The DJ

Here’s a monologue from Radio Mara Mara.

The DJ
I was visiting my foster mom. She was suffering from dementia and didn’t always know who I was, but when she did I knew she was glad. She always taught me you look after your own, and even though we didn’t start out that way, we made each other our own. She took on other kids, y’know it wasn’t just me- but at a certain point it was like it was Us doing it, in a very real way. When I aged out I aged out at her house, and she even let me stay on another year.

I heard shrieking from the nurses station so I ran out into the hall to see what was going on, and this little nurse was collapsed on the floor. She told me what happened, “they shot the President,” she said. I picked up her hat but she didn’t want it. I went back in my foster mom’s room to break the news to her. “They shot Fukiyama,” I said. But she just looked at me with her big lost eyes. 

That was the last time I went to see her actually. I knew, if she couldn’t remember Fukiyama, then she probably just wasn’t in there anymore.

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One thought on “The DJ

  1. Pingback: Art is not yoga and braised radishes. | Libby Emmons

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