Loud Murmering

It was in May, little girls ran around the May Pole in colorful dresses and I watched while cracking open a blue egg and admiring the contents that fell out half baked. Mother birds always abandon their nests. I shut my eyes for a split second and see the Jamaican man looming over me, while I try to scream and nothing comes out (and please believe me when I say I'm not trying to be racist) and grease is accumulating all over his body and sticking to my hair and nose and skin and I'm helpless in his grasp while he rubs his grease over me in the same consistency of the grease that you buy at the store and put in your hair to keep it tame. I keep murmuring aloud for him to stop and he won't. He's not the first. First was the blonde boys that had the same bright blue eyes and looked me up and down (and threatened me with punches in my face as warnings) saying at the end of it all that all they had wanted was to be my friend and kill me too. My mother cried as I cried in the middle of the night while repeating my story of the little boy blinded as a child by his father with a fork -father smiling down at the blind boy sitting faithfully on his knee without a care in the world- and thinking it was normal to stab himself repeatedly in his eyes with the same silver fork every night as some sort of unearthly ritual, or tick picked up by a ridilin user that doesn't need it. I kept thinking, 'why would someone make a movie out of this and make people watch it? It's sick' while trying to run towards the boy with the fork and he kept picking up pace and I kept crying for him to stop and I'm crying now because I'm afraid of the person I've become. He didn't ever stop. He kept on and blood trickled down his face. When he was finished he ran to his father and his father gave him a hug and told him he loved him and I cried harder and harder until I woke and salt-tear-stains dried in the outline of my face on my sheets. (and the lady with the bar through her nose and ears and lips and eyebrow mutters for me to sit down as she runs lotions over my legs up to my mid-thigh and her eyes are bright and her pupils are dark and scare me) I sit and stare at the fan for hours and try to remember how to breathe. Fuck, I hate Houston just as much as a college student enjoys being home.