So over the years I've heard so much nonsense about how to cure hick-ups and the fact of the matter is that there is no cure and y'all can fuck off. But besides that point I remember one really definitive moment of my small gay existence from when I was young.
So let's set the scene. 2008. I'm in the eight grade. We're balancing equations. I have the goddamn hick-ups. I have had the goddamn hick-ups for an hour. The entire class is done with my hick-ups. Enter Stage Right the Grandmother of one of the boys in my class. She is sitting in on the class. I have no idea why. I remember nothing else than that she is there and that her grandson is in this class. I don't even remember who her grandson is. I don't remember what this woman looks like.
I am still hick-uping. I hick-up for only a few seconds more when this woman comes up to me and puts her hand under my chin and looks me dead in the eye and tells me to hick-up. I am confused, I'm angry, and transcending out of my body as I tell this woman that I can't hick-up on command. I'm mesmerized as she stairs me down and holds my chin. I have no idea what is happening. I do not hick up. She tells me again to hick-up. I don't remember what I said in return, but I did not hick up. The woman let's go of my face, tells me my hick-ups are cured, and returns to her seat next to her grandson.
I have no idea what just happened. I return to my work or rather I stare at chemistry equations while I try to figure out what just happened. A small moment of time passes. And then I hick-up.
