Heartbeat

  Mom says she has a surprise

  for me and Dad and Grandpa

  and she makes us close our eyes

  as she rummages in her purse

  and then she says

  Open!

  She is holding what appears to be

  a black-and-white photograph

  of grayish stones on a deep black background.

  Grandpa peers at the picture.

  I think your camera needs fixing

  he says.

  My father is excited.

  Is that—? Oh, man!

  He inspects it, squints,

  turns it upside down.

  But where—? What—?

  And then I remember that today

  my mother was to have an ultrasound

  and this must be a picture of the baby.

  I snatch the photo from my father

  and turn it this way and that

  and my mother is laughing

  and finally she says

  Here, like this

  and she turns the photograph

  and traces the stones

  This is the head

  and this is the chest

  and this is an arm

  and this is a foot—

  My father and Grandpa and I stare.

  I wonder what they are thinking.

  I am horrified.

  It looks like a little skeleton head

  and it does not look at all cute

  and I am feeling so sorry for us

  that we are going to have such a

  frightening-looking baby.4

  But my mother explains that we are

  seeing the bones of the head

  like an X-ray

  and the shape of the head will change

  and of course there is flesh on it

  and the midwife said

  that the heart and all the organs

  were present and accounted for

  and the baby looked perfect

  in every way

  which was some relief to my father

  and Grandpa and me

  and I surely hope the midwife is right.

  My mother said that during the ultrasound

  she could see

  the arms moving

  as if the baby were waving at her

  and she said that the next appointment

  was on a Saturday so that Dad and I

  can go and hear the heartbeat—

  the heartbeat!

  A tear slipped down Grandpa’s cheek.

  Oh, you can come, too, Dad!

  my mother said.

  If you’re up to it—

  Grandpa nodded

  as two more tears rolled down

  his cheek.

  Mom patted Grandpa’s hand

  and told me and my father that maybe

  we should stop calling the baby

  the alien baby

  because it can hear

  and we should

  call it something nicer

  so it will not get its

  feelings hurt.

  AN APPLE A DAY

  Twice a week at school

  we have art class with Miss Freely

  in a room I’d like to live in

  with its wide drawing tables

  and easels

  and paint-spattered floor

  and smocks to cover your clothes

  and drawers of paper

  and pencils

  and paints.

  Yesterday Miss Freely said

  we were going to draw apples.

  Apples? Kaylee said.

  Ordinary apples?

  Miss Freely said

  No apple is ordinary.

  You’ll see.

  She let each of us choose an apple

  from a basket:

  mine was yellow with green freckles

  on one side

  and an orange blush on the other side.

  Miss Freely asked us to study the apple.

  Study the apple? Kaylee said.

  Yes, Miss Freely said.

  Study it as long as you want—

  then draw one apple.

  Only one? Kaylee said.

  Only one today

  Miss Freely said.

  Take the apple home with you.

  Draw this same apple each day.

  Every day? Kaylee said.

  Every single day?

  Yes, Miss Freely said.

  For how long? Kaylee asked.

  For one hundred days, Miss Freely said.

  One hundred days?

  Draw one hundred pictures

  of the same old apple? Kaylee asked.

  Kaylee turned to me and said

  That’s an awful lot of drawings

  of one apple.

  It did seem like a lot.

  I wondered if we would get tired

  of drawing apples apples apples.

  Miss Freely said

  You can draw other things, too,

  as usual

  as long as you also draw an apple

  each day.

  Even days we don’t have art class?

  Kaylee asked.

  Yes, Miss Freely said.

  I think you will discover some interesting things.

  I think you will discover the un-ordinary-ness

  of an apple.

  I couldn’t wait to draw my first apple

  and I knew exactly what I would draw it with:

  colored pencils

  and I knew exactly which paper I would use:

  the smooth, white, thick paper

  that lets the pencils glide over it.

  Kaylee finished drawing her apple

  in three minutes

  and then she turned to drawing

  what she really wanted to draw

  which was a hat with feathers.

  I studied my apple a long time.

  It would be hard to get roundness

  on the paper

  so I looked in the books

  on shading and perspective

  to see how real artists

  made round things look round

  on the flat paper.

  Miss Freely moved around the room

  as she does

  pausing to study each person’s work

  and answer questions and

  offer suggestions like

  I wonder what would happen if you

  tried a different color there?

  When she came to me she said

  I do so like your line

  which is something she has often

  said to me

  You have a distinct line

  but I do not know exactly

  what she means

  because some of my lines

  are straight and some are curved

  and I do not see how my lines

  are different from other people’s lines.

  Everyone else finished an apple drawing in class

  but I only got the outline done

  so Miss Freely let me take

  four colored pencils home with me5

  and everyone got to take their apples

  and while I was running that afternoon

  I thought about the apple

  and thought about it

  and thought about it

  and when I got home

  I drew apple number one.

  It looked like an apple

  which is the best I can say

  for it.

  It seemed a bit stiff

  too much like a drawing of an apple

  with none of the feeling of an apple.

  HEARTBEAT

  I expect to hear alien baby’s

  heartbeat

  sound like mine

  thump-THUMP, thump-THUMP

  and as the midwife

  lowers the Doppler

  (which resembles a microphone)

  to my mother’s abdomen

  my father and I stare
/>
  hard

  as if staring will help us listen

  and then—!

  we hear a rushing sound

  a-whoosh-a-whoosh-a-whoosh

  very fast

  as if the alien baby

  must be running hard

  a-whoosh-a-whoosh-a-whoosh-a-whoosh

  the sound of a real heart

  a baby heart

  beating beating beating

  a-whoosh-a-whoosh-a-whoosh

  as our little baby rushes on

  and I feel as if

  this is my team

  my mother and father and me

  and the baby

  a-whoosh-a-whoosh-a-whoosh

  and Grandpa, too,

  who wasn’t feeling well enough

  to join us, and who is at home

  lying in his bed.

  THE COACH

  Today the girls’ track team coach

  stops me after lunch.

  Max tells me you’re quite a good runner

  she says.

  I don’t know what to say to her.

  You ought to try out for the track team

  she says.

  No, thank you.

  She studies me and says

  We need some good runners.

  No, thank you.

  She looks annoyed with me

  but I can see that she is trying

  not to show it.

  She says

  It’s a lot of fun.

  Why do people not listen when you say no?

  Why do they think you are too stupid

  or too young

  to understand?

  Why do they think you are too shy

  to reply?

  Why do they keep badgering you

  until you will say yes?

  I’m sorry, I say, I just don’t want to.

  She smiles her best smile and says

  Why don’t you just come out to practice

  one day and see what it’s like?

  I want to punch her

  but of course I will not punch her

  because that is not a very civilized response.

  I want to tell her that I’ve seen the practices

  and nothing about them is appealing.

  Everyone does the same warm-ups

  the same sprints

  the same cool-downs.

  No one gets to run her heart out

  no one runs barefoot

  no one smiles.

  No one can let her head go free.

  And someone must win

  and someone must lose

  and always the winner looks proud

  and the loser looks forlorn

  and I can’t understand why they all

  would spoil

  such a good thing

  as running

  but I know the coach will not leave me alone

  until I say something that lets her win

  and so I say

  Okay, maybe I’ll come watch.

  But I don’t mean it.

  THE KICK

  After dinner my mother eases herself

  onto the sofa

  and props up her feet.

  Oh!

  she says suddenly.

  Oh! Oh!

  Her eyes open so wide

  and her mouth, too,

  like a big round O.

  Come here, Annie

  she whispers

  and so I sit beside her

  as she places my hand

  on her abdomen.

  There!

  A tiny nudge

  a lump pushing against my hand

  a soft thump

  and then—there!

  Another and another!

  I pull my hand away.

  The baby! my mother says.

  That’s the baby!

  I put my hand back and wait

  until—there! Thump!

  And all evening all I can think about is

  the thing

  growing

  and moving

  inside my mother.

  FLIP, FLIP, FLIP

  I am in Grandpa’s room

  looking through the photo albums

  with him.

  We see Grandpa when he was my age

  sitting on a picnic table

  tanned legs swinging

  arms spread wide

  as if he wants to wrap up

  the whole world.

  It is hard to see my grandpa

  in that boy

  in that smooth skin

  those skinny legs

  that dark hair.

  Grandpa studies this photo

  a long time

  as if he, too, wonders

  how that young boy

  turned into an old grandpa.

  He flips through the pages

  pausing to examine a young Grandma—

  his new wife—

  sitting on a riverbank

  face tilted up to the sun.

  On through the pages we go

  witnessing their lives

  flip, flip, flip

  fast-forwarding through

  my mother as a child

  flip, flip, flip

  until there’s me

  in Grandpa’s arms

  newly born

  and Grandma is there, too.

  They are smiling at me

  as if I am a miracle baby.

  Flip, flip, flip

  I grow up

  Grandma is gone

  Grandpa’s hair turns gray.

  Flip, flip, flip.

  PERSPECTIVE

  Apples, apples, apples

  thirty drawings of one apple.

  The first ten looked pretty much alike

  which was starting to bother me

  and then one day when I was

  out running

  I glanced at budding branches overhead

  and was thinking about spring

  and the coming of new leaves

  and how I usually see the undersides of leaves

  and I would have to climb the trees

  to see the leaves from the top

  and I thought of my apple.

  I could draw it from the top

  looking down on it

  and from underneath

  looking up at it.

  I could put it on its side!

  And in the middle of thinking that

  I hear

  Hey, Annie!

  Hey, Max!

  And we run on round the bend

  and past the birches6

  and Max is running faster than usual

  so I pick up my pace a little

  down the hill

  l-e-a-p-i-n-g over the creek

  and I keep pace with him

  up the hill

  past the barn7

  around the pasture

  and Max is moving faster and faster

  until we reach the red bench

  where we stretch and flop

  and Max checks his grandpa’s pocket watch

  and looks displeased

  and says

  You must’ve slowed me down, Annie.

  I want to punch him

  but I don’t.

  Instead I say

  No, I think you slowed me down, Max.

  He says, Huh! Fat chance.

  And then he asks me

  again again again

  for the seven billionth time

  if I am going to join the track team

  and I tell him no

  and he calls me a chicken

  and I ask him why he thinks

  not joining the team

  makes me a chicken

  and he says I am afraid

  to lose

  that I’m afraid

  someone will be better

  run faster

  and I ask him why someone has to win

  and someone has to lose

  and why someone always has to
/>
  run

  faster

  and he looks at me as if I have

  sprouted fangs

  and he shakes his head

  and says

  You just don’t get it, do you?

  And I am thinking to myself

  that he is the one

  who does not get it

  but already he is up and stretching

  and he takes off running

  and this time I let him go

  ahead of me

  faster faster faster

  until he disappears round the bend

  and I can go at my own pace

  and let my head go free

  and let the apples turn and roll

  in my mind.

  GRANDPA TALK

  I am in Grandpa’s room

  preparing to draw my forty-fifth apple.

  It perches on the glass shelf on his wall

  and I am sitting on the floor

  beneath it

  studying it from the bottom.

  Grandpa is sifting through

  my fat folder of apples.

  What an awful lot of apples!

  he says.

  They’re making me hungry.

  The apple on the glass shelf

  does not look like an apple

  from the bottom

  and I don’t know how I will draw it