Every Body Looking

by Candice Iloh

  to be better followers of the Christ, Our Lord

  I hand them over proudly, knowing how to be

  a good student, knowing how to be

  a good follower, knowing these

  are not my own words

  anyone can find

  and use to

  expose me

  On this night the stillness of my bedsheets

  allows me to daydream

  about the dancers in ways

  I could not see them

  moving their feet across

  the church altar floor

  their angelic bodies

  leaping and stretching

  twirling to a tune

  meant for god

  and still I see

  their eyes looking

  at each other

  My eyelids don’t seem able to meet each other

  so tonight

  quietly I climb out of bed

  walk in short steps toward my desk

  and reach for the top drawer hoping

  it makes no creaks, no sound to

  alert my father that his child is not asleep

  I am lucky when the drawer that holds my things

  comes sliding out, and I reach

  for one sheet of paper, a pencil and

  to the small switch of my lamp

  I begin

  with her feet

  For her toes

  my pencil draws

  a short

  curved

  line

  down

  toward

  the bottom

  of the

  page

  and

  rounds

  just

  where

  they meet

  the ground

  then swoops

  back up

  to the arch

  of her

  balancing

  feet, on

  pointe

  just like

  a pro

  But what pro takes this long

  to get it

  right

  since I can’t sleep

  tonight

  I’m going back

  for another

  and another

  sheet

  with each jagged line

  with each draft

  going back

  trying to see

  my pointed toe dancer

  just as she’s kept

  appearing

  in my dreams

  I am sketching and shading

  the way we were taught in art class

  to make something look real

  how they taught us

  to use our fingers for smudging the lead

  to blend

  how they taught us

  to use the tip of the pencil for thin marks

  to define

  how they taught us

  to observe something

  we want to bring to life

  how they taught us

  to use the pink eraser only if we wanted

  to forget

  our mistakes

  I make the mistake

  of forgetting about the time

  and hours later it is morning

  Dad finds me nestled

  on my bedroom carpet

  laid out

  on top of every page

  where her feet are

  drawn too many times

  for me to count

  each sketch proof

  of two things

  I’m not good at

  each sketch

  a reason

  that I’ll be late

  You want to be grown

  but you can’t even

  wake up for your alarm

  you want to be grown

  but you can’t even

  sleep like a proper human being

  you want to be grown

  but you spend the whole night

  drawing this silly thing

  Dad bends

  down to reach the closest copy

  of the silly thing

  releases a dramatic sound

  as he curves over

  his bulging belly

  and just looks

  one eyebrow lifts, shoots

  another look, his forehead rippling

  into curves of both suspicion and

  confusion, drops the silly thing

  my eyes watching it float

  to the floor

  and says

  you have

  five minutes to

  get ready

  I’m ready

  in ten minutes

  or something like that

  meet Dad in the

  driveway where the engine is running

  for effect even though he was

  threatening that by now he

  would have left me

  I scoot into the back seat

  our eyes meeting in the rearview

  after the rush, my heart pounding

  through my t-shirt

  his hands let go of the steering wheel

  and move to his lap as he utters

  let us pray

  And father god protect Ada from distraction

  he prays

  keep her ears and eyes open

  he prays

  cover her with your blood

  cleanse her

  of the spirit of disobedience

  help her stay focused, lord

  he prays

  thank you for your loving mercy

  for letting us see another day

  in Jesus name amen

  Dad clears his throat

  lifts his head from prayer

  this man of unyielding faith

  meeting my eyes again

  in the rearview mirror

  a paused silent protest

  against my ride to school

  waiting for me to agree

  so I too say

  amen

  COLLEGE

  The first week is supposed to be anything but serious

  so I take my new roommate’s advice

  decide to go out and wander with her on campus

  we take the stairs down avoiding all the families still here

  crowding old dingy elevators that go out of service every hour

  grab the maps and lists of places

  to spend our money from the dorm front desk

  stand briefly outside watching rental cars pull away

  thankful dad didn’t linger like a lot of them did

  make our way on campus

  to find the food

  Feels like it takes the whole four years

  we’ll be here to get on main campus

  where we find everyone and everything

  flocks of college boys stopping my roommate

  every five minutes to holler and asking

  yo, where you from, sweetheart? and can I call you sometime?

  where you stay at, shorty? damn, I’m tryna study with you, tho

  able to smell the freshmen meat instantly

  rushing at the sight of the overly glossed lips

  and shine of her cell phone she’d blinged

  her body a magnet for all who wanted a taste

  Watching her lick her lips as if she could taste

  the cherry in her cheap lip gloss

  tossing her hand out like flyers

  I watched her handle all potential

  players and these questions

&nb
sp; like a pro

  Sophia wit’ a p-h

  save it right

  I don’t spell it

  like them other bitches out here

  says

  I’m from BROOKLYN

  repeating for the fifth boy

  leaning into the OOK

  with more attitude

  than anyone needs

  says

  oh, and this is my roommate

  y’all don’t be rude,

  an instruction given with a twist

  of her body making coy eye contact

  with each boy now in her immediate vicinity

  yeah that’s what I heard her

  daddy call her

  she African

  she say the A different, y’all

  says this

  glancing at me with a smile

  flinging another wink

  After like the tenth boy I leave

  Sophia to her crowd of admirers

  keep walking to the cafeteria alone

  now feeling my stomach grumbling

  wonder if I look as lost as I am

  follow the groups that look

  as young and dumb as me

  find it and suddenly

  feel like I’m back

  in high school

  sort of

  Except here everybody’s black

  or

  brown

  and I’m not the only one

  who looks like their parents

  gave them a name not everyone

  can pronounce

  Ada (Aah-dah!)

  in the Igbo

  language

  means first daughter

  means oldest girl

  means pressure

  means you are expected

  to do a lot of things

  you don’t want to do

  because the honor

  of this family

  rests on your back

  Back in high school

  everyone hated the days

  you had to find somewhere new to sit

  when you had to find somewhere you fit

  and wouldn’t be cast off like these

  crusty options they’re serving

  in this massive bootleg food court

  here you’ve got so-called choices

  if you have a taste for their versions

  of Italian, Chinese, or Indian

  and when that fails

  there’s always days-old salad

  a sad sandwich bar, stale Cap’n Crunch

  or good old mac and cheese

  I didn’t walk around with a cheesy smile

  searching for friends

  or for anyone who’d take me in

  at their table

  in high school

  so college wasn’t different

  made a circle through the crowd

  got in a random line where

  the lady slapped some rice and

  a random brown stew on my plate

  found a seat somewhere to inhale it

  by myself

  When sitting by yourself

  eating food

  that doesn’t

  taste like

  home you

  eat fast

  and leave

  without being

  noticed

  SIXTH GRADE

  The sixth grade is a strange time.

  There are suddenly big tests and first dances and health classes where the teacher is suddenly asking you to watch a vagina expand because a baby is coming out of it and suddenly you need to know about this and the bell rings and you change classrooms and are given four minutes to get to your next one. All kinds of things happen in the hallway as you move to the next one. You hear and see everything and sometimes it’s about you. Sometimes everyone is talking about or laughing at you and you don’t really have time to be sure because you can’t be late and you don’t really have time to cry. Your father says these people are not important. That when you leave this place you will forget all about them and they will be nobody and whether or not they thought your hair was the most hilarious thing or your voice was too deep or that your mustache was visible on this day will not matter. They will not matter. Crying is stupid when it is over a boy or the group of girls who you just wanted to like you enough to make you their friend.

  I discovered sixth grade also meant real freedom

  when I learned

  now I can run the house by myself

  now there are hours between

  getting out of school and Dad’s car

  pulling into the driveway

  in these hours

  I drop my bookbag

  in the middle of the kitchen floor

  I eat everything

  I want from the fridge

  I walk over

  to Dad’s massive speaker

  flip the switch to radio

  turn the volume up high

  and pretend the living room is mine

  and for once

  I am the chosen one

  picked first for the stage

  The living room became my perfect stage

  every weekday afternoon

  with its wide space &

  with its loud speakers &

  with its bass that trembled

  so deep

  it pissed off

  the neighbors

  I didn’t think about the neighbors

  until day three

  of my solo performance sessions

  rounding my back and

  moving my legs to the beat

  across our living room

  carpet when

  I hear the front

  doorbell ring

  and on the other side

  of the door

  there’s no applause

  just two cops

  who’d come

  to shut me down

  As I stand on the inside of our front door

  and lift my hand

  to reach the golden knob

  my eyes trace its round

  and shining surface

  they bounce back

  and forth between

  its gleam and the tremble

  of curved fingers

  and I hear the boom

  of Dad’s voice

  wonder if when he

  warned me about strangers

  he also meant the police

  My still-trembling fingers

  finally grasp the knob

  as I take one last look

  out through the peephole

  past their white faces

  and onto the street

  I turn it

  force a smile

  say nothing

  Nothing is wrong except

  there is a car with sirens on its roof in our driveway&

  there are two tall white men standing on our porch&

  there are two men looking beyond me into our kitchen&

  there are neighbors peeking out windows at our house&

  there are huge cops with guns I can see who’ve come to tell me

  that I’m too loud

  too much

  too free

  After I’ve closed the door behind me

  and they’ve driven off

  having warned me

  I’ve already told myself

  that I will not tell Dad

  he doesn’t need to know

  they’d been here

  he doesn’t need to know

  the neighbors were looking

  he d
oesn’t need to know

  for a moment in the space between the officers and myself

  there was nothing to protect me

  Dad works in mysterious ways to protect me

  we pull into the middle school parking lot / he announces that Aunty is coming / followed by have a good day / he liked dropping bombs and leaving / no time for discussion / no debate / so I spend all eight periods thinking about how / Aunty is coming with her big suitcase / Aunty is coming with her big suitcase full of shoes and stockfish / her big suitcase full of gifts and egusi / her big suitcase full of photos and fanta orange / just as I am growing used to being alone and in our big house / Dad tells me Aunty is coming from Nigeria to our house / to live

  Forever?

  She is just coming for a visit

  Dad says

  But you said—

  What does it matter?

  Dad asks

  But what about my cousins

  I ask

  They are coming too

  Dad says

  But what about Uncle

  I ask

  He’s not coming this time

  someone’s got to watch their house

  I don’t know why

  their big Nigerian house

  needs to be watched but

  by the hard waves crashing

  against my dad’s forehead

  I know not to ask

  I don’t care much anyway

  my baby cousins are coming

  Aunty is coming

  though I’ll soon have to start sharing

  all this space once all mine

  I can’t wait to see

  what my favorite aunty brought

  from where Dad calls home

  Aunty’s arrival brings every new thing

  only five days after Dad tells me

  so we’re cleaning all the rooms

  rearranging everything