Insidious Adaptation

Standing at an intersection at some residential part of Chicago. A quiet, three-way intersection where my brother and I resided to post-up and look for a ride to our hotel. Him holding his phone, and I, a shopping bag, we walked here, to save a total of $6 on the Uber trip back. Personally, I wanted to walk off a little bit of the pizza we just ate, but my brother is a little more frugal with his calories, likes to save em up I guess. “How old do you think that sign is.” My brother asks, pointing to a moving truck.  There is a woman, and a child, the woman is hugging the child over the top of him. “MMM… adults at least.” I respond. “Yea, adults, she’s probably dead now.” My brother says referring to the woman. “Honestly, if it was the 90s she would be smoking, she’s probably not that old.” I enjoy these types of conversations. Our jokes proceed. We make insightful instances up in our head, about the kid being on drugs, mom being remarried, how the sign they posed ...

"The popularity resides in the clothes," a thought that drove my summer vacation. A fear that I would be seen for the inadequate self I truly identified as. The kids seeing me as this once-popular student, now nothing more than another, “poor” kid. I knew the truth, I knew that the clothes I wore were expensive, and yet, I HAD to have them. I was consumed by the inevitable situations I would land in, depictions of Tommy Hilfiger commercials running in my head as my cargo handle was grabbed by some girl in a midriff top, interested, giving me that which I could not establish within myself.  This is all in retrospect for in the moment, as I worked all summer long, babysitting and mowing lawns, to get the coveted check from my father to then go and budget appropriately, along with the minuscule amounts donated from mom, I could afford the clothes to match the persona of a “cool” kid. I missed the part where I was supposed to live and experience life, and instead I isolated...