Why We Scream
By Nathan McBride
My friend went too far and had to marry the jerk. Now, with the “blessed event” coming, I never see her in class. And maybe it’s her fault, but what’s just as bad is that nobody talks about it (or if they do, it’s in whispers and invariably ends with the word “pity”).
It’s like that with everything—everything that matters to us. Our parents and teachers only talk about bombs and presidents and protest marches. My father has expressed some appreciation for this new band (though I still always feel like he’s making fun of me). My mother is too busy cleaning (she says it’s for him, yet I still wonder who she’s doing it for). But somehow they knew this was what I wanted.
They let me come with my girlfriends. I know this looks strange that we get so excited over a simple lyric about the joy of holding hands. But they’re telling us something they think we’ll understand. We do. We understand that they understand what we want. Out loud. And here, for once, we’re free to feel it, and to say it. So we scream it. And cry.
(Cover photo by Alex Lattanzi)