Erica Kent is currently finishing her MFA at Vermont College of Fine Arts. Her work has been featured in StoryQuarterly. She lives in Portland, Maine.
I’m twelve at the neighborhood block party. The band jams. Bales of hay are scattered around a little platform stage. Kids sway around the edges. Grown ups laugh and drink. Little kids run and race their bikes, jacked up on cotton candy.
A party at Spud’s place. I would’ve been fifteen. Spud was a dealer who lived on the first floor of a beat-up house. He was older, kind of an asshole. He had a girl named Melody.
The Halloween I was thirteen I went all dirty pirate. I scavenged one of my old man’s shirts and my mother’s silk pajama bottoms. I painted my eyes red to match my headscarf. I even got hold of a plastic saber.