#I dunno if was there or not

[bitchdafuqyousay]

an old friend (maybe older than I thought, but I halfway refuse to believe it)

When I was really little mama would take sissy and I to visit our great grandmother (her dads mom) fairly often at the end of her life. She was bedridden and had in-home care. Everytime we were there she was in one of those hospital beds in the living room. Grandmama wasn't able to make it to her room alone at that point so it was easier for her. More often than not, my papa's sister would be there too while we were.

She lived in an apartment; it was a pretty old one and used to be company housing for the people who worked at the old mill and their families way back a whiles (the mill was built in the 1820s, the apartments cropped up in the 1860s). It was set up like a line; you walked in right into the kitchen which went directly to the living room. You could see straight to the back of it, all the way through to the end of the hallway where the rooms were. As I remember it that hall had five doors: two on the left which were the bathroom and then the master bedroom, then three on the right which were a linen closet, the two bedrooms. The third door on the right was the only one little me cared about. That's the room my friend came out of while we were visiting.

The first fifteen minutes were spent having as many pieces of candy corn mama would allow sissy and I (grandmama always had a full bowl of 'em on the coffee table for some reason) and then sneaking more tiny fistfulls when we thought she wasn't looking and I'd drag out the megablock containers from between the couch and the wall while the adults talked and sissy played on her DS. I'd empty out the containers and start building lil things; towers and cubes and whatnot. I liked mixing up all the colors- didn't care for patterns or monochrome all too much at that age. Then sometime during that, I'd hear that third door creek open then click shut. Followed by fast paced steps. Little clicking heels down the hallway. He was always wearing shoes. I always judged him for that, you ain't supposed to wear shoes in the house, after all. But if grandmama and papa's sister (who I assumed was his mom, she's younger than papa is) didn't say anything then I wasn't gonna say anything, either. Wasn't my house wasn't my house's rules so even though we all took our shoes off I couldn't dictate what my friend did.

Anyways, he'd walk out the hall and make the itty bitty turn to sit next to me and the laid out megablocks. He always looked like he'd just come from church, real fussy, even to me who considered herself something of a princess. Still do, but I digress. It's been a long while since I was at that apartment, since grandmama died and I last saw that boy; but I still remember exactly what he looked like. Skinny, more so than me, with a circle shaped face. Big eyes that were so brown they were almost black and his eyebrows were hidden by thick blunt bangs. His hair was sorta like a bowl cut, but the back didn't hang flat but sorta fluffy. He wore a white button up shirt, light brown shorts that stopped a bit before his knees that were held up by suspenders, knee high white socks, and these brown leather shoes that always let me know when he was coming down the hall even if I'd missed the sound the heavy door made when opening cause of the way they clacked.

He'd scoot closer to look at what I was making, and usually grimace at the lack of organization and start building his own tiny towers- carefully selected blocks and well considered patterns. But no matter what, he always had to have one tower that was completely red. Every block in that six stack tower had to be red; no ifs ands or buts. Sometimes he'd even take blocks from me (brat) if there weren't any free red ones so he could make his tower. Never asked, or spoke at all really, closest he'd get to vocalizing anything were these real small, breathy giggles he'd let out when I'd playfully nudge one of his building, pretending I was gonna knock it over, or when I'd poke him in the side as retribution for taking a red block from me. I didn't care though, that he never spoke, I mean. I didn't either. We never even introduced ourselves, he just sorta started creeping out his (?) room, down the hall, to then come play with me in the living room. I'd just accepted it, I mean hey why not? To little me, the visits were boring. I wasn't quite old enough to really understand what was up. I knew grandmama was sick, I knew that's why we visited her. But beyond that I didn't quite get it. I also knew I was bored, and I felt awkward and shy with my great aunt, my papa's sister, and watching sissy play on her DS was only entertaining for so long. So my new found, small fellow was a very welcome addition to the visits.

So, we sat together, took blocks from the other, and I'd sneak candy corn that he never took when I offered. Guess he didn't like it. Lotta people don't. I ate it mostly cause it was there and also mama didn't let us have sugar super often so it felt exciting to have it.

Couple minutes before we left, before mama even announced we were gonna be heading out, he'd push all the blocks back to me, smiling with pink cheeks. Then he'd get up and walk back down the hallway where'd he'd open that third door and shut it behind him. Mama would tell sissy and I to tell everyone bye and put our shoes on so we could go home. Visit done, see you all later.

Grandmama died, we never went back to the old mill apartments. No reason to, and I haven't seen my great aunt since, obviously haven't seen that boy either. Bit ago mama and I were talking about those visits for some reason or another, don't remember why, and I remembered my playmate again. So I asked her about him. She didn't know who I was talking about. I described him and got a confused stare in return. Explained he'd always hang out in that third room, the last one at the end of hall. The one on the right. A guest bedroom probably, I didn't know. Never went in there. The one with the creaky wooden door.

"There wasn't a third room on that side." She described the apartment layout to me; small, skinny, you could straightshot it. See all the way through it soon as you stepped in. The hall had four rooms off it. Bathroom and master bedroom on the left, linen closet and second bedroom on the right.

And the third, I insist.

"No third. There was four, not five."

My great aunts kid, I stress.

"She didn't have any kids. And the only kids that were there when we visited were you and your sister."

No third room on the right. She didn't have a kid, much less a son my age. Mama says there were never any other kids there while we were there. There weren't even any kids that young on her side of the family at that time. At least none that lived near, none she'd met. None that were at the old mill workers' accommodations while we were. But I played with him, he took stuff right out my hand, he giggled wheezily when I poked him and his shoes went clack clack clack when he walked.

"It was only ever us." Sissy agrees with mama, papa had no idea who I'm talking about. He says there were never any lil boys about when he visited his mother, his sister didn't have kids. He didn't remember me playing with one, only playing by myself.

But he physically took stuff from me. I touched him. I felt him. He'd sit right next to me and scoot real close to lean over and look at what I was making to judge my lack of color coordination. He would breathe on my shoulder. And sometimes we'd hold hands- hands linked between us while our free ones would make little structures. He'd make six stack red towers.

No other kid, everyone still tells me, certainly no boy they all say. No third door on the right. No little shoes clack clack clacking up the hall to play and then back down when it was almost time for me to leave, everyone else who was there insists.

[butchfalin]

the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again

[tooquirkytolose]

He made her an offer she couldn't refuse

[myimaginationplain]

white queers are always so damned certain that "true" queerness is for them & them alone. expressions of queerness from Black people (most notably, Black women & those percieved as women) that don't center whiteness & aren't tailored for white audiences are always, always pegged as being unbelievable. all this plus a heaping dose of thay classic "all bi women are dirty attention seeking liars" brand of biphobia. fuck off man

[foldingfittedsheets]

When I was young my dad offhandedly told me he thought people treated fish with so much casual cruelty because fish can’t scream.

The words branded themselves across my soul.

As an adult I think he may have been joking. He payed no especial attention to any indignities fish suffered in our household but I could never forget. I saw fish in a different light after that.

Fish kept in tiny bowls, breathing their own poisons, dying by inches. Fish kept in cold tanks, casually disposed of. Fish touted as being short lived when they could outlive the better loved family dog if only they could breathe. Fish casually won and discarded in cheap plastic bags, thrown away a week later.

How they would scream, if they could.

[bruhstation]

you’re just like the rest of them

[malenjoyer]

Check out my wares (thick soup)

my humble rating via Bruce:

[nothingbizzare]

Taking off a costume

[veradragonjedi]

[rosenkranz-does-things]

painted this while procrastinating my various responsibilities 😔 tempera on paper, 19 x 27 cm. sold

[such-a-daydreamer]

And then they explode

[medusolo]

clammy ganon will become a fixture to my vocabulary now. excellent

[sakura-rose12]

They share their secret cute photos of Law.

Masterlist

[fioleespring]

[pangur-and-grim]

my mom was saying that I'm pretty unlucky when it comes to cat health, but I was saying that a lot of folk have issues like mine, it's just that they don't deal with them and then the cat dies.

she said "that's not true at all," and I had to list how many cats my aunt and uncle have burnt through in the same time I've had Pangur and Grim. and then I talked about an old friend who would never even name her kittens, because they always died within the first year. and of friends who've watched their cats deteriorate without going to the vet, while saying "there's nothing I can do." in mainstream culture, cat death is normal and invisible. it's just that a lot of time the cat dies outside of the house (whether through illness, accident, or predation) so people get to maintain deniability.