Perfect - 02

pretty much every game.

  The very best part of that is

  it keeps Guy Behind My Eyes

  mostly quiet. Lately, he only

  talks to me when I’m alone,

  something I try hard not to be.

  The Main Thing

  He keeps telling me is that

  I need to lay off the ’roids.

  I’ll stop talking if you do.

  You might shut me up forever.

  Chad agrees. He says I’m

  borderline schizo and that

  he won’t supply me anymore.

  At least, not for a while. Not

  until the current cycle is well

  out of my system. You’re lucky

  you didn’t get busted when

  they did all that blood work,

  he said. You get busted, I get

  busted. You’ve got a big mouth.

  I figure I’ll finish up what I’ve

  got left and dry out for a while.

  See if lifting alone will keep

  the ol’ bat hot. And hopefully

  leave GBME kicking in my dust.

  As For The Big Mouth

  I struggle with that. Right now,

  seeing Cara down the hall at

  her locker, it’s all I can do not

  to shout something obscene.

  Don’t want to risk a cell,

  though. And now I’ve got

  Aubree to keep me in line.

  She’s a little like taffy—

  all pliable and chewy and

  sticky sweet. Except she’s

  really not sweet at all. She can

  be one shit-talking, backstabbing

  girl. And in fact, it was she who

  spread those pics of Cara across

  the ether. When I asked her why

  she wanted to ruin a supposed

  friend’s reputation, she told me,

  Cara only acts like she’s your

  friend. She’d never have your back

  if it meant offering up her own.

  I don’t know if that’s exactly

  accurate, but now that I

  think about it, Cara doesn’t

  really have friends. Lots of

  people hang around her, but

  I’m not sure how many of them

  liked her, even before they

  knew she was a dyke. Too bad,

  so sad. I’m not sure how

  many people really like Aubree,

  either. She’s kind of stuck-up.

  But she’s a fine little piece

  of distraction right now.

  And with her being the one

  to keep the pressure on Cara,

  I don’t have to. She texts her

  sometimes, using stolen cell

  phones, so the messages

  can’t be traced back to her.

  Or me. Hey, I don’t ask her to.

  Cara Knows

  Aubree and I are kind of a thing.

  Not like we try to hide it. Aubree

  flaunts it, especially when Cara

  is in clear sight. Like now. We

  have to walk right by her to get

  to class. I cinch my arm around

  Aubree’s waist, and she tucks

  her head against my shoulder.

  “You’re coming to the game

  today, right?” I kiss her forehead.

  You know I wouldn’t miss

  it. I love watching you play.

  Hit a home run, I’ll give you a

  special reward. She runs her

  hand down over my crotch,

  leaving no room for speculation

  about what kind of reward

  she has in mind. I glance

  at Cara, who quickly turns

  her face away. But she saw.

  That gives me some strange

  satisfaction. All things

  considered, Cara shouldn’t

  give a damn. So what compels

  me to say, loudly enough so

  that she (and everyone else

  nearby) can hear, “Blow

  job for one homer. All

  the way in for two. Deal?”

  People are waiting for her

  answer. And when it comes,

  it’s all Aubree. Deal. As long

  as it doesn’t turn me into

  a Les. Bi. An.

  Totally directed

  at Cara, who shoves her face

  into her locker. “No worries.

  I happen to know gay. You’re

  not.” Laughter echoes down

  the corridor, and I almost feel

  sorry for Cara. But not quite.

  The Rumor Hits Full Force

  By lunchtime. It’s passed on

  to me by (who else?) Aubree.

  Did you hear what happened

  to Jenna Mathieson? Some guy

  raped her. Cut her up, too.

  “Kendra’s sister?” Pretty little

  thing, all flesh and curves, usually

  sneaking out of her clothes.

  Can’t say it’s a total surprise.

  “What happened? Is she okay?”

  I heard she was hanging outside

  of Safeway, bumming beer, and

  he forced her into his car.

  Guess it was pretty ugly. A jogger

  heard her screaming and banged

  on the window, or she might be

  dead now. God, do you know

  what he did?She goes on to

  give me a hideous description

  of all the ways rape can be done.

  See what you missed, whispers

  GBME. You could have tried …

  I force myself not to engage

  him. Last thing I need is Aubree

  thinking I’m a whack job too.

  She won’t be back at school

  this year,Aubree finishes.

  Someone said it took over

  five hundred stitches to close up

  all the wounds. God. The scars!

  That’s what rape is. Not what

  happened with Cara. She wanted …

  You mean she asked for it, says

  GBME. But you think Jenna asked

  for it too. Just in a different way.

  “Shut the fuck up!” I yell.

  What? demands Aubree.

  “No. Not you. I’m not talking

  to you. I’m talking to … never

  mind.” What have I done now?

  GBME: You really need to stop

  yelling at yourself. People think …

  It’s obvious what Aubree thinks.

  Are you nuts or what? But then

  she smiles. I kind of like crazy

  guys. They’re hot. Come here.

  She kisses me, and it’s totally

  hot, and if that makes her crazy,

  I kind of like it too. I am so

  hitting a couple of home runs.

  I just hope I can claim my reward

  without GBME giving commentary.

  Andre

  Crazy

  To dream of her still.

  To wake, shivering desire,

  and wonder if she is dreaming

  of you, despite all

  odds.

  Crazy, waiting for her return,

  when you were the one who

  walked away. Pushed through

  the pain. Spring days

  are

  growing longer, reaching

  for summer. What plans

  you made for elastic afternoons,

  stretched long to lean

  against

  moon-shadowed evenings.

  Crazy, remembering how

  her smile thawed your

  winter heart, when what

  you

  must do to salvage

  your sanity is forget her.

  What Have You Done?

  Tempted fate once too often. Tempted
/>
  the wrong man. Dangled

  your bait in the wrong place, and the wrong

  fish took it right off the hook. Oh, Jenna!

  Why couldn’t I save you?

  Why couldn’t I make you love me enough?

  You lie here, sleeping. The bandages can’t

  hope to hide all the damage

  to your face. But it will heal eventually.

  I wish I could be that optimistic about your

  heart. I want to touch you,

  but I’m afraid even the slightest caress

  will cause you pain. I close my eyes, lay

  my head on the bed next

  to you. The sheets smell of bleach. But lingering

  beneath the Clorox is a faint scent of rot.

  Is it from your bloated

  wounds? Or is it decomposing dreams?

  As If Hearing My Thoughts

  She stirs. Her fingers test my hair,

  recognize it. Hey. Her

  voice is raspy. Thanks for coming.

  I lift my head, look into the slits where

  her eyes must be. “Welcome.

  Just so you know, you look like crap.”

  Better than how I feel, then. Guess

  you know what

  happen … the rest is swallowed by

  a coughing fit. “Stop talking for once

  in your life, would you?

  Yes, I know what happened. I’m sorry.”

  I should h-have l-listened … and now

  she’s crying, at least

  I’m pretty sure she is. It’s hard to tell.

  “Doesn’t matter now. What’s done is

  done, as my grandma

  Grace always used to say.” The thought

  of her, overseeing my childhood, sears

  my heart almost as much

  as seeing Jenna like this does. “Listen, now.

  First things first….” Another Grace-ism.

  “You heal up. Once all

  those stitches come out, my mom wants to

  see you. She’s a regular wizard, you know.

  Making girls beautiful

  is what she does best. You can skip the boob

  job, though. Yours are perfect, as is.” I stand.

  “I should probably go now.

  Let you rest. I’ll come see you again soon.”

  W-wait. You never told me about your

  audition. Wha-what

  happened? Are you going to Vegas?

  I Sit Back Down

  “Okay, I’ll tell you the story, but only

  if you’re positive you

  want to hear it, and only if it won’t make

  you too tired.” She gestures for me to go

  on. “The show isn’t quite

  the cattle call that some of them are.

  They solicit auditions from some of the best

  dance studios in the country.

  Which means it’s extremely competitive.

  Liana choreographed an amazing routine

  for Shantell and me.

  We aren’t going to Vegas—yet. But we have

  been called back for a second audition.

  Out of five thousand

  dancers, we are in the top one hundred.

  Our next audition is in Los Angeles in

  three weeks. Liana thinks

  both Shantell and I have a decent shot.”

  Jenna does her best to touch my hand. I’m

  re-really happy for you.

  Know what I think? That you’re going to

  Vegas. Kn-know wh-what else? I’m glad

  you have the guts to go

  for your dream. All the talking is tiring her.

  “Tell you what. If I make the top ten, I’ll

  make sure you have tickets.”

  I whisper-kiss her forehead. “And don’t worry.

  Jazz isn’t nearly as boring as ballet.” Her

  eyes close, and I think

  she must be asleep again, so I start to leave.

  Psst, she says, eyes still closed. Know what’s

  bad here? No alcohol.

  But know what’s good? Killer drugs.

  What I Didn’t Tell Her

  Is that I still haven’t decided whether

  or not I’m going down

  for that second audition. One of the judges,

  this brilliant Broadway choreographer,

  totally loved me, at least it

  seemed that way. He gushed about technique,

  and when he found out I’ve only been training

  for a relatively short while,

  called me one of the greatest natural talents

  he’s ever seen. Not sure if that was meant

  for the camera or for real,

  but I may have a very good chance of finishing

  in the top twenty. Which means they’d want

  me to do the TV show.

  Just appearing on Now This Is Dance almost

  guarantees work, and I’m just not sure that

  dance can take me where

  I want to go. Liana says don’t even worry

  about all that yet. You’re awfully full of

  yourself, aren’t you?

  was actually what she said. You haven’t

  even made it past the second audition,

  and you’re already

  worrying about how to spend your prize

  money and organize your tour schedule?

  One step at a time,

  Andre. Now, let’s work on that solo.

  Prize money wasn’t even on my radar.

  Maybe because I never

  expected to get this close. Shantell, however,

  was not surprised. God, Andre. What did

  I tell you? When some

  snooty choreographer says you’ve got an

  incredible natural talent, you get all excited,

  but when I told you the same

  thing, you thought I was blowing smoke?

  You have to do this. It’s a once-in-a

  lifetime opportunity,

  and if you don’t, I swear you will be

  sorry. You can always go to college,

  but if you decide to

  leave dance behind in favor of school,

  you may never come back to it. You’ll

  end up in some dull

  career, with a bucket full of regrets.

  Shantell wouldn’t dream of not going

  for it, whatever

  the outcome on the far end. Maybe that’s

  what I’m really worried about. Not winning.

  Not succeeding. I’ve

  never failed at anything. Except Jenna.

  She’s Sleeping Now

  Off someplace too deep to dream in, thanks

  to the morphine drip

  fed into one of her veins. Good drugs, indeed.

  I wonder if this girl can be saved, and why

  she won’t save herself.

  “I love you, Jenna.” I know she can’t hear

  me, and maybe that’s for the best. “Bye, baby.”

  One thing I do know

  is that I can’t watch her self-destruct anymore.

  I glance at the big clock on the wall. Almost

  two. I’ve got a lesson

  at three. With Shantell, who will be after

  me to make a decision. God, hospitals stink.

  All the cleaning they do

  can’t erase the dirt of sickness and death.

  I don’t look into open doors as I head for

  the elevator. Don’t want

  to consider what’s on the other side. Instead

  I look down, counting tiles until I reach

  the bank of elevators.

  Just as I get there, a set of doors opens,

  and who walks out of them but Kendra.

  And her father. Oh shit.

  “Hello, sir,” I say, hoping for civility.

  His face goes all
red, and hatred feeds

  his ugly glare. You.

  This is because of you, you goddamn—

  No! Kendra stops him cold. This is not

  because of him, Dad.

  It’s because of you! It’s your attention

  she wanted, just like when she was little.

  You left her, Dad. Me

  too. Left us for … She shatters. Sobs.

  Her knees buckle, and I move forward

  as she starts to fall.

  But it is her father who catches her.

  His eyes, wild just a few seconds ago,

  soften. I’m sorry.

  Then, to me, Go get someone. Please.

  I turn toward the nurse’s station, but

  someone is already coming.

  Can’t make a scene like this without

  being noticed. By the time the nurse

  gets to us, though,

  Kendra has reached into some reservoir

  of inner strength. She is on her feet,

  pushing her father

  off. I’m okay. Let go. Sorry, Andre.

  “It’s all ri—,” I start to say, but she is

  already on her way

  to Jenna’s room. Mr. Mathieson follows

  without a good-bye. The pretty nurse

  looks at me and

  I shrug. “Just another day in paradise.”

  Cara

  Paradise

  A concept embraced by almost

  every culture. A land of peace

  and harmony. Some say it

  doesn’t

  belong to the earth, that there

  is no Shangri-la, no utopian

  wilderness for the living.

  Only

  heaven. Elysian fields. A House

  of Song. Afterworlds where

  the righteous dead

  exist

  forever in a state of pure

  bliss. But I wonder if there

  isn’t some blessed place

  for

  souls in search of the sacred

  path. Hungry souls, and lost.

  The souls of those who aren’t

  believers

  yet reach for redemption,

  in ways small and large.

  Those who love and ask for love.

  Love Is Chocolate