Like some days you might say something stupid, and that's the part of you that's still ten., Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk., Only today I wish I didn't have only eleven years rattling inside me like pennies in a tin Band-Aid box., It's an ugly sweater with red plastic buttons and a collar and sleeves all stretched out like you could use it for a jump rope., I put one arm through one sleeve of the sweater that smells like cottage cheese., I stand there with my arms apart like if the sweater hurts me and it does, all itchy and full of germs that aren't even mine., My face all hot and spit coming out of my mouth because I can't stop the little animal noises from coming out of me., That stupid Phyllis Lopez, who is even dumber than Sylvia Saldivar, says she remembers the red sweater is hers!, I take it off right away and give it to her, only Mrs. Price pretends like everything's okay., I'm eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, and one, but I wish I was one hundred and two.

Eleven

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