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
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