It started as a joke, like all great traditions.
Kenny gave me the pet rock the summer of my twelfth birthday. It’s not a real trademarked one like Shauna Brayer had. It’s better. Kenny made it himself from a rock he found at his parents’ cottage. The googly eyes came unglued when I unwrapped it so we magic markered on the eyes. Royal blue and black. Kenny vetoed lashes. Giddy from the fumes we solemnly set the ground rules for my pet ownership. Every night the rock was fed a secret, whispered from Bonnie Bell slathered lips. I outgrew my addiction to sticky lips but I’ve been a diligent mama bird, sustaining domesticated granite with my every hope, wish and desire since adolescence. This rock has travelled the world and lived in three world-class cities and has kept my secrets safe and my psyche sane.
8 min on the F train 6.17.14
Prompted from seamless/ grub hub transit ad
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