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Markers

In kindergarten I became acquainted with the practice of sucking the ink out of magic markers. My classmates were thoroughly convinced that this was a good idea. They would have had me believe that the ink tasted the same way that it smelled. I wouldn’t know. I never tried it. I wasn’t about to take advice from anyone who had coloured dots all over their nose.

Years later these are the people who message me on facebook, asking if I remember them. For the most part I don’t. A lot of things are hazy that far back. One was from Aldergrove. We had no mutual friends. Her photo was small and vague. I didn’t recognize the name. “I remember you,” she said, “you were the smart one.” I let it sit in my inbox for a while. I remember you, I thought. Your tongue was green. I didn’t reply.

It all goes to fuel my persistent belief that none of this is actually real. There’s no way I’m the only sane one here.

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