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sheri


best friend plays house, 1977

It’s funny to think about how we would
fight and fight, I wanted to be the secretary,
no, you wanted to have the date tonight,
I wanted to use this purse. Sandy would
have to come in to the basement to see
why we were yelling at each other. But
I remember one thing we used to always do
when we played house, or office, or
dress-up. One of us would suggest going to
John’s Ice Cream Parlor, and our rehearsed
plan would immediately begin. You
would walk to the door, I would walk
to the freezer. One the count of three you
would cough to muffle the sound of the ice
box door opening from my parents, and
then we had access to as much chocolate
ice cream as we could handle. I think it was
the one time when we would never argue.

best friend spends the night, 1981

Do you remember when we’d make tents
from our comforters, making little homes
from our twin-sized beds? And
we’d have pen lights and old calculators
for light under the blankets, and they’d
be just enough light for us,
but not enough for my parents to see,
so they’d think we were sleeping.
I remember I’d always hog the lights --
the little calculator that lit up green
that Sandy gave me, the yellow pen light
that was running out of power anyway, or
a little pocket video game with red numbers
that lit up the screen. And I would always
use the dowel rod from the Bears pennant
that hung in the corner of my apple-green
bedroom to hold up my blanket. You would have
to make due with whatever else you could find.
God, I was a bratty kid. you should have
stood up to me.

best friend loses father, 1991

When you called me
to tell me your father died,
i wanted to tell you that i’d give you
the bigger dowel rod, or even that calculator.
I heard you crying from that god-damn
hollow plastic telephone, and I remembered
how you would always come over
because you didn’t want to stay in your own
home, with your own family. As if
my family was much better. But now
you’re crying for him back, when
all your life you ran from him.
And I wanted to bring him back for you.
But I couldn’t, so I did what I do
best - I got drunk at a local bar. I
found some friends who happened
to be there, and they consoled me
for your loss, something I couldn’t even
do for you. Best friend.

best friend gets married, 1992

I know I got aggravated
when you got hysterical over your wedding plans.
When you couldn’t find the right hurricane lamp
covers for the centerpieces for the
tables for the reception.
Maybe they’ll have them at the warehouse,
Janet, why don’t you come with me,
you do all the talking, you know
what you’re talking about.
When you couldn’t get all 300 chocolate guitars
wrapped in tulle, then cellophane,
then tied with gold foil with stars
on it, then tied with the picks
you punched holes in, picks that say on them,
Sheri and Warren.
Janet, you’re the only person who
showed up to help me, why isn’t anyone else here,
hey, I think you’re cutting
the tulle too big.

None of your bridesmaids better get pregnant,
you said, because the dresses wouldn’t
look right on them. And why is
everyone complaining about two
inch heels? And why isn’t anyone else
interested in my wedding?

I just wanted to let you know that I
was interested in your wedding. Really.

I was interested in the french door you
got for the pantry in your new home. I wanted
to make sure the shine didn’t come off the
beads on the wedding dress when they
sent it to the cleaners.
I wanted to see if the dress could fit me.
Ah, probably not, you’re so petite, and
just think, you used to be taller than me
when we were younger, playing Barbies
on the pool table in the basement.
I think I had a wedding dress for Barbie. The
dream dress. And now
I’ll get to see that dress on you.

The other day my father said that
he’s glad to see one of his daughters
get married without him having to foot
the bill. He thought you’d laugh at that.

Maybe he won’t have to foot the bill.
But he’ll still be losing a daughter. And
I’ll be wiping the tears from my eyes.

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