You are the sunrise, go back to bed. I want to make you, laugh.

I was in a line at wall-mart by myself the other day.

(I prefer to shop alone, its very strange.)

Her head laid gently against a thick sweater, and she watched me through her dark lashes and brown curls, her tiny mouth pulled into a small pout.

The thick sweater she laid on seemed busy, her in one hand, brand new iphone 4 in the other, chatting to a friend. Acrylic nails clicking in rhythm against the counter. 

I smiled, and watched back, searching my memories for this time in my life, wondering how often my mom had held me in lines like these.

Her little pout faded.

Her face began to resemble something very dark, and very green.

Before I could take a breath to warn her clicking mother,

she puked.

All. Over.

You know what her mama did?
She threw her brand new white i phone
turned her acrylic nails towards the fountain
and attempted to catch the throw up.
She then knelt down in her thousand dollar jeans, throw up pooling around her knees, looked into her little brown eyes, and asked her if she was okay.
She hugged her and kissed her and cuddled her and promised her they would watch movies and lay in bed together until she felt all better.


It was beautiful.



Someday.
--Rachael Cherish