Monologue

I don’t need you to protect me from anything that the big, bad doctor says. People die. When I was 5, I learned this after Patrick died. Don’t you remember? He came back to visit me and we laughed and talked. My mama was afraid, so we moved. Patrick didn’t visit me anymore. Will you ever visit me? We were all fork and spoon. You unapologetically showed your teeth when speaking and I was too well-rounded to fear them. I wish I had something else to remember you by. People make fun of my gap-toothed smile, ask me who did I get it from, then laugh. I wish the bruise on my arm was still here so when they ask who gave it to me, there would be no laughter.