Perfect - 02

  I’ve hit lately have been at

  baseball practice. I think

  if love is real, and headed

  toward the altar, the sex part

  can—within reason—wait.

  My big brother thinks I’m

  crazy. Dude, he told me, if

  you’re really thinking forever,

  you’d better take a test-drive.

  What if she sucks in bed?

  I’ve test-driven four or five.

  And the thing is, there wasn’t

  a helluva lot of difference

  in the way they handled. Tune

  ’em up, hit the freeway. Fly.

  One of My Former High-Horsepower Rides

  Happens to be texting Cara

  right now. Kendra and I had

  a short, sweet, ten thousand

  RPM fling before she and Conner

  hooked up. Kind of incestuous,

  I guess. Wonder what’s going

  on. Not like she and Cara are

  tight or anything. Lukewarm

  buddies at best. “What does

  she want?” Hope that didn’t

  sound as impatient as it felt.

  Nothing important. If that’s

  true, why do they keep going

  back and forth for so long?

  She’s on her way to Elko.

  “Another brainless beauty

  contest?” Right up her alley.

  She’s got it all in the looks

  department. Intellect-wise,

  however, she’s no Cara.

  Probably. I’m not sure.

  Now she’s sounding kind

  of short. In between texts,

  she stares out the window,

  contemplating each answer,

  it seems. Finally she sighs,

  thumbs one last message,

  hits send, and puts her cell

  away. “You want to tell me

  what that was all about?”

  Not especially. That’s it.

  Not exactly what I’d call

  communication. Sometimes Cara

  reminds me of her mother.

  I’ll keep that to myself.

  I’ve Talked To Her Parents

  A few times. Her dad is cool.

  Meaning chilled. I think it

  probably takes a lot to get

  the dude excited. He isn’t

  friendly. But he’s cordial.

  That probably has a lot to

  do with being a lobbyist.

  Totally outstanding butt

  kissers, especially those

  who lobby for insurance.

  They might have a shitload

  of “buddies,” but I bet they

  don’t have a lot of friends,

  unless you count the ones in

  high places and back pockets.

  Anyway, considering who

  he’s married to, the guy

  deserves credit for being

  even tepid. Especially

  when holed up at home.

  Because Cara’s Mom

  Reminds me of crystal—

  all sparkly and beautiful

  distraction while it carves

  you clear to the bone. She

  is a don’t-turn-your-back-

  on-her kind of woman.

  Our first encounter was

  a lot like a job interview.

  We are careful about who

  our daughter is allowed

  to date, she declared, before

  basically third-degreeing me

  as to my qualifications. She’s

  a high-society high roller who

  steamrolled right over me.

  It was almost enough to make

  me rethink things with Cara.

  Except she’s just so damn

  perfect. Well, other than when

  it comes to communication.

  We’ll Have To Work On That

  But, hey, we’ve got plenty

  of time. Forever takes a while.

  Meanwhile, I’m practicing

  how to get my way without

  her noticing. Subtlety is not

  my best thing, but control

  and Cara are not easily

  juxtaposed. It’s a challenge,

  but one I’m equal to. Not

  that I’d say so out loud.

  Staying (subtly) in control

  requires current information.

  “So have you heard from

  Stanford yet?” She pretty

  much aced her SATs. Grades

  are outstanding. Community

  service likewise. Not yet. Dad

  says it will probably be a few

  weeks still. I did hear from

  Loyola, though. They want me.

  “Loyola? I didn’t know

  you applied there.” Not in

  the game plan. Suddenly

  my gut feels scrambled.

  “You’re not even Catholic.”

  We don’t go to church often,

  and when we do, it’s usually

  to Holy Cross Lutheran. Mom

  isn’t into the whole Pope thing.

  But Dad was raised Catholic.

  “So, he really believes in all

  that ‘wine into blood’ bullshit?”

  I bet the real reason they go

  Lutheran is so he doesn’t have

  to confess. Too much time,

  trading Hail Marys for penance.

  I’m not sure. My grandmother

  did, and my grandfather

  still does, at least when his

  Alzheimer’s lets him. He doesn’t

  remember a whole lot most

  of the time. Which is why

  they invented special care

  retirement communities. If I

  get that way, please shoot me.

  She shudders at the last two

  words, and I’m guessing

  she’s thinking about Conner.

  “How’s your brother doing,

  anyway? All healed up yet?”

  Not really, and what the hell

  is up with everyone today?

  Is it Dig Up Information on

  Conner Day? Because I don’t

  have anything new to tell you.

  Jeez. What was that about?

  “Hey, I’m not trying to dig

  up anything, new or old.

  Just trying to communicate.”

  Will that always be a problem?

  Andre

  A Problem

  Is really just a solution

  in need of a reason to exist.

  If you think about it,

  life

  would be kind of boring

  if it were completely free

  of friction. Each day

  presents

  choices. Turn this way, it’s

  a downhill coast. Turn that

  way, you will stumble across

  obstacles.

  Some are easily conquered.

  Some require intelligence,

  will, and perseverance

  to overcome.

  To win is to prosper.

  The game is defeating doubt.

  And the fun is in the game.

  Today’s Game

  Was faking my way through a trig

  test. I probably passed,

  but just barely. Trig? What for? Not

  like I’ll need it beyond June, except

  to have it, with a C

  or (unlikely) slightly better grade

  on my transcript. Okay, my mom might

  argue that I’ll want to

  know math for a future career. She uses

  it all the time, calculating body fat

  percentages and how

  many millimeters of bone to remove

  or skin to tighten to achieve the desired

  effect. Not to mention

  how much anesthesia
per pound

  of person will allow said person to wake

  up from deep sleep

  and walk out, covered in bandages, alive.

  And Dad utilizes the ol’ calculator

  to figure price points

  and down payments and monthly

  fees, and whether or not a prospective

  client’s take-home

  salary can cover those things, at least

  on paper. But if I had to follow in either

  of their footsteps,

  I’d use math to calculate how fast

  I’d have to drive my car over a cliff

  of x feet in height

  to attain the proper distance to make

  sure I’d end up dead instead of paralyzed.

  Wow. A real-world use

  for trigonometry. Who’d have believed it?

  School Behind Me

  For the day, I stop by the house on

  my way to Reno.

  Change out of my stiff white button-up

  shirt, khaki slacks. This isn’t my usual day

  for dance lessons, but

  Liana had an opening, and I’m itching to work

  off a little stress. Dad’s relentless pressure

  is getting to me. He caught

  me on my way out the door this morning.

  I’m off to Vegas for a few days. When I get

  back, we’ll arrange a trip

  over spring break to look at those schools.

  It totally hit me wrong. “Would you please

  stop micromanaging my life?

  What if I have my own plans for spring break?”

  His jaw clicked audibly as it tightened, and

  he silenced me with

  two words. Cancel them. End of discussion.

  I Have To Make A Stop

  On the way to Liana’s. I need two hundred

  dollars for this month’s

  lessons. But I’ll tell Mom the money is for

  a haircut and some new clothes. Last year’s

  sweaters are dated.

  If I say that, she won’t even think twice.

  Perception is everything to Mom, and style

  is a vital component.

  She wants her son to be a fashion trendsetter.

  Three p.m. on Wednesday, her regular day

  for pre-op consults,

  her office is humming. “Hello, Simone,”

  I say to her receptionist, eliciting her

  smile with my own.

  “Will my mother be tied up very long?”

  She’s with a patient, but should be

  finished soon. Take

  a seat. I’ll let her know you’re here.

  She scuttles off, and I turn toward

  the plush waiting

  room. A girl, seated in one of the cushy

  chairs, lifts her eyes up over a magazine.

  Damn! She’s a spectacular

  creation, the kind you’d like to paint

  a portrait of, so you could hang her on

  a wall and stare at her

  forever. And speaking of staring, she is

  staring at me, so I’m motivated to say

  hello, only it comes out,

  “H-he-hello.” She smiles at the stupid

  stutter, and I can’t help but notice

  the perfect shape

  of her plump little pout. Delicious.

  Hello back at you, she says, her voice

  rich and sweet as

  caramel, and all the invitation I need.

  I Choose A Seat

  Close to her, where I can better study

  her. She’s younger

  than me, maybe sixteen, but the curves

  of her body belong to a woman. Surely

  she doesn’t want more

  nor less than what she’s been gifted with.

  I can’t help but ask, “You’re not here

  to see my mom, are

  you?” Forward, yes. But I have to know.

  She smiles again, and in that smile

  is something Eve-like.

  Me? No way. My sister is in there

  now, choosing a new nose. But I kind

  of like what I’ve got,

  you know? How could I in good faith

  disagree? “You are a wise girl.” One, I’ve just

  decided, I really want

  to know. I offer a straightforward, “I’m Andre.”

  Her Skin

  Is flawless, and the color of fine ivory.

  Together we are

  a keyboard. Or maybe a chessboard.

  My color has never been an issue for girls

  before, but there’s a first

  time—or person—for everything and in Reno,

  ghosts of Wild West prejudice still haunt

  certain neighborhoods.

  This girl, however, doesn’t seem put off

  by my skin. I’m Jenna. And are you,

  like, hitting on me? She

  laughs at how I can’t quite confess it.

  It’s okay. I don’t mind. She watches

  Simone scurry back

  to her desk. Do you want to call me?

  Her forwardness is both a little scary

  and a lot refreshing.

  “You know, I really would.” We exchange

  appreciative smiles and cell phone

  numbers, as down

  the hall a door slams open, followed

  by scattered voices. One of them belongs

  to my mom. The others,

  I’m guessing, are Jenna’s mother

  and her sister. Both of them look like

  her, except her sister

  lacks the abundant flesh that makes

  Jenna so attractive. She notices where

  my eyes keep roaming.

  My sister is a pageant girl, she says in

  a low (luscious) voice. She also wants to

  model, which is why

  she thinks she needs her nose “fixed.”

  “I hope it’s enough for her. Some people

  get addicted to

  the ‘fixing.’” Some are never satisfied.

  Jenna, However

  Appears more than satisfied with the way

  she looks, every move

  designed to draw the eye. My eyes,

  for sure. And I can’t believe other guys

  wouldn’t feel the same

  way. There is something extremely

  alluring about a girl who’s completely at ease

  in her own skin.

  And this one loves how she’s put together.

  Her sister, however, for all her beauty-

  focused goals, seems

  to hold something in reserve. She is closer

  to my age. But she is so not my type.

  Not sure why I think

  Jenna is, but I can’t wait to research.

  Her mom tells her it’s time to leave. I watch

  her exit, enthralled

  by the performance. She is one of a kind.

  She Is On My Mind

  On the short drive to the All the Right

  Moves dance studio.

  Usually, when I meet a girl, I make her

  wait a day or two before I ask her out.

  For some reason,

  I’m driven to skip the whole coy charade

  and call Jenna right away. She answers

  on the third ring. “Hey.

  It’s Andre. Are you free Saturday night?”

  Wow. You’re direct. I like that, and I’d

  like to say yes, but I

  kind of had tentative plans for Saturday.

  That stings. And I’m late for my lesson.

  “Okay. I’ll try again.”

  I go inside. The place is empty, except

  for Liana, who is on her own phone.

  Warm up, she mouths,

  nodding toward the open studio door.

  I start my stretch
ing, thinking about

  the magnetic smile that

  drew me immediately to the girl I can’t

  seem to get off my mind. Liana comes in,

  and we begin a familiar

  routine. I’ve done these steps dozens

  of times, but I can’t keep them in the right

  order. I can hear my dad

  saying how if he wants something, he won’t

  let anyone tell him he can’t have it. Andre!

  scolds Liana. Where’s your

  head today? Did you forget how to count?

  Focus, Andre, focus. One, two, three, four…

  Somehow I make it

  through the rest of my lesson. Pay Liana

  the money I finagled from Mom. At last,

  I can call Jenna again. “You

  know those tentative plans? Cancel them.”

  Cara

  At Last

  It’s a perfect winter day.

  No wind. No Arctic freeze.

  Cloudless azure sky. A day

  to fly.

  Snow drapes the mountain

  like ermine, fabulous feather-

  light powder coaxing me

  to flee

  the confines of my room, brave

  the mostly plowed road

  up to the closest ski resort.

  To run

  from the cloying silence

  connecting Mom and Dad,

  into encompassing stillness

  far away

  from city dirt and noise.

  Far above suburban gridlock.

  Far beyond the grasp of home.

  First Decent Day In Weeks

  Mt. Rose will be swarming by noon.

  Good thing I got here early.

  Nothing much better than first

  tracks beneath cloud-clear skies.

  Heaven must be something

  like boarding on night-crisped virgin

  powder. Lingering atop a cornice,

  few other people in sight, I take

  a deep pull of winter-spiked air, finesse

  over the lip. Two sweeping turns

  to safety. Here, where there are no

  hypercritical eyes, I slip