Member-only story
Trashley: Thirty-Two
Not the only Catfish in the Sea
Ashley had just announced to my entire family that she was officially a Scholar, which meant she was finally done with her schooling. Or, as she put it, “It’s the end of an era at MIT.”
My Dad threw a wad of cash on the table so we could properly celebrate Ashley’s achievement with a Lo-Country Boil.
That afternoon we took the ferry to Mayport to get clams, crabs, and shrimp fresh off the fishing boats. Ashley’s smirk was still tattooed on her face, and I found myself wondering what was going on in her brain. Did she truly believe she was graduating as a scholar? Did she think we were all suckers for believing her? Did she get some kind of sick pleasure out of lying to people? This may sound a little sexist, but when my lesbian, feminist brain imagines a scholar, it pictures a fifty-five-year-old bearded bald man hunched over a two-thousand-page book, feather quill, and ink pot in hand. He’s castrated and wearing a long sand-colored gown. I think I’m picturing a Wizard.
Drew escorted Ashley as they picked out ingredients. Ashley was rocking her pink MIT shirt since it was a special occasion. Plus, the maroon sweatshirt needed a wash.
My sister and I browsed seasonings across the room.
