Addiction

Dime, nickel, and quarter size papered faces,
of animals, smiley’s, and smelly's,
entered my five year old life.
I held a book full of glossy naked pages,
in desperate need of cluster and companionship.
I kept each type of sticker,designated to certain pages.
Innocent puppies, kittens, and bunnies,
had my heart on page one.
There wasn’t anything special about them,
but I admired their little faces encrusted with whiskers.
I grew familiar with my friends,
and escalated to a new level of stickerism.
No other children understood my language,
nor could they have a more exciting collection.
Sesame street, Ninja turtles, Barney and friends…oh my.
Don’t get me wrong, I had fun with human friends,
as we played intense hop scotch,
twirling our flirty pig tails at boys.
But my sticker book buddies were intelligent.
I hid behind a brick wall during recess,
and got high off of banana and strawberry smiles.
If there were AA for kiddies, I’d be at the podium, saying:
“Hi, my name is Lauren. I’m a scratch and sniff abuser.”
I was addicted. But god, that stuff was good.
One day at the lunch table,
snotty nose Stacey pulled a book out of her bag pack.
I covered my face with a hand and froze;
squeezed my penny sized eyes shut,
until black and white stars appeared.
I allowed space in between my fingers to peek at her
.That booger eating brat had a sticker book!
Her friends twiddle dee and twiddle dumb went gaga.
I sat Indian style in my extravagant play room that afternoon
and gazed at my sticky friends, and put them away.
Then I discovered a new love,
Sidewalk chalk.

Copyright 2007 Lauren Velie