Hiccups on the Last Day I Remember Fondly

By Kate McKenna

1. 78 on an adjective conjugation review. Almost through a dismal semester, the difference between bleu and bleue knocked me off the honour role. Ms. Lemieux asks me if I've felt alright lately. Says she'll have to call my parents. I shrug and smile. They won't be home.

2. Walking home, through the trees to my house - spy several crows picking at a dead cat, sharp in contrast to the sparse snowy ground. I want to kick them away, but what's the point?

3. Crouching in your spare bedroom while your siblings pass around a joint. My eyes plead for help; you're useless. I don't want to, but I do, and your snotty fucking sister (with eyebrows like caterpillars) stops glowering long enough to say 'Aw, baby's all grown up.' It never did much for me, but you seem a little calmer.

4. My Radiohead CD fell from the dashboard to the floor. Your brother steps on it. Track four (Exit Music for a Film) skipped, permanently and eventually, ironically. He says he'll buy me another one, but he never does.

5. The drive to the barn is long and my father has a weird nasal problem. Every breath is loud, obnoxious. I make mental haikus when Dad won't let me put my headphones on.

6. Hanging out in the loft, it's near midnight, minus twenty and dropping. After playing in the hay, you catch me and we perch on the low wall, feet dangling 20 feet in the air. It's winter, the horses are inside: no one and nothing can see us. "Does it hurt to die?" Your eyes are too dark, mostly obscured by your hair. I didn't really get to see you when you asked.

"I dunno. Probably."