Perfect - 02

  When the reigning pols agree,

  he is crucified. Hung on a cross

  to die, while former followers cheer.

  Sounds like some modern politicians.

  Hope they never have to rely on resurrection.

  I Sit With Mom And Dad

  Near the front of the church.

  Not sure how much of the Easter

  story either of them really believes.

  Pure light and boundless love

  don’t seem to relate much to Mom,

  who sits straight-backed and ice-cold

  in her chair. Dad, at least, sings

  the liturgy and semi-tunes in to

  the pastor’s remarks.… He died

  so that we, no matter our lifestyles

  or challenges or histories, might live,

  free from judgment or sorrow, forever.

  No matter our lifestyles. Was that

  directed specifically toward me?

  Free from judgment. What I find

  particularly funny about that is

  how judged I felt at the party Friday

  night. Hard enough coming to terms

  with the label “lesbian,” without

  somehow having to prove that you

  are “lesbian enough.” Dani thought

  it was funny. Come on. Don’t take

  it seriously. They’re just jealous.

  Easier to call you a fake than to try

  and wear jeans as well as you do.

  Anyway, if you need validation, I think

  you’re a total lez. You don’t need

  to look like a boy to prove it. Now

  let’s discuss what you do need to do

  to prove it. We were in her car

  and it had started to snow by then.

  We drove to a far corner of the Rancho

  San Rafael parking lot, and as dime-

  size flakes turned to quarter-size,

  curtaining the glass, Dani showed me

  what it takes to make love to a girl.

  It Is Yielding

  Flesh, lush and tender as June

  peaches. It is giving, gracious,

  respectful. And though I lacked

  experience, Dani was forgiving,

  taught me what I asked to know,

  left me to discover what I could.

  Her kisses were typhoon, wind,

  rain and lightning, storming into

  open windows. She blanketed me

  with velvet skin, pillowed me with

  exotic perfume, lifted me onto a cloud

  just one breath away from heaven.

  I couldn’t say no. Didn’t say stop.

  I wanted more. Wanted to go on

  forever, even after the first burst of rain.

  Even then, I begged for downpour.

  Afterward

  Iced April air touching our heated

  skin and lifting, steam, I shattered

  beneath the weight of identity.

  Shards of uncertainty scattered,

  dissipated with each frosty exhale.

  Tears too long held inside dropped,

  crystals encasing half-truths. Secrets.

  Candor would not be denied, and

  I told her everything—how I had kept

  my virginity until I needed to be sure.

  How I teased Sean. Challenged him,

  even, only to change my mind. How I

  pleaded with him to stop, the end result.

  I thought she would chastise me,

  say I deserved what I got. Instead

  anger billowed up in her eyes.

  Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. Goddamn

  him to hell. Guys like that deserve

  a noncommutable sentence of

  castration. But why didn’t you tell?

  I have to think about it. “The last

  few months have been so hard,

  with my brother and all. I didn’t

  want more upheaval, you know?”

  You mean external upheaval.

  But what about the craziness inside?

  Promise, no matter what, you’ll

  never shut yourself off from me.

  And what’s going on with your

  brother? I had never mentioned

  Conner to her either. The subject

  just hadn’t ever come up. It has now.

  Despite only spilling to one person

  before, I told Dani everything about

  my twin and why he ended up where

  he did. Well, she asked for it. I even

  proposed my guilt. “I knew he was

  messing around with his teacher.

  If I would have told, maybe… he…”

  Confessing that encouraged a new

  round of tears. By then maybe, just

  maybe, I was feeling sorry for

  myself. But then again, why? Hadn’t

  Dani just allowed me to put to one side

  the people in my life who I don’t have

  the power to save? Which brings me

  back to church. Back to Pastor’s words.

  I’m not a savior. And even he, who so

  many believe was the Savior, was strung

  up to die. Maybe it’s time to save myself.

  On my left, my mother continues to pray

  only for herself. On my right, Dad is still

  impossible to read. How do I confess

  to either this momentous revelation?

  All the strength I felt just moments ago,

  every iota of elation, deflates. I am zero.

  They Don’t Have To Know

  Right now. Or maybe ever. Pretty sure

  Mom couldn’t care less if I marry.

  And if I have kids, it will make her old.

  Not the way to impress her friend flock.

  I drop my head for the benediction—

  the final prayer that says we can go

  home. When I lift it again, I notice

  Dad has turned to stare at someone

  sitting in the foyer, Easter Sunday

  overflow. It’s Conner. Escaped from

  Aspen Springs, hungry for communion?

  No, he’s flanked by some burly bruiser

  and a cute, dark-haired guy who

  looks very at ease here. More so than

  Conner, who looks close to panic,

  especially as Dad nears the door.

  Mom hangs back, her motive

  unclear. Is it out of respect for

  Conner’s space? Or is it because

  of fear? If so, what is she afraid of?

  Not Sure, In Fact

  Who looks more afraid, Conner

  or Mom. The sanctuary empties,

  and everyone crowds the food table.

  I see Dad shake Conner’s hand, say

  something that makes Conner nod.

  If I can make my way through

  the meadow of people, I should

  probably say something too. Not

  that I know exactly what. “You look

  great, for a crazy person?” Maybe

  not. I turn to Mom, who hangs back

  behind me. “Aren’t you going to say hi?”

  She straightens, draws herself up as

  tall as she can, elevates her chin,

  lifts her nose into the lily-scented

  air. I suppose it is expected of me.

  Expectations. Again. Wonder who

  she’ll be more disappointed in—

  her suicidal, no-longer-perfect son.

  Or his twin, the not-quite-out lesbian.

  Kendra

  Disappointment

  Can do a couple of things.

  It can drop you into a giant

  sucking sinkhole of

  depression,

  a place you have to fight

  to climb out of. Or it

  can trigger an epic

  mania

  to overcome t
he odds

  and transform failure

  into success. Say you

  swing

  as high as the chains will

  take you because you seek

  the thrill of flight, and on the

  up-

  kick, you lose your seat.

  Injury is likely. But if you

  worry about falling

  down,

  and never chance “up,”

  the sky will remain

  forever out of reach.

  Reaching For The Sky

  Is not such a hard thing to do, not

  when everyone around you keeps

  promising you have what it takes

  to touch it someday. I’ve always believed

  I can. But I’ve known for a long time

  that it’s a long way up to that patch of blue,

  and sometimes it takes extraordinary

  measures to reach the stratosphere. Today

  I’m going for broke. Mom drives me to

  the hospital. Are you nervous, honey?

  “Uh, let’s see. She’s going to make an

  incision in that flap that divides my nostrils.

  Then she’s going to pull my nose skin

  up between my eyes, exposing the bone

  and cartilage. Two hours restructuring

  those, and hopefully when she returns the skin

  to its normal position, all will be well.

  What could go wrong, right?” I watched

  an animation of the entire procedure.

  It should have made me feel more secure

  about everything. Instead I almost puked.

  God, I hope she doesn’t have a problem

  reattaching my skin. I almost went and

  read horror stories about rhinoplasty.

  Decided that wasn’t such a great idea,

  considering I am not going to change

  my mind. So I just swallowed megadoses

  of vitamins C and E, which should help

  the swelling and bruising. Asked (as opposed

  to Jenna’s “borrowing” method) Mom for one

  of her Xanax so I could sleep last night.

  No food or water after midnight. (No problem.)

  And here we are, pulling into a parking

  space, headed toward a surgical suite and

  my skin-peeled-from-my-face adventure.

  Am I nervous? Not at all! Just hope I don’t

  actually haul off and vomit all over

  myself. That might turn the old doc off.

  Okay, then. Here we go. How exciting!

  Yeah, that’s one way of putting it.

  Through the big glass doors, into

  the elevator, and up six floors. My legs

  are a little shaky, but whether that’s from

  nerves or lack of food, I can’t say for sure.

  I didn’t eat anything at all yesterday.

  It’s getting easier. Practice makes perfect.

  I Don’t Have To Wait Long

  A nurse comes to get me, hands Mom

  some papers to sign. “See you on the other

  side.” I follow the chubby nurse,

  wondering how a health-care professional

  could let herself go like that. Doesn’t

  she know it’s unhealthy to be overweight?

  Oh well. She’s nice enough. Put these on.

  You can change in there. And you can

  leave your panties on, if it makes you more

  comfortable. Under a hospital gown, lacking

  anything that resembles a back? The panties

  will definitely remain on. Everything else

  comes off. The gown is actually designer,

  by hospital standards. Blue and pink swirls,

  instead of the usual white. The hairnet

  and booties are white, however. Nondesigner.

  When I come out of the bathroom, Dr.

  Kane is waiting. How are you feeling?

  Do you have any questions for me?

  When I say no, she points to a wheel-

  chair. Your chariot awaits. We’ll take

  you down to the OR and introduce

  you to Cheryl, your anesthesiologist.

  She’ll give you a local at the IV

  site, so you shouldn’t feel the needle,

  which can be a bit uncomfortable.

  I expect an orderly to be my driver.

  But Dr. Kane does the steering herself.

  Here we are. Get in the chair and I’ll be

  back when you’re asleep. See you after.

  No table for this operation. It’s a state-

  of-the-art recliner. I climb up into it. Wait.

  Unlike The Nurse

  The anesthesiologist is built like a praying

  mantis—tall, slender, and strong-armed.

  Hello, Kendra. I’m Cheryl. She comes

  over, shakes my hand. I want you to…

  She looks at me. Looks at my chart.

  I thought you’d be shorter. Weight,

  one hundred nine pounds. Says here

  you’re five foot ten. That can’t be right.

  “That’s right. I know, I’ve still got

  a few pounds to drop. But I’ll get there.”

  Her eyes hold concern. Honey, you

  do not need to drop an ounce.

  She rolls back the baggy sleeves, checks

  out my arms. Ditto the hem of the gown,

  running her fingers along my legs.

  Then she studies the backs of my hands.

  My wrists. The inside curves of my elbows.

  She tsks. Hang tight. I’ll be right back.

  Sweat pops out on my forehead in hot

  little beads. I don’t think I like the direction

  that just went. It’s a long several minutes

  before Cheryl returns, towing Dr. Kane.

  She stomps over to me. Would you please

  take a look at this? You have to have

  noticed! Cheryl pulls at the hospital gown.

  You’re a doctor, for Christ’s sake.

  Dr. Kane bristles. What are you talking a—

  But when she sees my shoulders, she gasps.

  Suddenly, exposed, I’m freezing.

  I start to shiver. My entire body shakes.

  Get her a blanket, Cheryl. Kendra, are

  you eating at all? You are skin and bones.

  Shame And Anger

  Collide inside me, roil together.

  “Of course I eat. I need to be thin,

  though. Xavier says I’m almost there,

  too. The big contracts are coming.”

  Cheryl wraps a thermal blanket

  around my shoulders. Blessed warmth.

  Whoever this Xavier fellow is, she says,

  you’d better quit listening to him.

  Dr. Kane butts in. Kendra, I know

  you want to model. But what’s going

  on here isn’t about modeling. You are

  seriously emaciated. If you keep this up,

  you’re at risk for anemia, arrhythmia,

  and osteopenia. And have you had

  a period lately? Unfortunately, we will

  have to postpone the rhinoplasty.…

  “No! Why? Look, I promise to eat,

  okay?” Why are they on me like this?

  Honey, there’s no way I will administer

  anesthesia to you, says Cheryl. You must

  be at a healthy weight or there could

  be serious consequences.…

  “Are you saying if some skinny person

  needed an operation to save his life

  you wouldn’t administer anesthesia

  until he plumped up first? That’s stupid.”

  She looks at me with gentle eyes.

  A rhinoplasty isn’t necessary

  to save your life. But maybe coming

  in for one today did. I hope so.

/>   Save My Life?

  What is she talking about? I’m fine.

  Okay, maybe I haven’t had a period

  in a few months. It did scare me

  for a while, right after Conner and I…

  But the pregnancy tests were

  negative. And anyway, what’s so

  bad about skipping a few monthly

  bloodlettings? “Look. I’m really okay.”

  Dr. Kane shakes her head. Get dressed.

  Then we can discuss how to proceed.

  Cheryl, when she’s ready, please

  bring her back to my office. Kendra,

  can I get you something? Some cocoa,

  maybe? It might warm you up.

  It’s a test. “Sure. Hot chocolate would

  be great.” Three hundred calories great.

  Cheryl Escorts Me

  To Dr. Kane’s office, where the good

  doctor is in deep conversation with Mom.

  Wonderful. Come in for a nose job.

  Walk out with a confirmed eating disorder.

  Sit down, please. Dr. Kane hands me

  a steaming Styrofoam cup. Enjoy.

  Chocolate. God. I haven’t tasted it

  in months. One sip, I’m totally buzzed.

  Mom keeps checking me out. Kendra,

  Dr. Kane is extremely worried about you.

  She is recommending inpatient treatment.

  I told her we can handle it at home. Am I right?

  Good old Mom. “Of course. I tried

  to tell her I’m fine.” To prove it, I take

  a long, loud slurp of cocoa. I hope it

  doesn’t make me sick. “Can we go now?”

  Sean

  Sick

  To your stomach—gas churning

  in an empty well. That’s

  how

  it feels with her gone. Sick

  in the head, much too

  much

  cerebral carnage. Brain cells