Yellow Liquids by E. Williamson

The dried bones of the mushrooms sat in a plastic bag, crumpled mouse remains from the crusted pellets of owls. They were like something a child would find lying under a tree: harmless, dead, and Earthy.

Dan’s parents were on vacation, and his sister had rented a copy of some old movie starring this band from England called Pink Floyd. At first, they wouldn’t even go down my throat, but someone handed me a big plastic cup of pineapple juice. Chew, chew, chew..swallow, swallow.


Draped over a couch in their family room, I counted the large knots in the wood paneling. Furious scolding emitted from the gaping mouths of looming cartoon figures, and a face watched from the center of each brown ripple. Forty-six..Forty-seven..

They seemed like a lot..too many. Their loudness hurt my ears, so I retreated to the living room.

I sat with a deafening crinkle on the plastic seat cover, and immediately had to excuse myself because I was sitting on someone’s lap. In fact all the chairs were suddenly full, and I had to apologize to everyone in the room, which worried me because I knew the room was empty.

Suddenly, I was afraid, not so much of the strangeness of the situation, but of the idea that the pressure I was feeling in my bladder would somehow result in my urinating on myself in front of all these people.

I almost wept with relief when I made it to the toilet, only to realize that I had forgotten to pull down my underwear. Now, the fabric of my jeans rested unbearably against my bare crotch.

My body wandered outside into that strange, hot Santa Ana wind and across the street to an elementary school where it laid down on the inky cement of the basketball court and soaked in the leftover warmth from the familiar blacktop.

And that’s where the boy found me, and in his awkward boy-like way, he tried to help by talking about all the things he thought girls liked. And every rainbow, heart and unicorn was as clear as day across the night sky. Hours, days, or maybe weeks later, I sat up and in great guttural heaves projected acidic yellow liquid through my mouth and nose.

That helped.

And eventually my eyes fell back into seeing in just one dimension, and I could no longer hear my heart crashing in my ears.

But for some reason, I decided to share a bed with my friend Dan, and the last thing I remember were the jealous eyes of the boy as we shut the door to the bedroom.

Copyright 2009

Author's Bio: E. Williamson spends her free time avoiding emus, marionettes, and super glue. She lives in Massachusetts, and this is her first published piece. You can find her at