Page 82 of I Can't Even Think Straight

---

Sometimes, I think I see flashes

of the assault in Vass’s big brown eyes,

like a deer in headlights,

but I could be imagining it.

Vass doesn’t talk about it directly,

not since they told me on the swings,

but we talk about things related to it.

We talk about the support group

they go to once a week,

but I only get the gist of it,

without any details

of these people to hold on to.

They’re important to Vass,

but Vass can’t share them with me.

It’s like a portal to another world,

or a layer of reality I can’t see.

“When do I get to meet

this anxious young man?”

Vass asks me when I tell them

about my date with Obi,

and read them a poem

I wrote about him.

“I don’t know,” I say.

“It was just one date.”

“I can’t wait to check out those fangs

you’re so obsessed with.”

“I’m not obsessed,” I protest,

“and I didn’t call them fangs.”

Vass snatches my notebook

and finds the page I just shared.

---