Shake the Sad Watermelon, Claire.

What I really wanted to tell my students on Thursday was to Shake the Sad Watermelon, but then I'd have to explain my whole Sad Watermelon theory, and I think that would get complicated and confusing. I also think they may lose a little respect for me.
So, I'm telling myself to shake the Sad Watermelon because I understand what that means, I think.
I wish I knew the exact cause of my unrest/unease/Sad Watermelon feeling. I'm also beginning to wish I had a better word than Sad Watermelon. It is not the class that I am teaching. That class makes me feel a lot of emotions, most of them variations of terrified, but also... excited. So, my sadness falls somewhere else-- in Dodd basement or my American Renaissance class, or...  I think I have an idea, but... I'm going to the same exercise I made my students do. Anis Mojani. Shake the Dust. Ten minutes of writing.

This is for the fat girls.

Shake the dust. The girl who loves somebody else

Ruth took my hand and pressed her face against mine. She said, “If they can’t take a joke, fuck ‘em.” When she pulled away I couldn’t tell if the tear on her cheek was hers or mine, and I don’t care if that’s cliché. Shake the dust. If they can’t take a joke, fuck ‘em. She said, “You’re the only one who believes you can’t do this.” When she pulled away I couldn’t tell if the tear on her cheek was hers or mine, and I don’t care if that’s cliché.  This week the dust flurried, jumped from sheets shaken loose, then stormed, whirlwinding through my chest until I gagged and sobbed, finally settling in my veins. I’m always the girl who loves someone else. The fat girl-- forgotten, lame, alone. Never convinced. I'll never stop being her. My favorite bed holds me unfamiliar in Florida. I'll never be back in Savannah on 228 East Henry exactly the way things were, with graffiti pretzel and wu-tang clan, and the kids next door, and the sound of grocery cart wheels on ashalt and gunshots versus fireworks. The dust cakes in my veins and hardens, blue clay next to Georgia Red.  I wish I had the capacity to shake the dust and not wish to live with antiques. 


-Claire