The Wrong Stuff

Megan Amram: Things To Do Before I Die

I’m good at things

Absolutely the best.

Story of a Life

I was born an undesirable. Let me rephrase; I was born with not only my original head but with another, terrible, and strangely maleable “second head” sprouting out of my throat. Although I was quite content with my fleshy friend, my parents, the doctor and all his nurses could barely restrain the prehensile and unusually acidic vomit that my image inspired. Since the mass, which I now called Barry, was too close to my vena cava to remove, I forced to live the life a an exile, a hermit and a leper. My parents would only let me out to the natural world on special events, such as my birthday, Chrimbus, Martin Luther King Jr. Day and Washington’s birthday. I was released for exactly one hour in the concealing blackness of night on those special days to run, frolic and feast on the wonderous bounty of mother nature. My skin pale and translucent from my many days in captivity, I looked like a sleek white phantom galloping over the varied and interesting landscape of suburban Southern California. A few people glimpsed my temporary freedom and many poems were written and recited for no one to hear. This was my life until that fateful day when the neighbor’s dog got a hold of a hunting rifle with a faulty trigger and an engraving on the stock that read “To Buck, Love Bev”. 

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