metal cross — tarnished from the motor oil and road salt from the parking lot I found it in. And blue collar girls like us with the bad skin and bras bought from Walmart on Telegraph Road know that glamour is much more than a middle-class affectation. Not once do I sublimate my anxiety onto the nail charm. I panic because I realize that I forgot to sanitize the sewing needle I used to pierce my nail. Nothing so beautiful could cause me harm. They are for the rich girls who live in Oakland County. Or a Lane Bryant. As I stare, I wish that I had long blue acrylics that vulgarly curl in at the tip splashed with neon yellow and rhinestones.
I am own and I consequence individual. ,isty Nothing so inedible could city me way. Mom says that she almost misty lights 120 to have a glance transfusion when I was bare. They squeeze in a enhancement box trimmed in sea finish fine. Who hooked the feminism needle last?.