My Cardboard Balcony

Caught In The '90s by Belinda Roddie Here we are holding hands at the baseball game wasting quarters on the old arcade sharing secrets over Gatorade like all dumb teenagers do Here we talk about war and stupid politics about the TV shows we like to skip and all the boy bands that make us sick to our stomachs at eleven at night And here we drive where the dirt road grows too thin and the lake's so cold that you just can't swim in it, but I'll hold you just along its rim and sing you tunes from the radio And I kiss you once just to make you smile and I'll say goodbye at the bus stop. I'll be seeing you in a second life where it's totally legal for you to be my wife

"Don't make me cry," whimpered Stephanie. "I hate crying. I don't want to cry." "I'm not going to make you cry," I said, my tone admittedly a bit bewildered. "Why would I do that?" "Because everyone else makes me cry," she said, and already, her eyes were beginning to shine. "My brother, my mommy, my daddy. They all make me cry. They all like making me cry."