My Cardboard Balcony

It Stung A Little by Belinda Roddie It stung a little as she pressed the ice pack to her face, the purpling skin beneath forming a ring around her swollen eye. She did not know what she would say if her father asked how she got the bruise. Her friends would surely ask as well. But she did not want to divulge the truth. Not about the one she thought had loved her with gentle lips and gentle hands and gentle fingers, too. Her ears still rang from the profanity screamed across the room. Her tongue still felt tied in knots because she could not retort. She removed the pack when water seeped into the grotesque mosaic of her new wound.

At the metro station, I found myself chewing gum from a vending machine, reading a newspaper I had found on the bench that was two weeks ago, and marveling at how blue the hair of the teenage girl nestled beside me really was. Mind you, as much as she seemed to prefer not to give me any personal space, she wasn't hard to look at - save for the ocean-salty hairdo, she had nice eyes and a nice chin. She was also reading one of my favorite novels.