"Juice #4" by Nadia Wolnisty
Now is a great day to speak about guava juice. Sweet and understated, like finding an old notebook you thought you lost or like holding hands without even thinking. Thick like breathing in yarn. When you were a baby, you had asthma. A breathing machine you cannot remember. Of all the things your body could be bad at, it went with breathing. And really, it was all downhill from there. Pissing itself at night for far too long out of sheer terror. Blood that leaped out of veins. A month ago, you went to Fort Worth Gardens with your boyfriend. The path was wide enough for two so you could hold hands. You walked liked it was the easiest thing in the world, despite menstrual cramps forming. You talked about moving with him and beds you would one day share. Afterwards, you were thirsty, so he pulled over at a 7-Eleven on the ride home. Strangely, they had guava juice. Pink and exotic in a world of Coca-Cola and Bud Lite. You drank it all in the parking lot and sighed contentedly. You were going to live. You were going to live forever. Juice.