CHEETOS IN WHITE CARPET
After mourning the deaths of two close friends, Rebekah Manley’s desire to confront fate’s injustice provoked her to create this powerful indictment of Cancer’s unfair assault on so many innocent lives. In honor of this piece and similar events in the lives of too many creative souls, Kallisto Gaia Press is donating a significant portion of the revenue generated from the Julia Darling Memorial Poetry Prize to the research division of M.D. Anderson Hospital. one of the nation’s foremost cancer research institutions.
Cheetos In White Carpet
Cancer is fucking Cheetos ground into white carpet. Not even invited to the party, Cancer busted the bag open on the drive with zero intention of sharing.
Cancer parked diagonal in the driveway; no one else can get in or out.
No way does cancer politely ring the doorbell and chit-chat with waiting guests. Nope. Cancer plows open the door and heads straight for the bar, claiming a bottle with its lips.
Guess who doesn’t care about the kids sleeping next door? Cancer cranks up the music and busts speakers. Cancer scratches their name into vintage records; uses the needle to clean their teeth. When that doesn’t work, Cancer helps themselves to your toothbrush without rinsing the bristles. Cancer scouts your cabinets, stuffing their pockets with baby shampoos and a few mini soaps for good measure.
With clothes on when no one else is swimming, Cancer doesn’t ask and jumps into your pool. Nothing “good and fun” about it; Cancer grabs girls in party dresses and pushes them in. After swimming a few laps and squirting water through their teeth, Cancer sticks dirty Band-Aids on the pool deck—with zero intention of getting them later.
Inside, Cancer lounges with wet clothes on leather furniture. When they spill wine and jump up to “help”, you think you misjudged and almost apologize….But wait….Cancer grabs a monogrammed white towel to partially clean up the mess.
Cancer gives up on the stain and watches others fret. Without asking, Cancer lights up a cigarette; the mantle becomes an ashtray. Not breaking eye contact, Cancer blows smoke in your face. Cancer does not give a FUCK but gets upset because their cup is empty. Cancer slams shots lined up for others. “Another!”
Cancer, slurring words and knocking over lamps, doesn’t listen to reason. When you hide Cancer’s keys, they steal another set and ding every car on the block. That mailbox and tricycle “take out” looks intentional.
Cancer is a demeaning dick and an unapologetic pussy. Cancer is ONLY cuss words, words this writer never says but has to type. Words that would make my feisty and courageous Aunt Tina pump her fist. Words that would make Julie, my sister-in-Christ, polished, master gardener, Lilly Pulitzer-loving friend cringe. But they are not around to do so. Because cancer.
Cancer calls collect weeks later, to see if you’ll pay to overnight the half eaten bag of Cheetos. If you threw them out, no problem, “just buy another”. Cancer demands and doesn’t care.
Rebekah Manley earned an MFA in Children’s Literature from Hollins University and mainly writes picture books. As Coordinator for Texas Center for the Book out of the Texas State Library, it’s her job to remain in intentional connection with authors, librarians, and teachers. She’s a member of SCBWI and a fellow at the Writing Barn in Austin, TX. Additionally, She blogs at www.bravetutu.com.