Sky Bridge. Laura Pritchett

sex—climbing up a swing-set pole and this feeling shooting like sparks between my legs, and I hung on till my arms went numb to keep this new, wonderful feeling there. I thought it was just me until Shawny told me that she felt the same thing if she pressed herself against the top of the footboard to her bed, and I’ve always wondered at that, how kids know about the things a body can do, and the things a body can want, the things a body can desire like crazy.

      A car’s parked out on the highway, between me and Miguel’s place, headlights out. I’ve been watching it the whole time. That’s the truth, of course, that while you’re doing one thing you’re busy noticing another.

      I’m guessing: people making out, out of gas, need to rest, lost. What are the reasons somebody stops a car in the middle of the night? I can’t see the car all the time, not through all that dark. Only when another car passes on the highway—mostly it’s semi-trucks this time of night—I can see a quick glimpse of taillights, the glimmer of glass windows. It’s parked facing away from me, like it’s heading into town.

      Sometimes when I’m at the store, to pass the time I freeze the world in my eyes. And I just try to notice things, like, Martha’s got oranges in her cart, she’s got a band-aid on her pinkie finger, one of her socks has been turned pink in the wash, three jugs of milk are gone, one carton of eggs, Frank’s hair looks softer than usual, Barry is writing his check with his left hand, the plant hanging above Arlene has six dead leaves. I watch the way Arlene’s face flickers with something sad, how Frank is pretend-jolly, how Martha does in fact seem happy, like she’s filled up with a secret joy.