things_you_feel raze sometimes i wonder if you still have that tape you made of me aping the grateful dead's take on "good lovin'" in french class, trying to sound as much like bob weir as my unbroken voice would allow. "don't forget me when you're famous," you wrote in my yearbook at the end of our last year together. fame never found me. but i remember the ringlets that wreathed your face and the dark eddies of your eyes. you told me sarah liked me. i asked her to the "grease"-themed dance we had in the gym. i held her palsied hands and tried to work out a way where she would feel like she was doing more of the work than her wheelchair. you hugged me and told me what a good guy i was. i felt like an asshole. i didn't feel for her what she felt for me. those feelings belonged to agnes, who wouldn't dance with me at all, who lied when i asked her to and said she was tired, when the truth was her father slapped her face and called her a whore before she left the house the night of our grade school graduation. 241202 what's it to you? who go blather from