I understood what triggered her earthquakes, most of them.

I knew how much it hurt to be the daughter of people who can't see you, not even if you are standing in front of them stomping your feet.

Oppressive bastards, think they own the place. I told them that karma's going to kick their asses.

I have never heard a more eloquent silence.

Eating plain toast will detonate her. "I'll have some honey." When the bread is done I scrape on a microscopic layer of it and pour a cup of coffee, black. She pretends not to listen or watch as I crunch through my breakfast. I pretend that I don't notice her pretending.

Bologna girl, that's me.

I watch some kids ask the cafeteria ladies to sign their books. What do they write: "Hope your chicken patties never bleed?" Or, maybe, "May your Jell-O always wiggle?