Fave from Escrita - vomit
im missing you @ on
2002-11-25 - 5:59 p.m.
vomit
I remember promising to tell my 2nd grade story of vomit...a few entries back.
Thought that you had got away without hearing it, huh?
I couldn't help but be tempted to share it with you now.
So, in 2nd grade...mom, dad and I lived in an apartment on Judge Smith in Marion.
We were in the process of moving from our house in West Memphis to the house that we were having built in Marion and as we were waiting, we stayed in the apartments by our realtor agency.
One night, our church had some big bash. My friend, K's mother had made some cheese dip.
(Note to readers: I *heart* cheese dip, ALMOST as much as Isaac Mizrahi)
But, THIS particular cheese dip was horrendous. I remember feeling sick halfway through the dip, but didn't want to offend K or her mom.
K's mom was taking me home that night. We had just moved into the apartments, so I had to explain to her how to get there.
As well as not much of a cheese dip expert, she was not a good driver and her bumps and curves were slinging my stomach in circles.
She made an abrupt stop in the parking lot, throwing K and I into the front seat.
I ran out of the car as fast as possible, flashing a wave and a mumbled "Thanks", as I jumped in the door of apartment 34.
My mom screamed "HOW WAS IT?"
My dad screamed along with her. v
I ran through the living room and the kitchen...and as I began to make it down the hallway...
BAM!
Orange tinted vomit, chunks of rotel and something they called sausage painted the immitation cabin walls with pride and I fell to the floor.
I hated throwing up.
Time passed that night and I pretended to feel better.
I hated missing school, almost as much as I hated puking so I insisted on going the next day.
The next day at school, as most of us were coming back in from a walk outside and were peacefully resting in our desks...
BAM!
The orange-y chunks painted the coloring books in my desk basket with glee. Katie tells me that I happily painted her books as well.
Katie remembers it much better than I do.
As the custodian whom I thought (and still to this day think) resembles the black Michael Jackson asked for someone to claim the vomit, as it was the "best" he had seen in a while...I timidly raised my hand from the corner of the room and giggled.
Fast forward to later in the evening...I walked in the door from playing outside just as the sun went down. My mom was on the phone with Mrs. Carter, she said.
Mrs. Carter, my teacher.
I shook with nerves and then calmed myself down by remembering that they often had phone conversations because they were close friends.
I pretended to go to my room and instead hid behind the kitchen counter and listened. Nothing about me was being said.
Whew! Closecall.
I didn't want mom to know that I had puked at school. Shame is deadly. And, I had told her that I wasn't sick anymore.
I didn't like the doctor. I didn't like missing school. I didn't like being treated as if I was sick.
I ran back to my room and hit on the Nintendo...playing my favorite game, Little Mermaid.
When I realized I needed to piss, I walked across the hall...only to hear just in time...
"Oh goodness, Holly did not tell me that."
Then, I ran into the bathroom, locked the door...
cried...
and haven't relinquished my guts since.