Dani sits on a picnic table,
watching a few intrepid kayakers,
and even in profile, she defines
stark beauty—all steep slopes
and sharp tilts and spikes of russet
hair. I call her name, and when
she turns, her smile is like April
sun on the March snow drifted
deep inside me. Just seeing her
has lifted the morning’s weight.
She senses something, or it shows
in my eyes. You okay? What’s wrong?
I could say nothing, but why lie?
“It’s a long story. Let’s walk.”
We start down the riverside bike
path, and I begin my lurid saga.
Cool, distant father. Frigid,
twisted mother. Sad, sick twin.
When I get to the stuff about Emily,
Dani’s fingers knot into mine. Wow.
That’s like something you see on TV.
But darlin’, you’re not the only one
with a messed-up family. My mom
left us for heroin when I was six.
She OD’d a couple of years ago.
In between, she was turning tricks,
and got pregnant with my little brother.
She came crawling back. Dad was great.
He took her in, and when she left us
for smack again, he raised Caleb like
his own. We were doing okay, except
when Mom died, Caleb freaked out.
Like she’d ever been his mom, you know?
Anyway, he fried his brain on ecstasy.
Stole a car and drove it the wrong way
down the freeway, head-on into a semi.
He was only fourteen. So now it’s just
Dad and me. Everyone else is dead.
Her Hand Trembles In Mine
And now it’s my turn to be strong.
I stop. Pull her very close to me, swim
into the glittering pools in her eyes.
“I’m sorry.” She nods, parts her lips,
and when our mouths meet, it is with
urgency. Need. Lust. And understanding
that this might be only the beginning.
We feed on each other. Draw strength
from the nourishment. We are alone here,
but were we not, I wouldn’t care who might
be watching as we wrap each other in
each other, caught up in a net of desire
so strong there can be no breaking
free. Her skin is softest leather.
Her tongue, butter melting on mine.
She smells of ginger. Tastes of mint
and strawberry. She is angle. I am
curve. Together, we are geometric
sculpture, and we make perfect sense.
But just how far am I willing to go?
Kendra
How Far
Down can this one drop me?
Will it plummet me into a no-
man’s-land so pleasure-dense
that memory can’t
follow?
How high will this one launch
me? Will I soar above this
pain-infused planet, no fear,
and no desire to ever
turn back?
Who knew so many answers
might be found inside
little amber bottles? Sad?
Pop a pill. Fat?
Run screaming for
the medicine chest.
Calorie counting becomes
obsolete when all you want
to swallow is water and
Mommy’s Little Helper
makes that happen for you.
I Don’t Know Why
It took me so long to find my way
to Pharmaceuticalville. I guess I thought
pill popping was for losers. People who
couldn’t hack reality. Couldn’t control
themselves or conquer their weaknesses.
Ha. I never thought I was weak before,
not even when the mirror insisted I was
a total wuss. It’s all very clear now, though.
And I can’t believe how easy it is to not
feel hungry. To not feel sorry. To not feel
sad or worried or like the whole world
just wants to crush me, and all I have to do
is match the messed-up mood to the proper
chemical adjuster. If that makes me weak,
oh well. But I think it makes me smart.
Why push uphill when you can coast?
I Was Only Going To Take
One Percocet. I needed it the day
I found out about Conner and his skank.
His old skank. The one who just moved
away. Thank God I don’t have to see her
ever again. But even if I did, all I would
have to do is down another Percocet.
Sheesh, if I did two, I’d probably ask her
to prom. Except, now the pills are gone.
There were only four to start. After
the first one, I waited a couple of days.
Then my dad decided to show up drunk
at our spring honor choir performance.
It was the first time I’d seen him in months.
And there he was, slobbering all over some
random woman and yelling like he was at
a football game. And then he spotted Mom
and Patrick and, for whatever reason,
decided to go say hello. And more.
While we were still singing. From
where I stood on the stage, I could see
Mom trying to shush him. Which made
him get louder. Soon everyone turned
to stare, and Patrick actually had to take
hold of his arm, steer him out of the gym.
Then everyone was looking at me. Like
I had anything to do with it. And here’s
the capper. Mom blamed me. Why did
you even tell him about the performance?
We were all safe at home by then (well,
not sure about Dad. Patrick handed him
off to his girlfriend.) I couldn’t believe
it. “Well, I sure as hell didn’t invite him.”
Which made Patrick jump in. Don’t you
dare swear at your mother, little girl.
Anger sizzled in my head. “Don’t tell
me what to do. You’re not my father.”
In light of what happened tonight,
I’d say that’s a darn good thing.
“Darn? You can say ‘damn,’ Patrick.
I promise it won’t damage us children.”
You are still a child, and it would
be good to remember that.…
I was pretty much boiling by then,
and Mom sitting there, blank faced,
only made me angrier still. “Not for
long. I’ll be eighteen next month.”
Then he nailed me good. Right.
You mean after your plastic surgery.
It Was An Implied Threat
And the threat was, “Apologize right now
or consider keeping your big, ugly nose as is.”
Okay, he wouldn’t have put it so bluntly,
but that’s what he meant. Or something close.
I backed off. De-escalated. Couldn’t
risk calling his bluff, though I was pretty
sure that’s all it was. Swallowed
my anger. “I’m sorry I swore, okay?
But I had nothing to do with Dad
being there tonight. Cross my heart.”
As apologies go, it was snippy, but
the best I could do, and it seemed to
appease Patrick. Apology accepted.
About that time Jenna came in, messy
hair and blurred makeup indicating
she’d had a little too much fun that night.
The attention shifted to her, so I made
my escape, still percolating a big pot of anger.
At my back, Patrick’s voice had risen
again, this time at my sister. Where
have you been, and what have you
been doing? Buzz buzz buzz.
I headed straight for my room, and
the little bottle of dysfunction stashed
in a sock in my dresser. And down
went one more Percocet. Two left. Minus
one, not quite a week later, after I found
out my dad is getting married again and wants
Jenna and me to be bridesmaids. We
don’t even know his girlfriend, something
my sister was very clear about. More
family drama to come on that front for sure.
I Popped The Last Percocet
Three days ago, when I was passed over for
a Teen Vogue fashion shoot. I had my heart
set on it. I figured they didn’t pick me
because I still can’t get into a size two. Close.
But not quite. But when I asked Maxine
if that was, in fact, the reason, she hung
her head and admitted, That’s not why.
I’m sorry to say I dropped the ball.
It was a bad week—my daughter lost
her baby, and I had to help out with
her other kids. I just forgot to put things
in motion. But there will be other opportunities.
I almost lost it. But how could I without
coming off as totally heartless? So I nodded
and fumed and finally dug into my wallet
to find the business card of Xavier Winslow.
Xavier
Cool name for an awesome agent.
We agreed to meet over Starbucks
coffee, and though I felt a tiny bit like
a traitor, I had it in my mind from the start
that all he had to do was say the right
things and I’d flip reps without looking back.
He said all the right things. You’ve got
the look, that’s for sure. His eyes crawled
all up and down my body. If you want
to do runway, you could maybe lose
a couple of pounds, but I can help you
with that. Then his creeping gaze stopped
unapologetically right beneath my clavicle.
And… have you considered implants?
He was so straightforward, I somehow
didn’t feel the slightest embarrassment.
“As a matter of fact, I have. But my parents
don’t want me to.” I went on to tell him
about my upcoming rhinoplasty, and
even asked what he thought about Botox.
He just kept nodding until I was through.
You are serious about this as a career,
then. I suspected as much. Here’s the deal.
I have the connections to take you to the top.
But you have to be willing to do things
my way. If you have an opt-out in your
contract with Maxine, jumping agencies
won’t be a problem. And I can be very
persuasive when it comes to reticent parents.
Give me fifteen minutes with your mom,
she’ll come around. Your stepdad may
be tougher. But that’s what moms are for.
Xavier Will Be Here Any Minute
I made sure his first meeting with Mom
would be when Patrick was busy adjusting
bands and wires on kids’ crooked teeth.
Mom wasn’t especially interested
in my changing agents. Maxine has
been good to us, and good for you.…
“Mostly true. Except she just lost a huge
contract because of personal problems.
I need someone who will always be there.
Just listen to what he has to say, okay?”
She agreed, and when the bell rings now,
I let her answer the door. First impressions
and all. She hides her stutter fairly
well. Uh… oh… please, come in.
In Mom’s world, Xavier Winslow
is soap-opera fine. And all charm.
Not To Mention A Natural Flirt
We sit around the kitchen table, and
though I am the topic of conversation,
Xavier is all about Mom. I can see
where your daughter gets her beauty.
Did you ever model? No? What a shame.
You could have gone straight to the top.
Mom blushes and smiles and flirts
right back. This is a mother I’ve never
seen before, and it’s all because this
great-looking man is playing her so well.
It takes twenty minutes at least, but by
the time Xavier is finished, Mom is beeswax,
melting into his smile, and I have a new agent.
When I walk him to the door, he winks.
I’ll call you next week. He slips a small
bottle into my hand. The label says Meridia.
Sean
My Hand
Has long been my dance
partner. I learned
the routine at eleven.
Early
to the game, I guess.
Fifth grade is much
too young to understand
the nature of uninvited
lust.
It didn’t even take visual
stimulation, just the raw
sensation of skin against
cotton, and the memory
is just
as vivid as the real thing.
Okay, maybe not quite.
But there was something
about the innocence—
confusing
as it was—that made
those first clumsy explorations
border on magical.
Used To Be
I’d wake up every morning
and have to spend several
minutes doing the hand jive.
It’s a guy thing, I know. But
not really sure if it’s because
of something that went on
in a dream, or just because
of the Boy rubbing nice
against those warm sheets.
Either way, it was a great way
to start the day. But now
I wake up limp as a worn
sock. I’ve been tempted
to test the Viagra solo, just
to see if things will still work.
But it seems like a waste
of a roaring boner if those
pills do what they promise.
So I’ve been saving them up
for a little (lot!) Cara action.
I’m Tired Of Saving Up
I really want to see her, want
to know what it’s like to make
love to a girl who I really love.
But lately I’m not sure what’s
going on with her. For the past
couple of weeks, she’s always
had an excuse not to see me.
Homework. Prom committee
meetings. Spring musical
rehearsals. Granted, she has
a lead, but still. Why should other
stuff come before me? Yes,
baseball practice has come
first for me lately, but it’s all
for her in the long run. Why
can’t she understand that?
She did promise to come
watch me play today, so
maybe everything’s okay.
Hope so. I’ve got plans for later.
Great Day For Baseball
Well, it is a little cool, but
hell, it
’s barely March. At least
the sun is out, and we’re
playing at home, thanks to
outstanding snow removal
efforts on the part of our
grounds crew. Amazing,
what industrial strength
tarps and snowblowers can
accomplish. Not to mention
shovels and brooms. I am
stoked. Ready to kick
a little Reno High ass.
On the field for warm-ups,
I notice a couple of things.
One: serious-looking guys
in the stands with clipboards
and radar guns. Scouts.
Can’t know where from,
of course. But they’re there.
And two: Cara made it.
She’s sitting with some
girl I’ve never seen before.
Dark spiky hair. Cute, in
a kind of Goth way. Cara
points at me, and the strange
girl smiles. Then they both
wave. Nice. I wave back,
still wondering who’s sitting
beside my girl, when Coach
reminds me, O’Connell!
We’ve got a game to play
here. Get your mind off
the bleachers or go hit
the showers. Some of
the guys snicker, but mostly
because they’re jealous.
I glance at the scouts, one
of whom seems to be looking
my way. Get ready, dude.
First Inning
Reno High goes down,
one-two-three, thanks
to outstanding pitching
by Gary Bell. The scouts
are doing some serious
scribbling in their notebooks.