I kept you round for good measure. We took spins around town, bought our favorite vinyls, acted the maggot, and went to the local pubs for drinks and craic. We had a good laugh for almost a year. Nothin’ romantic. I thought we was just friends.
YOUR TRAPEZE SWINGER BY NICOLE MODUGNO 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 76
The day to dissect a cat had come. Cutting a cat open made my stomach turn even if I’d seen loads of faces smashed in when Da watched gaelic football.
“Jeepers, Alice.You look terrible,” you said. You spread the tablecloth across your body. “Alright then, bring on the boke.”
“Feck aff, Ernest.”
“Oh come on, Alice, it’s not so bad. Listen,” you said. “Is it the blood and stuff or, you know, the cat?”
“I don’t know—”
“Well, how can you not—”
“Alright. Alright!”
Sister Kelly was bleeping out instructions in a monotonous drone.
“It’s the dead cats,” I whispered.
“Well, Jesus, Alice. Why the hell’d you take this class?”
“I needed an extra, and feckin’ pottery was full.” The other student…