by Ellen Hagan
a good first kiss but only
if I’m pomegranate puckered
or cherry mint surprised.
Sometimes even Mamaw wants me
on a pedestal. She wants me eccentric
but fitting in, unique but can blend.
Work a cook station, bake cookies,
clean the house top to bottom.
She wants me to be the girl
I’m supposed to be. The one
everyone wants me to be.
But what if I just want to be
me?
Weekend Away
Mom is away
& the house feels empty
without her.
Too quiet
& calm
for both Mamaw & me.
We flip the TV on
sappy love stories
that Mom watches
to fill the space
without
her.
Dear Diary
Look, I know I haven’t written in a long time. But now
feels like the right moment. I’m kind of lost & feeling
more alone than I’ve ever felt. My mom is on a week-
end DATE with a guy who I will call HD (aka the wrong
person for her). She just up & left us. Alone. So Mamaw
& I have been walking around the house, lost. Trying
to find our way without her. I know she wouldn’t leave
us, but I’m scared. Scared of someone new coming into
our lives. When we’ve lived so long alone. & been
perfectly fine without a man. I want my mom happy,
but I want Mamaw & me happy too. Is that possible?
Also, worst of all—I have an intense crush on a boy
who I know doesn’t know I’m alive. I mean—he knows,
but I don’t think he cares. I mean, he might like me
as a friend but nothing more. I have no idea. I’m failing
in the love department. Mamaw would say, “Buck up,
get back in there.” Mom would say, “Be the best you
that you can be.” I like knowing they’re both with me,
part of my life. I don’t want that to change. Not ever.
Yours,
Beatrice Miller
In the Morning
Mom walks in the front door
to find Mamaw & me on the computer.
Both of us hunched over
our big ol’ desktop.
We’ve spent the whole morning
poring over Harrison Douglas
& finding out his life story,
searching his profile
& gawking at photos.
We feel guilty,
but since Mamaw has never
truly googled anything,
it’s more a study
in how to understand
how computers work.
She filled her coffee
three times
& is on a caffeine bender.
She started looking at real estate
& owning her own business
& cake recipes
& got on YouTube
to learn about icing
& cookies
& corn bread
& stuffing
& holidays
& life
&&&.
& now she is looking
for a new place to live
& a better job.
We have hit rock bottom
imagining Mom & me
moving to Ohio
with a man
neither of us
likes
one
bit.
Hello
“What are you two doing?” Mom asks,
peering over our shoulders,
looking right at the computer.
“Bea, I have never seen you
sitting there.” She moves
to take off her coat.
“Are you looking up apartments?
Where in the world are you going?”
“Well, if you all don’t want me,”
Mamaw starts, standing up now,
“then I’d like to find my own way
and my own place to live.
Thank you very much.”
“Your own place to live? What?”
My mom looks at me.
“Beatrice, could you give us
a moment?” I retreat to the stairs
so I can still hear everything they say.
“Bea, could you please stop
being so damn dramatic?”
“Well, look who’s talking. Ms. Weekend Away,
Ms. Douglas. Ms. Harrison Douglas.
Ms. Whisked Away. Forgot all about us.
Left us here alone.”
“Would you give me a break? Please.
Could you let me just be, just figure out
how I want to live the rest of my life?”
“Of course, that’s why I’m leaving.
I’ve thought about it long and hard,
and my being here is dragging you
and Beatrice down. I want you two
to live your lives and be who you want
to be. Without me.” I hear Mamaw’s
voice choke, & it makes me hold back
my own tears.
“Oh, Bea, we would never leave you,”
I hear Mom say,
“you’re our home.”
& then I hear what sounds like Mamaw crying,
which is something I hardly ever hear
& then Mom crying
& then I end up sitting on the stairs crying
so Mom and Mamaw hear me
& come to cuddle up close in the stairway.
We are one another’s homes,
that is for certain.
“Well, how was your weekend?
I’m guessing we’ve got to give this
Harrison Douglas
another chance.”
Mamaw looks right at me.
I scowl. “I guess.”
“I don’t think so,” my mom says.
“We broke up. I, um … I broke up with him.
It’s over.”
“Oh no, no,” Mamaw says. “Well, I’m so sorry.”
“You are not. You and Beatrice
weren’t going to put up with him
for even a second more.
And to tell you the truth,
neither was I.
Especially when he started critiquing
my parenting skills & how I was raising
my child. Talk about smug.”
We all stay silent for a moment,
& then despite the fact that Mom still looks a little upset,
Mamaw jumps up & high-fives me
& starts to shake her hips.
“Well, don’t get too excited,” Mom says.
But we do, just the same.
“Don’t worry,” Mamaw says,
“I think I have someone I’d like to set you up with.
I’ve been doing my own research for you
& trying to find the perfect partner.”
This makes me even more nervous
than Harrison Douglas.
“Oh noooo,” Mom says,
& we all laugh harder than we have in a long while.
Cover the Plants
First rule of protection
from incoming cold & frost.
Make sure they’re comfortable.
Speak to them softly & slowly.
Touch them delicately.
“I know, I know,” Mamaw says.
“When people see me
talk to my plants,
tell ’em my life story,
tell ’em how I really feel,
I know what they’re thinking.
I’m thinking they’re nosy neighbors
but I know they roll their eyes,
call me all kinds of names.
No matter. I imagine
they say it with lov
e
& wish
they could be
as tender
as me.”
Inside of Me
Is an everyday wish
to be invited.
Anywhere.
Spend my time
wishing in my bedroom,
seeing myself
somewhere else.
Spend my time
in our tree house
while the weather holds,
bring jackets & blankets.
Places to find myself
while I’m waiting
for everyone else
to find me.
You’re Invited
Whispers near my locker,
a list with my name
laced in circling, curling
cursive. The kind
Mamaw wants me
to learn.
Chloe & Brianna
Invite YOU
To a Super Fantastic
Awesome Amazing
Exciting Engaging
Lively Out Loud
Slumber Party!
Place: Chloe’s House
What to Bring:
Yourself (ha!)
Pajamas (of course)
Snacks (Chloe & Brianna LOVE hot Takis & chocolate)
Phone
iPad
Laptop
The Cool-ification of Beatrice Miller
It’s not easy, not in the least. First,
selfie for real. Raid closet. Only
the rad shirts will survive. Borrow
Mom’s push-up bra, red lipstick,
Mamaw’s dangly gold drop earrings.
They’d call it stealing. Good thing
they’re not home. Lend’s more like it.
Purple scarf—check.
Mascara—check,
even though you smear it three times
& have to wash your whole face twice
to start over. Flash. Smile. Show teeth
but not too much. Straighten hair. Hot
iron, gel, de-frizzing spray called Elixir
of Smooth. Says: get the goddess look.
Time to sign up. Try for a ponytail.
Try for a french braid. Try to look serious.
Now bored, now shocked, now quiet
& calm. Now like you just won the lottery.
Because you did. You’re in. Invitations
galore. Chloe + Brianna + you
& you are just getting started.
Click. Pose. Snap.
Mamaw Loves Vintage
Or that’s what she calls it. I call it plain
old-fashioned Goodwill. Because that’s
what it is. And every time we walk
inside, it kind of smells like an attic
in the house of someone who is dead.
“Mamaw, I just don’t want to smell like …”
She looks at me, always acts so confused
when she doesn’t want to hear what I’m saying.
“Death,” I whisper, trying to avoid the stares
of the cashiers, who always smile too big,
offer peppermints. “I am not eighty-five years old,
I want to remind them.” But Mamaw loves it,
revels in it even. She’s only sixty-three, but they give her
the senior deal because her silver hair
puts her over the sixty-five mark in their minds.
“Not my problem if they think a little gray
turns you over-the-hill. I don’t mind one bit,”
she says, & I swear she brings her cane
& puts on a little limp just to keep in their good
graces. They cater to her too, bringing her
blouses & slacks (her words) & me old
concert T-shirts. I try & scowl, but Guns
N’ Roses is suddenly cool again. So is Back
to the Future & E.T. & when they bring me
the same puffy green coat with fur collar
I’ve been studying at the mall, I fold. “Yes,”
I tell Mamaw, hugging it around my body.
She eyes the tag. $75. Still pricey but way less
than the $250 one we saw. She haggles down
to $60, & even I’m impressed. “No one messes
with Mamaw,” she says, pulling me & the coat close.
“I can fix that zipper and button in a flash.” My first
fancy coat. A real North Coast coat.
Hand-me-down, sure. But mine just the same.
Brown Station Wagon
Circa the gilded age. Circa
the American Revolution. Circa
the age when dinosaurs
roamed the earth. Circa the Ice
Age. Circa forever ago.
Reference: the past. Reference:
history. Back a ways. Aged.
“Come on,” I say to Mamaw.
I plead, “Not Brownie,” the name
given lovingly (by her) to her Ford
wagon. “Would you rather me
drop you off on the Pink Lady?”
“Your bike?!” I nearly choke
on the ham & cheese biscuit she made me.
Don’t be ungrateful. Don’t be a jerk.
Don’t forget she’s your mamaw.
& she woke up early enough
to make your favorite breakfast.
& she loves you enough to give you
a ride in the first place. She smiles.
“I’ve got an extra helmet, you know.”
“Brownie will be just fine,” I say.
Cruising
Mamaw & me.
Bluegrass highway heaven.
Rocking, rolling hills.
Radio on blast.
Willie Nelson, Aretha Franklin,
the Pointer Sisters,
Lionel Richie too.
Mamaw’s eclectic playlists.
Gotta love it.
& I do.
Windows way down.
Her voice echoes,
wraps around me.
Freeway of love.
All night long.
Natural woman. Wind
winds through us.
“Turn it up!”
Mamaw shouts, laughing.
White picket fences,
dot horse farms,
& sleepy subdivisions.
Sometimes Kentucky’s comforting.
& familiar
& warm
& real
& beautiful
& home.
Chloe’s House
Is not a house. It’s a mansion, sprawling & tall
as it is wide. She’s got a pool & its own house
attached in the back. Three-car garage. Circular
driveway that Mamaw meanders into. “Whewww,”
she says, looking around. We’ve been past here
lots of times on our neighborhood drive-arounds.
I’ve wished this were mine before. StaceyAnn
& Mariella are doing a sleepover together. Wished
me luck & said they couldn’t wait for the stories.
Neither of them cared. I wish I didn’t so much.
Somehow, this invitation comes with status. Cool
factor. My name on the list, on the score sheet.
Climbing out from the hole of nonexistence. Rise
up to be considered part of the in crowd. Mamaw
hugs me close, says, “Don’t forget to brush your teeth
& wash your face & thank Chloe’s family & eat
what you’re served. Thank you, & yes ma’am, no
sir, & all that. Don’t forget your manners, where
you’re from.” Hands me a cloth bag of squash,* says
never ever show up anywhere empty-handed.
*What do I do with the squash?? Throw it away.
Nice Car
Chloe says when she opens the door
& waves goodbye to Mamaw, who honks
her horn too loud & hollers,
“Toodle-oo!”
She’s joking, but it doesn’t feel that funny
when I see the big SUVs in Chloe’s driveway
& the way they take up space in her life.
Breathe.
She takes my coat, even though I want
to keep it on all night. Proud I’m wearing
a North Coast—ready to fit right in.
Chloe squeals when she sees it, says,
“O
M
G.
This is my old coat—from last year!
So awesome! See, it has my initials right here.
Did you get it at Goodwill?!
O
M
G.
My mom takes everything to Goodwill.
It looks so cute on you! I love it. I’m so glad
someone else got some good use out of it.”
She puts my coat on a hanger beside
what seems like dozens of new, fluffy
warm coats. She’s prepared for anything.
She’s not trying to make me invisible.
She’s really not. At least, I don’t think
she is. But that’s exactly the way I feel.
Craft Fair
We spend our day at the Bardstown Craft Fair.
Perfect fall, full of old-timey crafts & new-
wave stands. All of them devoted to Kentucky.
Quilts & homemade everything. Grills fired up
& storefronts open. Downtown is alive,
& wild with people from all over the county.
It’s tradition for Mariella & StaceyAnn & me
to go together, so when I see them without me,
I try & avoid them altogether. Think about status
& my place on the planet of middle school.
When they wave, I barely get my hand in the air
before I’m taken in the wave of new friends,