you are shocked. "he looks like a booger."
oldest girl cousin ignores you, singing along. "...mom and dad will never understand."
oldest boy cousin is slurping OK soda. you stare at the black and white cartooned can in silence. your little brother is having an imaginary fight with a dinosaur; a fleck of his spittle lands in your eye.
why were you dumped here again? they wonder. later, every kid you know will make you understand that you are overbearing. you are too loud, too opinionated, use too many vocabulary words, are interested in weird things like water fowl instead of mtv. are foolish enough to be a mouthpiece for your father's opinions about youth culture, raining on everyone's parade. saying "bill clinton sucks" and "green day is gay". you are a social tragedy who lost your destiny in the first act.
later you will play tag football in the yard on that hot summer night in a neighborhood full of kids. you will huff and puff and know that you will never be one of them. but how you loved them. how, as your parents drove you and little brother home, you imaged in your child's mind that heaven must be an endless summer night playing outdoors with cousins...
