Pronoun A pronoun is a ghost of who you really are short sharp harsh whispering its presence, taunting your soul. In you of you but not all you. Struggling, my own He She Him Her I You. Scared that for scrambled-pronoun Me, We might never exist. (BRENDAN CHASE) The Name Is Brendan Dinner table, silverware gleaming. Claude the Interloper finishes telling a story. Mom passes me steak. "How was your day?" She's chirping, despite surgery two days ago. I shrug the missed bus, shrug the half-hour wait for the next one, shrug the wrestling practice that blew. Don't bother to elaborate. Mom hates Coach (almost) as much as I do. Freshman year she wanted me to skip holiday practice so what was left of our family could go on vacation. Coach described the importance of "consistent training and conditioning." Said he always mentioned "dedication" in his college letters of recommendation. She wavered and then he told her flat out that I was the weakest link and always would be if I was a mama's boy who'd miss training. She was ticked, but we stayed in town with the other manly and dedicated jocks. He was on my ass today for getting caught by a head-and-arm drag. A crappy thing itself, our faces so close. Still he yelled. And through all the drills my head wasn't in it. Copyright © 2013 by Kristin Elizabeth Clark Excerpted from Freakboy by Kristin Elizabeth Clark All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
