Ramona Blue

by Julie Murphy

I hate crying. I mean, most everyone does. But some people, like Hattie, feel better after a good cry. When Hattie cries, it’s like watching a snake shed its skin. Tears somehow let her regenerate, whereas crying only makes me angry I cared so much to begin with.

Sometimes catastrophes split you in half, and even if all the pieces are there, they might not ever fit back together.

I was very much a Guest with a capital G. A Guest who might have turned their daughter into a Lesbian with a capital L.

Under all that is my disaster fund. Every penny I have to my name. Money my dad has always said I should spend on something foolish. I should probably open a bank account, but the idea of having a bank account makes me sad. It’s not like I have a car or nice clothes that I can look at and be reminded of how hard I’ve worked over the last two years. So there’s something therapeutic about laying out all my cash and being able to place an actual value on myself. It’s like finally having an answer to a question you’ve wondered about your whole life.

In sophomore chemistry, Mr. Culver told us the most important thing to take away from his class was that the world isn’t made up of isolated incidents. Knowing the elements was important, but even more relevant was knowing how they changed when combined with others. And that’s what I’m most terrified of right now—how Freddie and I will change when combined with others.

It’s not like I think he’s some bigot. He’s ignorant, and sometimes ignorance is as dangerous as bigotry.

It seems to me that childhood ends and adult life begins the moment you stop believing your parents can rescue you.