It is a big goddam cauliflower, a poor excuse for an ear, making me wonder who coined the phrase cauliflower ear and why. Those who know me inside out, like my best friend Harvey, my big sister Sharon and my parents, who think they know every little thing about me but really don't, I can hear them know. "Bradley is a big goddam exaggerator." If they cannot appreciate my creativity, I cannot appreciate their tight underwear. With the outside world, I sprinkle my word salad shit like candy without sinister premeditation. I can't help it if they eat it up. Like the other day when I was on the back of the line in the cafeteria I said, out loud, I don't know why, I guess I was in a mood, "Do not get the macaroni and cheese." Three or four unsuspecting heads within earshot turned around and one of them said, "Why not?" None of them looked familiar to me. They were all tenth graders and I'd never seen them before in my life. That's when I spoke back to them, deciding what to say on the fly in a whisper. I know how whispering can lend an air of credibility. "Bugs." I whispered, pointing towards the tray up in front of us. In my opinion, kids should learn to be less trusting and more confrontational about junk information from a stranger. Seriously, my intent was not to scare them or deceive them. No. And it was not my place to teach them a lesson in gullibility either. I was just bored after French class and I can't help it, dear cafeteria cook, if none of them ordered the macaroni and cheese.

"Exaggerating is the same as lying." Sharon says this almost every time I do declare just about anything at this point, and I vehemently disagree that exaggerating is the same as lying, cause otherwise exaggerating would not be a word unto itself. I'll just look that shit up on my phone again in front of her to prove a point. She knows I will, and she'll roll her eyes round and round like a surprised lemur in a tree or a dizzy old Auntie surprising a skunk. So when I said for the hell of it at the dinner table, "The dog's balls are literally dragging on the rug." I know I said it to get a rise out of my family intentionally, don't ask me why, and Sharon predictably hits right back, "Don't exaggerate you liar." Sharon seriously needs to undo her bun. My parents both sat there eating their peas and carrots as the don't-ask-don't-tell people that they are. And then, true to form, I hit up my phone again, as I always do, repeating the words I read to her in that up and down tone she hates on purpose, even though I already have the words memorized, "Exaggerating: A statement that represents something better or worse than it is." "Got it? Where is the word lying? Besides, Chomps is a goddam old unneutered Basset Hound for Chrissake." I remind her as if this is news. "Have you seen his legs? I've literally eaten egg rolls longer than them, so don't tell me that ball sack isn't dragging on that shag." Okay. She's got me on literally. Literally is an overused word of mine which may or may help prove Sharon's point, but if that ball sack is not dragging, it is damn close to a number measured only by millimeters. And the more Sharon tells me, "don't exaggerate, you liar" the more she feeds the beast, so excuse me Sharon, go suck it.

When I looked up cauliflower ear, I can't exactly say I was disappointed or maybe I can cause I am disappointed when there is a chance I could be proven wrong. The definition is rather specific: A deformity of the outer ear that may occur after injury to the ear. And I will find a way to use it, even if it does not exactly lend itself to the dilemma of how my ear felt when I got off the phone with Granny from Dayton, Ohio, not to be confused with Nana from Clearwater, Florida. It is fairly easy not to confuse my grandmothers. Nana from Clearwarer, Florida is literally about as tall as a giraffe and as skinny as a pogo stick. Her legs alone are a mile high and when I was little she always had to sit down before she could pick me up. Her hair is not silver, but rather blueish and she cuts it so close to her head it blends right in with the color of the spider veins running along her hairline down beneath her ear lobes. She wears nothing but dangly dollar store gypsy-like earrings and clogs in all colors and if it is raining she pulls out a color coordinated umbrella and vest to match, should the imperative need to venture out arise. These are just some of the things I know about her and more, and I can't exactly say why I know these things because I have not seen her since the fourth of July, the year before last or the year before the year before last. I often lose count of minor details and dates. But I do see pictures, so maybe that's how I know, or I just surmise. Surmising is definitely something I excel at, so says my math teacher. My other teachers don't say much of anything to me anymore other than, "Go to the principal's office, right now." Nana regularly sends mini videos to me and my sister and my parents via group MMS as if we care to know about her mahjong friend's heart attack, the price of chicken breast at the Piggly Wiggly and the number of people that did or did not show up for mass on any given Sunday. Even if she annoys me, I will still say she is kinda cool for an old lady. She knows how to use a phone. No kidding.

Granny, on the other hand, is nothing like Nana. At least she wasn't as far as being placed in the annoying category up until today. She is short, not short enough to be considered a dwarf, but short enough that she needs a step ladder for anything above the height of a first shelf. The last time we visited her I took notice of all those shelves she had in her kitchen, rows and rows of them; I did not understand the point of all the upper cabinetry, especially since she bought the house long after Grandpa Dayton, Ohio was dead. That man had some legs, but definitely not as long as Nana Clearwater's. I think. I only know him from the lopsided pictures of him taken besides Dayton Granny at their wedding, at a picnic, at the lake and then there is my favorite of him alone standing upright in his rookie Yankee baseball uniform. He coulda been one of the greats had it not been for the bone spurs, or his astigmatism, or some other minute hindrance known to smash a guys dreams. Details. Details. That minor fact alone does not stop me from bragging about my roots when a bunch a guys are hanging around shooting the shit about the playoffs. "You know," I say, cutting in without an invitation, my Grandfather was a pro ball player. Yankees. He played with the greats, ….DiMaggio, Mickey Mantle, Yogi Berra. Big names always gets em. "Yeah, yeah?" They all say, as in, "Hell, yeah. Yes. Do tell us more," yeah. Then I keep on walking like I got something more important to do when I really don't, it's just that I have nothing more to tell them. The only thing I know about Yankee baseball history are the few names I just quoted, who may or may not have ever set eyes upon my Grandfather in any uniform.

I surmise it was my mother who pulled out the rug and the chair, causing sweet Granny to become a turn coat. Why does my mother have to play us like that? Does she have nothing left up her sleeves? Does she even answer the calls from the principal anymore? Or has the principal stopped calling her? Beats me, cause she could have said something at the table instead of looking down at her plate as if it was a crystal ball. Why oh why does she have to go and mess up my thing with good old Dayton Granny. Before today, I'd literally hear from her twice a year, on my birthday and Christmas, asking me if I got the check she sent out to me in the mail. That's about it. Not today. And it's not even a holiday. It's friggin '4 p.m. on a Saturday in March and I've got better things to do than to listen to her voice on the other end of the land line, going on and on, Bradley this. Bradley that. All that crap about me not showing empathy, about me not applying myself, about me being disrespectful, about me exaggerating, please Dayton Granny, all the things that I had hoped were off your radar; please just stop before I hang up on you, but not before I do declare, even if it is only to the back of my right hand, that you literally just made my ear blow up as big as a goddam cauliflower.

I have a lot of memories and I'm still making more, even as I write this.

From my childhood:

This is gonna sound odd that this is my favorite but cut me some slack, I don't remember a lot about my childhood. When I was like 8-ish my parents got me some fish. Like an entire fish tank with so many fish (really it was like 8) and in a separate fish bowl I also had a Beta fish. So we had some glow-in-the-dark Tetras, Some Dalmatian Guppies, some weird mini shark things, an Algae eater, and of course the Beta. Since I was 8-ish and clumsy and also unsure as to how to clean a fish tank, my parents always cleaned the fish tanks. One day, I was in my room while they did so, playing with my Monster High Dolls, when my mom calls me. Both my parents had grim expressions. Turns out, when he went to put my Beta back in his bowl, my Dad didn't check the water temperature and accidentally boiled my fish alive. I cried. He looked like he was going to cry. I'm not sure why it's my favorite.

During my Tween years:

When I was about 11 or 12, I LOVED playing card games, my favorite being Rummy. So I'd BEG my parents to play cards with me on the weekends and when we did, we'd stay up till 1-2 AM playing. One particular night we were playing, my dad got a snack and then he got up again to get a fork and knife. Well, he poked me in the back with the handle of his fork and my tired, 11-ish self busted into tears. It didn't hurt. So why did I bust into tears you ask? I thought he stabbed me... I don't know why. He felt so bad about it. Every time I think about it, I laugh hysterically.

Teen years:

#1 I was in a very dark place around the age of 14. Well, on February 28th, 2018 I was in class (an online class because I was homeschooled) and I was a teacher moderator which was a fancy way of saying I was privileged with the ability to take away other people's "Whiteboard tools", their chat privileges, and more. There were 4-6 of us in one class at a time. We kept our peers in check basically. In class, we were playing Wheel of Fortune to review for a unit test. The boys were notorious for beating the girls so much and so drastically. Like, I'm talking scores of 2:20. So yeah. This particular day, the girls and guys TIED! 7 to 7. I was THRILLED! So I said: "I'M SO PROUD OF MY GIRLS! AND MY BOYS, BUT MOSTLY MY GIRLS!" In the chat. A particular someone said, "Wow Victoria, that's biased." I responded with, "It's not biased, it's true." (Which it was indeed true). He sent me a private message asking about my social media and so I gave it to him. He messaged me at 5:18 PM later that day, wanting to be friends. We're now engaged.

#2 In February of last year I was accepted into a college. I no longer go because I lost interest in my major and didn't feel drawn to anything else. But at the time I was more than happy. I finished enrolling that same week and then a few months later, I walked across a stage for a piece of paper saying that I finished 13 years of school and was ready for the "real world." In short, I'd graduated high school.

#3 Getting to publish A Collection of Short Stories at 17 years old, last April.

#4 July 9th, 2021. My first date EVER. My (now) fiance and I had been dating for over 3.5 years and had yet to even meet in person. So when I went to orientation for college last July, after my mom left, I was picked up by him, his parents, and his sister. We had our first date. He gave me flowers and we hugged for 3+ minutes before finally getting in their car to go. We went to a river walk and sat on a bench and just talked and soaked in one another's presence. Then we went to a pizza place and ordered a custom pizza. Eventually, they dropped me back off at the college and I met some friends and I told them all about it and when I finally went to my temporary room, I cried from being so overwhelmed with happiness. My parents didn't know about the date until I went home.

#5 I spent my 18th birthday completely alone. Yeah, I had friends but none of them even cared it was my birthday. My fiance had to work. My family was 5+ hours away and it was a school night. It kinda sucked. To make up for it, my fiance took me out to dinner that weekend. I proposed to him that night.

#6 One day after work, he came to my dorm and crashed for a bit. While he slept, I washed his uniform and some of my laundry. I also cuddled with him and fell asleep with him for a bit. BEST SLEEP EVER. I still sleep best with him cuddling me.