What My Mother Doesn't Know

  swooping up at the tips

  as if to say,

  “Ta da!”

  The four of us work

  through the long afternoon,

  sprinkling the boughs with tinsel and

  lights and these funny little ornaments

  they’ve been making for years.

  And the entire time,

  we’re singing along with

  these great old rock ’n’ roll versions

  of all the Christmas songs,

  and stringing popcorn and drinking eggnog,

  and the only thing missing is

  the chestnuts roasting on the open fire.

  (Well actually,

  they’ve got the fire,

  they just don’t have the chestnuts.)

  The whole scene is so incredibly Hallmark,

  so totally Kodak,

  so utterly It’s a Wonderful Life-ish,

  that it’s absolutely

  perfect.

  And when Murphy hands me the star

  for the top of the tree,

  his fingers brush mine,

  and this strange little thrill

  shoots right up my arm

  to my heart.

  WHEN WE’RE DONE WITH THE TREE

  His parents go out to do some errands.

  And as soon as the door closes behind them,

  I become acutely aware of the fact

  that Murphy and I are

  alone together.

  And that we’re standing

  dangerously close to some mistletoe

  that’s dangling from the light

  in the hallway.

  But Murphy doesn’t seem to notice.

  He just smiles at me

  and asks me if I’d like to

  come upstairs

  and see his room.

  As innocent as anything.

  MURPHY’S ROOM

  The first thing I see

  when he swings open his door,

  is that he’s got

  one whole wall

  done up like a huge bulletin board.

  He’s covered it with sketches

  and paintings that he’s done,

  and all these comics

  and photos and poems,

  and images he’s cut out of magazines.

  And these headlines from trashy papers,

  that say things like:

  PSYCHIC LOBSTER EARNS GAMBLER FOUR MILLION!

  and TEN PEOPLE VANISH WITHOUT A TRACE

  IN PORTABLE TOILET!

  Then I notice

  a postcard of Le Bal à Bougival.

  And right there next to it

  is a picture of me!

  The one he drew that day in art class.

  And somehow,

  seeing it up there

  right on Murphy’s wall like that,

  makes me feel like hundreds of butterflies

  are fluttering around inside of me.

  I TELL HIM HOW MUCH I LOVE HIS WALL

  Especially his psychic lobster headline.

  Then we start joking around about pets

  and we end up griping about the fact

  that neither of us have any,

  and Murphy sighs and says

  that all he wants for Christmas is a dog.

  But he says there’s no way it’ll happen

  because his mom’s allergic.

  And then I tell him my mom’s allergic too,

  and so we marvel over this coincidence

  and then we start commiserating about

  our tragically dogless lives

  and soon we’re plotting ways

  to earn enough money to buy

  a secret golden retriever together

  and giggling about how we’ll name him Artie

  and hide him from our parents

  by disguising him as a kinetic sculpture.

  And while we’re rolling around on the floor

  laughing about this,

  I come to the sudden

  and very startling realization

  that all I want for Christmas

  is Murphy.

  !!!

  A few minutes later

  we’re just goofing around,

  drawing tattoos on each other’s arms,

  when this

  real slow song

  comes on the radio,

  and before I even know what’s happening,

  he grabs hold of my hand, pulls me up,

  wraps his arms around me,

  and we’re dancing,

  real slow,

  like the song,

  and suddenly

  this shiver ripples

  through every cell in my body—

  whoa . . .

  it’s him—

  my masked man—

  Murphy’s my masked man!

  THIS TIME

  When he asks me if I want to go out

  to the movies with him tonight,

  I say Yes, with a very capital Y.

  Yes, I say, Yes!

  And when he pulls me to him

  and presses his lips to mine

  it feels as if

  our souls

  are kissing.

  And it’s

  exactly like

  I used to imagine it

  only all that love,

  all that need,

  is pouring out of both of us.

  And when we finally stop

  to catch our breath,

  and I open my eyes,

  I notice this one dark curl

  hanging down right

  in the middle of his forehead

  and I think how sexy it looks

  and wonder why

  I never noticed it before.

  Then we press our lips together again,

  and I can feel it

  down to the tips of my toes.

  WE HEAR THE FRONT DOOR OPENING

  But we can’t stop kissing.

  Maybe we’ll never stop.

  Ever.

  But then his mother shouts up the stairs,

  “Robin . . .”

  And then again, “Robinnn . . .”

  We manage to pry our lips apart.

  And for half a second I think that maybe

  Murphy has a brother I don’t know about.

  Then

  I suddenly remember.

  “You’re Robin!”

  “Yeah,”

  he says with a wry smile,

  “I know.”

  It’s been so many years since

  the kids at school have called him that,

  that I’d almost forgotten.

  “I’m going to call you Robin

  from now on,” I say,

  “If that’s okay . . .”

  And

  he answers

  with a kiss.

  IN THE MOVIE THEATER

  Robin whispers something to me,

  and when his lips

  brush against my ear,

  all the atoms in my body

  start vibrating,

  as though I’m a harp

  and every single one

  of my strings

  has just been plucked

  at the exact same time.

  I don’t catch what he says.

  But it doesn’t matter.

  And when our fingers bump

  in the popcorn box,

  a shower of sparks flies out.

  HAIR PRAYER

  His hand’s

  in my hair.

  May he leave it

  right there

  until April

  or May,

  near the nape

  of my neck

  just below

  my left ear.

  Let it stay

  where it is,

  right here

  in my hair

  and not go

  anywhere

  for a year

  and a day.

  Bett
er yet,

  let it stay

  till I’m gray.

  DEAR GRACHEL AND RACE,

  Merry Xmas! I hope you don’t mind that I’m e-ing you both at the same time, but I only have a nanosecond to write because I’ve got a date with this guy named Robin. Isn’t that the most beautiful name in the world? He is definitely my Mr. Right-and-a-half! He’s really into art like me and he’s funny and smart and when he kisses me, it’s so intense it feels like our molecules are practically fusing together!

  Last night we went caroling in Louisburg Square. I sort of hummed through the parts about Jesus, but it was so fun. And today, Robin gave me these chubby little pads of paper and I gave him some fancy sketching pencils. So we ended up drawing this great flip book together. It’s so cool. Can’t wait to show it to you. And my sperm panties, too. (No. I have not shown them to Robin!)

  Oops. There’s the doorbell. Gotta run.

  Love, Fee

  BY THE CHARLES

  The sun’s

  a big gold coin

  floating in an ocean of pink,

  behind the lacy silhouettes

  of the trees.

  We’re watching the Citgo sign

  splash its neon onto the water,

  turning it red,

  then blue, then violet,

  then red again.

  “I love that sign,” I say.

  “I love you,” Robin says.

  I feel my cheeks

  turn the color of the sky.

  “I love you, too,” I say.

  Then we kiss

  and kiss again

  as swirls of the lightest snow

  start fluttering down around us,

  like tiny frozen feathers.

  A FOOT OF SNOW HAS FALLEN!

  We’ve been sledding

  and making snow angels

  and having snowball fights,

  and building snowmen

  and snowwomen

  and snowdogs and snowmonsters,

  and drawing huge hearts

  in the snow

  with our initials in them,

  and everything’s twinkly

  and gleaming

  and soft.

  And if this

  was a scene in a movie,

  it would definitely be the sappy montage.

  WINTER KISS

  our cheeks

  burning with the cold

  the tips of our noses

  numb

  our icicled lips

  bump clumsily

  then suddenly

  melt together

  warming us better

  than any cup of steaming cocoa ever could

  IT’S ODD ABOUT KISSING

  When I first met Dylan

  I wanted to kiss him all the time.

  But the more I got to really know him,

  the less I felt like kissing him.

  And it was the same way

  with Lou before that.

  But with Robin it’s the other way around.

  The more I get to really know him,

  the more I want to kiss him.

  And his kisses are so powerful

  they’re almost like kisses

  from another planet.

  Maybe that’s just how it is

  when your mind and your body

  and your heart and your soul

  are in total agreement with each other.

  Maybe that’s how it is

  when it’s real love.

  HIS FOREARMS

  It’s hard to keep my eyes off them,

  hard to keep my mind off them,

  hard to keep my hands off them

  when his sleeves are rolled up.

  The curve of them,

  where they taper down to his wrists.

  That incredibly warm skin,

  sprinkled with the silkiest golden brown hairs.

  It’s hard to keep my fingers from

  brushing across them

  on the way

  to taking hold of his hands.

  MORE E-MAIL

  Dear Fee,

  Hooray! Your bird boy sounds incredible. I’m coming home

  Saturday (New Year’s Eve!) and I’m planning on having just

  about the most delirious make-out session in history with

  Henry . But I’m coming over to your house first thing New

  Year’s morning. So you better be ready to tell me all the

  juicy details!

  Love, Grace

  P.S. When can I meet him?

  Dear Fifi,

  Picture me fainting with joy, and then coming to and jumping up and down and shouting YIPPEE!!!! really loud, and then fainting again. Because that’s what I did when I got your e about Mr. Robin Right-and-a-half. I’m soooooo happy for you! Arriving home on Saturday afternoon. Breaking up with Danny New Year’s Eve. (Well, thinking about it anyway . . .) But, I’ll be beating down your door on Sunday morning. I want to know absolutely EVERYTHING!!!!

  Love, Rachel

  MY NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTION

  I, Sophie Stein,

  hereby resolve to tell Rachel Ness

  and Grace Brody

  the true identity of my new boyfriend

  on New Year’s Day.

  No matter what.

  And

  to not spend one second

  between now and then

  worrying about

  how they’re going to react.

  (Yeah. Right.)

  NEW YEAR’S EVE

  My parents know I’m over here at Robin’s.

  But what they don’t know

  is that his parents have gone next door

  to a party.

  And even if they did,

  they wouldn’t be worried,

  since they still think

  we’re just friends.

  Robin’s parents know

  we’re more than friends,

  but they said

  they trust us implicitly,

  by which

  I think they meant,

  “So don’t do anything

  we wouldn’t want you to do.”

  And we haven’t.

  So far.

  SHADOW PLAY

  We’ve turned off all the lights

  in the living room

  to make hand shadows.

  We’ve got this

  big flashlight

  aimed at the wall.

  I make the silhouette of my hand

  into a duck.

  Robin makes his into a rabbit.

  Now my duck kisses his rabbit

  And—POOF!—it turns into

  a turkey.

  And for some reason

  this strikes us

  as hysterically funny.

  But you probably had to be there.

  MORE SHADOWS

  I aim the flashlight straight up

  at the center of the ceiling.

  Robin raises his hand high above it.

  Then slowly,

  with his fingers outstretched,

  he brings it down towards the light.

  This makes it look like

  the enormous hand of a giant

  is clamping down over the room,

  till we’re

  alone together

  under a tent of thrilling darkness.

  AT MIDNIGHT

  We toast each other

  with Perrier

  in champagne glasses.

  We watch

  the ball drop

  in Times Square.

  Then we sink back

  into the cushions of the couch

  and kiss the New Year in,

  his body pressing

  so tightly to mine

  that I feel my breath quickening,

  my heart

  pounding

  against his—

  But suddenly

  the key turns in the lock

  of the front door—

 
and a second later,

  when his parents walk into

  the living room,

  they find us sitting

  at opposite ends of the couch,

  utterly engrossed in the TV.

  ON THE DRIVE HOME

  Robin’s dad is giving me

  a detailed list

  of every New Year’s resolution

  that he’s ever made in his life.

  And I’m sitting here

  watching all the Christmas lights

  drift past the window,

  trying my best to listen.

  But it’s hard,

  because I can’t stop thinking

  about Rachel and Grace and about

  how they’re both coming over to see me

  just a few hours from now.

  I TRY TO PICTURE IT

  I try to picture myself

  telling them.

  I try to hear myself

  saying the words.

  “You’ll never guess

  who Robin really is.”

  I try to picture myself saying, “Murphy.”

  I try to imagine them squealing

  and leaping up to hug me,

  telling me they always suspected

  he was an amazingly neat guy

  underneath that dull exterior.

  But all I can picture

  is Rachel’s face going white,

  Grace’s eyes getting huge.

  All I can hear is

  Rachel’s nervous giggle

  and Grace saying, “Oh. My. God.”

  And all I can think about

  is how sick I’m going to feel,

  and how hard it will be