Plastic Roses Are Red

 

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Da Doo Ron Ron

It was cold outside.  The kind of cold that makes your skin tingle and your bones ache.  The wind was whipping down the street, around the tall buildings and the people and the taxi cabs, but seemed to go right through me.  The city sky was already turning dark, even though it was barely past four o'clock in the afternoon.  I gripped my hard, red Samsonite suitcase in front of my body and held on tight with one hand as I secured the top button on my winter coat with the other.  I searched for the familiar face of my aunt, P.

 

It wasn’t long before she turned the corner and ran up to me with her arms outstretched.  We hugged a quick, easy hug and then she pushed me away from her to see how much I had grown since the last time she saw me.

 

“You’re so BIG!” she gushed.  “You are gonna be tall, like your father.  You look just like him, too,” she added.  “But the real question is... have you gotten your boobs yet?”

 

“Um, not yet...  I’m only eight,”  I was blushing, but she couldn’t tell because my cheeks were already red from the bitter wind.

 

“No matter,”  she dismissed my justification.  “Are you hungry?  How was the bus?  Did the pervs leave you alone?”

 

I had just riddden a bus by myself from Mount Laurel, New Jersey, to Port Authority in New York City.  My mom and my two little sisters dropped me off at the 

 

 

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