my beat is correct.

spontaneous combustion.

this is one of my favorite episodes of unsolved mysteries, i tell everyone. the one where they talk about people who all of a sudden burst into flames. but no one can hear me from this back-corner couch so i finish my biscuit & play with the exposed couch stuffing the same way i do with my troll doll’s hair, braiding it & twisting it around my finger until it’s so tight i turn white & think “this is what i’d look like if my name were smith or jones.”

the room suddenly grows quiet then erupts with happy birthdays. my cousin nicole has arrived. the inside of her ears are shiny with wax & her brown knees are visibly ashy, but everyone still tells her she’s beautiful, their my-mys & look-at-yous so loud i miss my favorite part of the show, where the witness to the spontaneous combustion shakes his head & says, “i never seen anything like it.”

but i will not hug you like everyone else does, nicole, because you always call me stupid even though you read with your finger. & i will not say i’ve missed you because the last time i saw you, you locked me in the bathroom & wouldn’t let me out until i said “motherfucker.”

i can’t stand you, nicole, because your mom lets you watch mtv so you know all the words to madonna songs, but i’m only allowed to watch pbs. your clothes smell like that beach towel my mom made me throw out after i let it get too crispy on the clothesline, & your farts smell like lays potato chips even though i know you eat the store-brand kind. our aunts & uncles always buy you toys & pretty dresses for christmas but all they ever get me are shirts bought too small out of politeness.

i hate you, nicole, because if i didn’t, no one else would.