Bivouacking
On
New
Years
Eve
By
Joseph
Johnston
"Do
we
still
need
Ajax?"
Mom
was
going
through
her
coupon
file,
throwing
anything
that
expired
on
twelve/thirty-‐one
into
a
huge
pile
on
the
green
carpet
of
the
living
room
floor.
"I
think
there’s
still
a
case
in
the
garage
from
last
year."
"I’ll
keep
it.
It
doesn’t
expire
until
March.
Might
run
out
by
then.
It’s
winter,
after
all.
Lots
of
scouring
to
do
in
the
winter."
I
turned
on
the
television
to
Times
Square
where
a
jar
of
mayonnaise
in
a
tuxedo
was
introducing
a
trio
of
cardboard
boxes
performing
their
latest
single.
You
could
see
the
tension
in
the
boxes,
knowing
that
the
one
in
front
was
about
the
become
the
breakout
box
and
the
world
would
know
it
by
its
first
name
and
forget
the
names
of
the
other
boxes.
About
time
for
a
change,
too.
Their
song
was
an
asexual
pile
of
guano.
I
turned
off
the
television.
"How
about
karaoke?
Two-‐for-‐one
karaoke?
You
need
that?"
"No,
mother."
She
threw
the
karaoke
coupon
on
the
pile
and
I
went
into
the
kitchen
and
unloaded
a
can
of
aerosol
cheese
onto
a
sleeve
of
saltine
crackers
and
arranged
them
neatly
on
a
platter.
My
brain
flickered
the
Super
8
movie
of
my
second
grade
field
trip
to
the
Keebler
factory.
At
the
end
of
the
tour
we
got
our
choice
of
a
package
of
fudge
stripe
cookies
or
a
box
of
saltines.
I
chose
the
saltines.
It
was
a
long
bus
ride
home
and
my
classmates
ate
their
cookies
and
shunned
me
and
my
crackers
so
I
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