Blacktop
The blacktop is where the children gather—all of their fluids accumulate and form
the paste of youth. Scrawny boys with buck teeth stomp around and spit. The girls
spray cheap perfume and walk through the cloud—they don’t realize that the boys
cannot see them yet. The kid with chapped lips and a runny nose that never goes away
laughs—flecks of mucus flatten on impact. Every day, somebody cries. One of the
taller children trips over the basketball and falls hard— a piece of his knee is missing
and blood is everywhere.
The children do not see what the blacktop sees. Even the teacher does not know. At
night, (this is true and scares me), when it is dark, the old women from the town
gather. With small silver spoons, they collect the crust from the blacktop. When they
get home, they sprinkle it into alcohol and rub it behind their ears.
- David Greenberg