Scintilla, Star

In the old place, there was no place

that did not see me.

Wherever I went mothers whispered

about me like a Greek chorus:

I heard that boy    ...    I heard that.

I was just a boy. But it was

true, what they said, that I liked

other boys, that I had stolen Sarah’s,

though he was four years older

and they were very much in love.

I made him break up with her

in a Chili’s parking lot

while I waited inside. I was

fourteen. How embarrassing

to have been fourteen, to have eaten

at that Chili’s, often. That summer

I had no taste for anything

but him. Faintly of chlorine.

When he left for college

I had no one. Sarah’s friends

stared me down at school.

I found it was better,

if I could not be no one,

to be someone. Small, but

particular. Specified, which was

an apprenticeship for special.

Cold, another word for cool.