When I Was Eight

When I was eight, we listened to WCVB at six o’clock on the tiny, 8-inch TV/radio that we stashed on the kitchen counter, next to the rotary phone.  When I was eight, I went to my cousin’s house in Chelmsford for fun and cried in my bedroom at night when my parents fought.  When I was eight, I ate Cheetos on the bed with my mother when we watched Family Matters on Friday nights.  When I was eight, I didn’t hear about the latest catastrophe until we had finally gotten home from Boston that night at 7.  When I was eight, I swore I would never drink a drop of alcohol.  When I was eight, I had a cat named Pretty who snorted when she was mad.  When I was eight, everything was fairly fucked up but at least nobody died.

 

 

 

…and that’s all she could write.

 

 

 

 

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