Pretty Girls Bleed Flowers

The Bleeding Places

  I love everything about rain. I love the sound, smell, and feel of it. I even love when it catches in my lashes and pushes my mascara in streaks down my cheeks. I would spend every second in it if I could. I’d sit on the concrete of my driveway with my face tipped to the sky, letting it run over me. I’d close my eyes and breathe the earth. When I’d stand up, there’d be an outline of where I sat, already washing away before I could fully see it. By the time I’d be out of it, there’d be no sign I had ever been there, but it’d drip off me long after it went. And that would be okay.  

  A woman sat and waited for the train with me a few months ago. She saw me working on a blanket for my nephew. I hadn’t noticed her until she spoke. She told me her sister used to do it and asked if she could watch me. She sat on the bench with me while I pulled the yarn around itself. When the train came, and I packed it away, she smiled at me and gave me a granola bar.

  When I was too little to remember exactly when there was a time Nick accidentally threw a baseball straight into a beehive. He and James went tearing out of the garden as fast as they could while I sat tying clovers into crowns. I knew the bees were there. I thought if I stayed, they’d forget about my brothers and sting me instead. My brothers safely made it inside without a single sting. I have never been stung by a bee in my entire life.