One

by Sarah Crossan

  while she was pregnant,

  that the images had trickled

  into her womb and

  imprinted on our easily broken bodies.

  Back then, there would have been

  someone to blame

  and it would have been

  Mom.

  Nowadays the scientists know that she

  did nothing wrong,

  that it wasn’t her fault,

  that our strangeness didn’t leak out of Mom’s

  mind

  like sewage into a clear stream

  but was a simple accident at conception,

  the ova

  not separating like

  it should.

  This is science and progress

  and it has to be a good thing,

  but it makes me wonder

  about the tests they’ve done

  on Mom

  to determine how it happened,

  how we came to be,

  and whether they could prevent

  people like us from ever

  being born

  again.

  In the Morning

  We are stiff and sore

  and our heads pound

  with hangovers

  so heavy that

  even the plinking

  birdsong is too

  much to bear.

  In spite of it all

  we are smiling

  and,

  I think,

  I have probably

  never been

  so happy.

  A Thing He Is Doing

  The hallway is a cloud of dust.

  Dad is up a stepladder sanding a spot on the wall.

  ‘Hey there, girls!’ he says,

  and ‘Careful of that can of paint,’

  and, ‘I thought I’d freshen up the place.

  What do you think?’

  ‘It’s an ace idea!’ Grammie shouts

  from elsewhere.

  Wallpaper pieces, torn and twisted,

  are strewn on the floor

  like fallen leaves.

  It took Mom two weeks to put the paper up.

  It cost her a fortune

  and now Dad’s pulling it all down.

  ‘Where’s Mom?

  Does she know what you’re doing?’

  I am whispering.

  I am so quiet the dust

  doesn’t move

  in the air.

  ‘It’s a surprise,’ Dad says.

  He whistles

  and gets on with the sanding.

  ‘How was your night?’

  I know he wants us to be excited because

  this is

  A Thing He Is Doing.

  And I really want to cheer him on.

  But.

  Tippi coughs and covers her mouth.

  ‘I think you should have told Mom,’ she says.

  Dad stops whistling.

  ‘It’s a surprise,’ he repeats.

  ‘Ever heard of one?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Tippi says. ‘Thing is,

  I always prefer to be happy than surprised.’

  Hangover

  We climb into bed

  still wearing our dirty clothes from the night

  before.

  I try to read

  but the words

  twirl

  on the page

  unable to find a

  secure spot,

  so I listen to an audiobook instead

  and rest my head on

  my sleeping sister’s shoulder.

  Lucky Avocado

  Grammie is going on a date with a man she

  met she at the bowling alley.

  I didn’t know Grammie liked bowling.

  I didn’t know bowling alleys were places to meet men.

  And I can’t believe that someone

  with a face as wrinkled

  as an overripe avocado

  has more luck

  in love

  than

  I have.

  Partners

  When Mr Potter tells us to pair up

  for the philosophy project,

  Jon taps my arm and says,

  ‘Wanna work together?’

  Tippi sniffs.

  ‘Grace and I are sort of a pair already,’

  she says,

  ‘in case you hadn’t noticed.’

  Jon tuts and pulls me to him,

  his fingers pattering my ribs

  like piano keys.

  ‘But I thought you were separate people,’

  he says—

  testing her.

  Tippi turns to her left and

  taps Yasmeen’s arm.

  ‘I guess it’s you and me,’ she says.

  Later Tippi says,

  ‘If you could choose between me and a boy,

  who would it be?’

  ‘It’s just a school project,’ I say.

  ‘I know that,’ Tippi says,

  laughing,

  and out of the blue

  punches me in the arm.

  Live Forever Or Die Together

  In English class

  Margot Glass

  reads out the poem she’s written

  called ‘Love’

  about a girl who is in

  so deep

  she wants nothing more than to

  lie down

  and die

  with her lover.

  Our classmates sigh and clap

  and are in awe of Margot’s

  depth,

  the passion in the poem.

  However.

  They look at Tippi and me,

  our forever togetherness,

  as a couple cursed.

  So when we tell them

  we do not want to be apart,

  waking alone in the mornings

  and spending long days looking for someone

  to share them with,

  they assume there is

  something very, very

  wrong with

  us.

  And Yet

  Being with Jon makes

  me wonder

  for a few fleeting seconds

  what it might be like

  to pull away from Tippi

  for just a moment

  and have him see me

  as I am,

  a single soul

  with

  separate thoughts,

  and not another person’s

  appendage.

  Divided

  ‘Sometimes I wish I could see myself

  through your eyes,’ Jon says.

  We are pouring purple chemicals into test tubes

  about to make them pop under the heat of a flame.

  ‘How do I see you?’ I ask,

  knowing the answer already

  and wanting desperately to tell him.

  ‘When you look at me,

  you see something whole,’ he says.

  He quickly cuts his hand through

  the blue Bunsen burner flame.

  ‘No one is whole,’ I tell him.

  ‘We’re all missing pieces.’

  Jon’s eyes crinkle—

  his mouth looks unconvinced.

  ‘Plato claimed that

  we were all joined to someone else once,’ I say.

  ‘We were humans with four arms

  and four legs,

  and a head of two faces,

  but we were so powerful

  we threatened to topple the Gods.

  So they split us from our soul mates

  down the middle,

  and doomed us to live

  forever

  without our counterparts.’

  ‘I love Plato,’ Jon says,

  and then,

  ‘So what you’re saying is that

  you and Tippi are the lucky ones.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I say

  because I do not want to admit

  that my heart


  has been divided

  since I met him.

  Expensive

  Aunty Anne has had a baby—

  a boy weighing in at seven pounds, two ounces.

  I’m sure my aunt is thinking,

  Oh God,

  how on earth

  will I ever pay for

  all the food and clothes and college bills?

  And sixteen years ago my parents were no different

  except they

  knew

  they would never be able to pay

  for everything we needed

  and would

  have to make do with

  handouts from well-wishers

  if they ever wanted to eat again.

  ‘Babies are worth every cent,’

  Mom tells her sister on the phone,

  opening a bill from Dr Murphy

  and inspecting the balance

  at the bottom.

  But I’m not sure.

  I’m not sure how much

  lives like ours are

  worth to the real world

  and especially

  to the insurance company which,

  every day,

  queries our need

  for so much healthcare.

  Redundant

  Mom’s company laid off ten people this morning:

  bing-bang-gone.

  By noon Mom thought she’d survived the slaughter

  and went for lunch,

  bought herself a sausage sandwich

  and a giant oatmeal cookie—

  her favourites.

  When she got back,

  Mr Black called her in to his office

  and told her the bad news.

  It’s not her fault, apparently,

  that they don’t need her any more,

  just a sign of the times,

  very bad luck.

  Then

  Steve from security followed her to her desk

  and watched her pack up her things

  like she was a criminal about to abscond

  with the office stapler.

  She said goodbye to her friends,

  the women she thought were her friends,

  who didn’t make eye contact as she

  was led to the elevator

  and through the revolving doors

  in the glass building

  to the street.

  Now Mom is in bed crying.

  No one can console her.

  And very soon,

  no doubt,

  we’ll be destitute.

  Bargaining

  I kick off my sneakers but

  Tippi keeps hers on.

  ‘You know he hates shoes in the living room,’ I say.

  I can’t help my voice getting high,

  sounding horribly like a schoolteacher.

  Tippi pulls me down on to the sofa.

  ‘What’s he gonna do about it?’ she asks,

  and puts her foot up on the coffee table.

  ‘I dunno,’ I say. ‘He’ll be annoyed. He’ll.

  He’ll …’

  I stop,

  lean forward, and push her foot to the

  floor.

  Tippi turns to me.

  ‘He’ll drink no matter what we do, Grace.

  You’ve got to start understanding that.

  You can’t bargain with him.’

  She touches the silver rabbit’s foot

  hanging around my neck.

  ‘Haven’t you covered this with

  your shrink yet?’

  ‘I don’t know what the hell

  you’re talking about,’ I say,

  pulling away,

  tucking the pendant

  into my shirt

  to hide it.

  ‘Yes, you do,’ Tippi says,

  and slams her foot

  right back up

  on the coffee table.

  At Two A.M.

  A door bangs. Pots clang.

  A radio blares out

  late-night symphonies

  over curses and groans.

  Dad is making himself a meal

  now the rest

  of us are in bed

  trying to get some sleep.

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’ I wonder aloud.

  Tippi sniffs.

  ‘Maybe he found out I didn’t

  take off my shoes.’

  Cutbacks

  It starts with no more nights out at the movie theatre,

  no new clothes or money for restaurants.

  It starts out with regular cutbacks

  that none of us notice

  all that much.

  But

  then it’s no money for gas and no money for meat

  and no money for any treats

  or frittering

  except healthcare

  because

  Mom

  won’t skimp

  on that.

  Contributions

  Grammie sells a few old rings and things

  on eBay

  to keep us ticking along.

  Mom spends long hours ironing for cash,

  undercutting the women in the Laundromat,

  earning hardly anything.

  And a couple of nights a week

  Dragon babysits our neighbour’s

  little boy.

  Everyone is pulling their weight

  except Dad.

  Except Us.

  ‘We have to help out,’

  I tell Tippi.

  ‘And what do you suggest?’ she asks.

  I push her bangs out of her eyes.

  ‘You know how we could make

  thousands without

  giving up a thing,’ I say.

  Tippi sighs.

  ‘If we went on television,

  we’d be giving up

  our dignity, Grace,’ she says.

  ‘And I won’t let us lose that.’

  But what’s the point in saving your pride

  when you’ve given up everything else?

  That’s what I want to know.

  Adjournment

  Dad helps Mom update her résumé and

  they laugh loudly,

  sitting side by side at the computer,

  hands touching.

  Maybe it means

  they love each other again.

  Maybe Mom losing her job

  could be a blessing

  instead of the curse

  we all thought.

  But then

  Mom goes out.

  She’s only away a couple of hours,

  but it’s long enough for Dad

  to forage for booze and

  get blotto.

  Tippi and I hide in our room

  picking through homework handouts and

  upcoming quizzes,

  wishing Dragon weren’t still at the studio

  so we’d have a comrade to help

  us see out the night.

  But nothing happens.

  We creep into the kitchen,

  where Mom is sitting slicing lettuce.

  ‘Everything OK?’ I say.

  Mom looks up and nips the tip

  of her finger with the knife.

  Bubbles of blood ooze on to the table

  though she doesn’t seem to notice.

  ‘I’m making a Greek salad,’ she says,

  and we nod.

  ‘I’ll get the feta,’

  Tippi says gently.

  But Mom shakes her head.

  ‘I didn’t have money for feta,’

  she confesses,

  then puts her ring finger into her mouth

  to suck away the blood.

  Around Strangers

  Mrs McEwan from upstairs stands in our doorway,

  her son Harry

  balanced on her hip.

  ‘Is Dragon home?’ she asks,

  looking at neither of us particularly.

  I shake my
head.

  Tippi says, ‘She’s at dance practice.’

  Mrs McEwan sighs.

  ‘Oh, what a shame.

  Well, if she gets back soon,

  will you tell her I came calling?’

  I nod.

  Tippi says, ‘We can watch Harry for you,

  if you like.

  We’d love to.’

  Mrs McEwan swallows hard.

  ‘Oh no. Oh no.

  He’s sort of nervous around strangers.’

  The toddler grins

  and reaches for one of my hooped earrings.

  Mrs McEwan pulls him back

  and laughs.

  ‘Tell Dragon I called, OK,’ she mumbles,

  and scurries up the stairs

  to her apartment

  taking her precious

  ‘frightened’

  bundle

  with her.

  Easy Money

  If I owned a pistol I could rob a bank.

  I could stick a gun in a teller’s face

  and demand a stack of cash

  then motor off in a stolen Maserati.

  I could sell drugs to kids on street corners

  or pimp out girls to the highest bidder.

  I could break any law I wanted.

  If they imprisoned me,

  they’d have to lock up Tippi too,

  which is false arrest,

  illegal,

  and would never stand up in a

  court of law.

  If I didn’t have this damn conscience,

  we’d be rich.

  Apologies

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Mom says,

  sitting us down on the bed

  so we won’t storm off

  before she’s had a chance to finish.

  ‘We’re moving.

  We can’t afford the apartment any more

  or the taxes to live in Hoboken.

  We can’t even afford to pay the

  goddamn phone bill.