SSM: “Me and Gin” by Lindsay Hunter

2 May

I’m not sure how many authors I’ve come across who can control a voice like Lindsay Hunter can control a voice. Check this out:

Me and Gin had a fight once, when I came upon her sitting on my brother’s bed like she does on mine. And my brother just tiddling with his football, poke arms sticking out his muscle shirt like creamy bone. Gin and my brother, talking like they was afraid of the sound. And me wanting to say, Hold up, this is mine and this is mine, I almost said it, but I didn’t, cause no one likes to be claimed. Instead I said, Guess I’ll go to the bathroom now, and I did, and I looked at my face in the mirror so long I got so I couldn’t recognize it.

Me and Gin made up and she let me wear her hair clip for the afternoon.

And she holds that voice steady, solid for another 750 words or so, and never once does it waver or ring untrue. I recognize myself in it, in me and in Gin, and in this stumbling friendship, those early best friendships when you are all still so young and life is still all figuring itself out, who I am and who you are, and sometimes I wonder if and when that ever stops.

I wonder when I’ll buy a pair of polyester pants, because why not, and who cares what anyone else whatevers, and will someone always be by my side, does Broc still remember that time behind his parents’ shed when we stuck needles into our fingertips and mashed them together, and how our muddy faces smiled because nothing could break this, this trading of who we were, blood is who we were, and I wonder now how Broc is, I wonder now where he is. I don’t even know anymore, I’ve not known in years. He may be dead now for all I know. He may be dead.

Read “Me and Gin” by Lindsay Hunter in full at Barrelhouse.

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