home, tucked deep inside.
Raeanne
We All Have Demons
Some inside us, some outside.
(Madison is a fine example
of the exterior variety.)
It’s a lie
to say otherwise. Kaeleigh
can successfully stow hers
away in some dark corner, but
in my eyes
it is better to confront them
than let them roil you into
turmoil. And so at the moment
I’m thinking I’d
better go
get in Madison’s face. For a day
or two, I wasn’t sure Mick was
worth it. And hey, he probably
isn’t. But she has to learn not to
poke
sticks at snakes, at least not
venomous ones. Today my
fangs are exposed. All
I have to do is sink
them
into the proper artery, pump
a little poison, watch her bleed
out,
one less demon to contend with.
I Guess I Might
Just leave well enough alone,
but I’ve been thinking about Mick.
One way or another, I have to
decide whether I want to keep him.
He actually gave me an ultimatum
when he found me doing the deed with Ty.
Maybe that’s why I got so ballsy, had sex
with Ty where I knew Mick could
find us. Maybe I had to know if he
cared or not. He did! He was jealous.
I’d like to think the reason
he was flirting with Madison
that night was to make me jealous.
But I don’t think he’s that complicated.
“Complicated” takes more brains.
Not that Mick is a total dolt,
but he isn’t exactly Einstein, either.
Anyway, most of Mick’s brains reside
in the general area of his groin.
One thing for sure, sex will never
be about love with Mick. I don’t love
him, and he definitely doesn’t love me.
Still, he semi-fills a gaping black hole
inside me. That place wants love,
maybe even needs love, but love is
something I’m pretty sure doesn’t exist.
With or Without Love
I’m not ready to let him go, not
without a fight. Besides the easy
sex thing, there’s still the pot.
I know they say marijuana isn’t
addictive, not like speed or heroin,
which claw into you and won’t let go.
Pot is more of a sweet talker, and I’m
all over that sexy voice. I went Saturday
without it, but by yesterday afternoon,
I was getting antsy. I called Mick,
asked him to pick me up after church.
Yes, I sometimes sneak off to Sunday
services, always in need of forgiveness,
if not always exactly sure why. Freshly
forgiven, I was eager for corruption.
Okay, I’ll come get you, he said.
But not if you’re gonna fuck off
on me. What was that about?
Not like we’re exclusive, or have
ever pretended to be. But the dope
was calling. Had to play contrite.
Even if it isn’t my best game. “Sorry.
Guess I was jealous of Madison
and wanted to make you jealous too.”
Yeah, well, I could have screwed
her Friday night too. I didn’t,
even though she wanted to.
Zing! Off went a flare in my head.
My temper [ature] started to rise.
But I kept it in check. “Obviously.”
Anyway, Madison says you see
other guys all the time. Friday
kind of proved that, didn’t it?
Okay, I was starting to lose it.
“That’s just bullshit! If she doesn’t
watch her effing mouth, I’ll…”
He waited for me to finish it,
but when all I could do was stammer,
he asked, You’ll what?
“Kick her ass.”
But Kicking Ass
Could definitely be
a double-edged
sword. Not that
I’ve ever tried it.
But I can see how getting physical could relieve some tension,
at least in the short run. Hauling off, letting my fists fly, and
feeling them connect with her surprised face just might
make me feel a
whole lot better.
That is, until the
inevitable fallout.
Suspension for
sure. Restitution,
possibly. Maybe
lockup? I could
even find myself
in my dear old
daddy’s court.
No, the more
I think about
it, the more I
believe there
has to be a
subtle yet
satisfying
method of
revenge.
I Just Have to Find It
And that might take a while.
Patience? Not my best thing.
I make it through Contemporary
Lit, still puzzling over it.
Spanish II. Si, quiero
venganza. I want revenge.
I am on my way to history
when opportunity falls
smack in my lap, à la
a quick bathroom break.
As I start toward the girls’
room, I notice Madison
ahead of me. She reaches
into her purse, roots inside.
She glances around, but
doesn’t see me watch her
extract a tampon, palm
it, and step through the door.
I can wait to pee. And now
I’ve got my ammunition.
I’ll Have to Wait to Use It, Though
First I have to get through history.
I sit in my usual seat in back,
by the window, as Mr. Lawler
passes out last week’s essays.
I can’t help but notice how
he moves with feline grace.
A big cat. Jaguar, maybe.
Or a tiger. Secure within his stripes.
Pinstripes, actually, on dark
trousers, snug at the waist
and across his hips,
before falling loosely
down over his thighs.
And just as my disgusting
brain gloms onto a sick
image of what those thighs
look like, his voice descends.
Interesting piece of writing.
I’d like to discuss it further.
Can you wait after class,
or come in at lunch?
Interesting, good? Or bad?
My eyes drop, focusing on
a large red A at the top of
my paper. Apparently,
good. “Let’s do lunch.”
Doing Lunch
With Mr. Lawler will postpone
exacting revenge. Lunch would
have been a great venue for what
I’ve got in mind. Instead I’ll wait
for drama—not my class, but I’ll
go to watch Kaeleigh rehearse.
At least, that will be my excuse.
Madison will be there too.
And anyway, lunch with Mr. Lawler
and his pinstripes could prove quite
interesting. Sheesh. Sometimes I turn
into a major vamp. It’s a fun game.
I’m all into games, distra
ctions
from the day-to-day crap. All vamp,
I open Mr. Lawler’s door. “Ready
for me?” His smile tells me definitely.
Come on in. I’m just finishing
up here. Have a seat. He gestures
to a chair beside his desk, scribbles
something in his grade book,
and finally looks me in the eye.
I’m fascinated with your take
on the Scopes trial. How did you
arrive at your conclusions?
I outline my research, add a bit
about my father and his take on
this sensational piece of history—
how different attorneys might have
made different arguments, the court
might have allowed the jury to
sentence Scopes, and the Bible
might have been the only source
for schoolchildren for many years
to come. Hard to believe they were
such cretins in 1925, jailing a high
school teacher for offering evolution
as an alternate theory to creationism.
Just who were the monkeys in the “Monkey
Trial”? Anyway, the entire time I talk,
Mr. Lawler’s eyes stay fixed on mine.
I’m very impressed. You took
a relatively straightforward
topic and gave it a unique
spin. I appreciate the extra
effort that went into this essay.
And then, in a completely
unexpected move, his hand
settles gently on top of mine.
I should pretend propriety, pull
my hand away. But I like how
it feels beneath the warmth
of his. I give my most vampish
smile. “Extra effort is my middle
name. Thanks, Mr. Lawler.”
That Was Fun
Maybe even more fun
than what I’ve got on my
agenda now. We shall see.
I wander into drama, wearing
“innocent”
like baby powder perfume.
Onstage, waiting for direction,
Madison stands with a couple
of girls and several guys.
Perfect.
God, she’s such a cow,
hardly even worth my
jealous
response. I almost change
my mind, but then she catches
sight of me and her expression
puts me on my feet. Totally
guilt
free, I saunter up the stage
steps. Kaeleigh hasn’t yet
appeared,
and Ms. Cavendish won’t
know the difference unless
I try to sing. I pass Madison’s
knot, sniff the air beside her
dramatically,
loudly project, “Ugh! What’s that
smell? Madison, are you on the rag?”
Kaeleigh
Everyone’s Laughing
At Madison, whose face has turned
the approximate color of pickled beets,
as she struggles for a comeback. I almost
feel sorry for her, not that she’s exactly
innocent
of saying mean things to people.
Or about people, behind their backs,
or even worse, where they can overhear.
Most everyone I know thinks she’s a
perfect
bitch. Even her friends don’t like her
much, that’s my guess. Maybe I’m
jealous
somehow. Nah. She’s the one
with the problem, not me.
Anyway, the more I remember
how nasty she can be, the less
guilt
I feel about thinking what just
happened is funny. Still, Ian
appeared
just about the time she sputtered
off. He looked at me like I was
at fault. Whatever.
Dramatically,
I tilt my face toward the ceiling,
walk by him without a word.
Ian Retaliates
In his own subtle way, goes
and sits by Shelby, rotates
completely away from me.
I’ve studied this scene, know
my lines. So why can’t I
remember a single one?
Uh, Kaeleigh? You seem
a bit distracted today, says
Ms. Cavendish. Everything okay?
Wonder if Ian…oh, did she
just ask me a question?
“I’m sorry, what?”
Definitely distracted. Get your
script. You and Ian run lines.
We’ll block this scene later.
I slip quietly into the vacant
seat on the other side of Ian.
“She wants us to run lines.”
He nods and Shelby retreats.
Ian and I crack our scripts
without exchanging glances.
Eventually
We reach a romantic scene.
Onstage, Ms. Cavendish
has the chorus singing a big
ol’ production number.
It’s an unusual backdrop
for Ian’s and my scripted passion.
But even with numerous
vocal errors, corrections,
and amended directions,
so many distractions,
our declarations of love intertwine.
And even as Madison
stomps back into the theater,
to be corralled by Ms. C and
told to join the others onstage,
Ian finally looks up, into my eyes.
Just then the bell rings,
and as everyone deserts
the stage, locates possessions,
escapes the building, he says,
Sometimes I just don’t know who you are.
Not Exactly
The words I’d hoped to hear.
Then again, what exactly
were the words I’d hoped for?
Anyway, to be honest,
sometimes I’m not so sure
just who I am either.
So I admit, “That makes
two of us, I guess.” At least
when I smile, he does too.
He offers me a ride home,
but I opt for the bus. “Maybe
tomorrow? I need to think.”
Ian walks me to the yellow
dinosaur, bends down,
kisses a sweet good-bye.
As the bus belches and squeals,
pain bubbles up inside, an evil
spirit, demanding escape.
And by the time I reach home,
I know I’ve got to uncork
the bottle, free my evil genie.
It’s Been a While
Since I’ve really binged.
Mostly, I guess, because things
have seemed fairly flatlined
recently. No major upsets.
No major downslides.
But that episode with William
has bothered me since
it happened. I let it fester,
though on the surface
the blister has popped,
scabbed over. William didn’t
cause the infection, he was just
its manifestation. God, I’m so
in need of spiritual antibiotics.
Then the Madison thing.
She is a major, total shit
stirrer, vicious clear through,
and obviously out to shred
any living thing that stands
in the way of what she wants.
On one level, what happened
in drama was the funniest
thing ever. I laughed out loud,
along with
most everyone
else. So why did I feel bad later?
But When It Comes
To my personal sundae
of interior upheaval,
Daddy is the ice cream.
Raeanne is the hot fudge.
Mom is the whipped cream.
And Ian is now, and maybe
forever, the cherry on top.
Why can’t he and I find
a way to accept each other,
lose ourselves in all-
encompassing love,
the kind that can save you?
The kind that can glue
all the fragments of two
broken hearts together.
Sometimes, every once
in a while, it feels like
we’re almost there. Close.
So close. But then something
happens, something out
of my control, and mostly
it comes from inside of me—
this terrible black energy,
wrenching us apart. I think
I should be able to control
it, make it go away. But I can’t.
And So, Right Now
I will control one of the few
things I can. Gaining curves.
Funny thing is, I still haven’t
graduated to double digits,
despite semiregular binges
amounting to amazing quantities
of food. Maybe stress burns
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