Confessions of Guilt

D., do you remember that time you thought J. broke your bike horn and you punched him and made his lip bleed? Your dad got mad because you hit your little brother and chased you around the house hitting you with his belt. Well, I broke your horn. I felt bad because you wouldn’t have hit me, because I was a girl, and none of that would have happened.

Remember when your mom found the “magazine” hanging on a towel rack in the bathroom? Then she went on a pornography search and destroy mission. Well, the thing is, I was nine, and I found it in the bottom of a box of Ranger Rick and National Geographic magazines. For some reason I thought dirty magazines were supposed to be in the bathroom. Sorry about that.

Speaking of magazines, D. and D., the ones you kept in a ziploc bag under the leaves by your tree fort; I was the one who took them. I sold them to B. for $5.00. I bought a peach Nihi, a box of Hot Tomales, and a pack of Marlboro lights “for my dad”. I put the change in the container for Muscular Dystrophy. The cashier told me I had a beautiful heart. I don’t feel too bad because you stole them out of Mr. S’s mailbox.

Mrs. D. You know how proud you were that I went from getting F’s in spelling to perfect scores. The truth is, I figured out that you read the final test in reverse order of the pre-test. I would write out the words and keep it in the back of my notebook. Then I would pass the perfect paper forward when you collected them. Every once in a while I would misspell one so you wouldn’t get suspicious.

Mr. and Mrs. K, One night when I was babysitting for you, after the kids were in bed, I found a video. The homemade one with and X marked on the label. Damn, you were kinky! I was way too young to see that stuff and that’s why I never wanted to be around Mr. K again. I think people were worried there was more to it.

J., that window that you had to pay for because there was BB hole in it. You couldn’t figure out how you hit the window because you were always so careful. I wasn’t as careful as you were and I knew where you hid your co2 cartridges.

T. remember when Mr. W. said that you rode your dirt bike through his garden and you had to cut his grass all summer? Why would he say that if it wasn’t true? Because, I said you did it. J. really did it, but that morning you yelled at me and said I was stupid. J. felt bad for me and gave me half of his Almond Joy. I don’t feel the least bit bad about doing that.

That’s about it for the first twelve years of my life. Tomorrow, the next twelve years. Umm, then again maybe NOT.