Tuesday, August 25, 2015

Bleeding Biff



Biff cut himself because his name was Biff. That’s what he told his mother anyway.
     “I didn’t name you,” she said.
     “I wasn’t blaming you. I’m just saying.”
     “How are you going to get a date for the prom with cuts all over your arms?”
     “It’s not just my arms.”
     “Whatever.”
     “Do I look like a good contender for the prom?” He shrugged. “I’m not going to the prom.”
     “I went to my prom.”
     “So what?”
     “I’m just saying, if I had cuts all over my arms, I would have been too embarrassed to go. There’s still time.”
     “Time for what?”
     “For your arms to heal. There must be a little girl you could ask.”
     “A little girl?”
     “Or any size you want. These are your precious memory days.
Don’t waste them.”
     “I was thinking. I might go to the prom with Ted.”
     “Ted? But you’re not gay.”
     “Nobody has to know that.”
     “I don’t think your memories should be based on lies.”
     He sighed. “No, I suppose not.”
     “I really think you should go to your prom.”
     “I went on the senior class trip...”
     “It’s not the same.”
     “We went to Knott’s Berry Farm.”
     “What’s that got to do with anything?”
     “I’m just saying I’m not as antisocial as you’re making me out to be. Maybe I’ll take you to the prom.”
     She laughed. “Wouldn’t that be something.”
     “Talk about self-mutilation.”
     “Just don’t expect me to dance.”
     “I never do.”

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