by Monroe, Anya
as I recount the times my dad
took away my innocence
causing me to be ambivalent
about my own life.
There are parts that make her cry and parts
where I do, too.
I realize with the telling
that this is what it means to
be real
to be known
to have a friend
who is willing to hold
you when you fall.
And I wish
I just wish
like I used to wish
on the stars at night
that I had
told her sooner
because the telling is what makes
you heal
be real
be known
and being known is just like I thought
but was too scared to try.
Being known
is so much better than
being alone.
Later that day
while the wet clothes dry
and I’ve had a chance to say
almost
everything
Jess stands in Ms. F’s kitchen
hands me a mug of hot cocoa.
“Louisa, I’m so proud to be your friend. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”
She
will never understand
that my strength comes
from people like her ––
the ones who are here
after.
The ones who are there even though they know the
ugly
dark
secrets.
The ones who choose to stay.
163.
There are so many clothes on the racks
at the mall. I should have
found a way to stall
because getting a cool outfit, special to wear
for the show
is ramping it all up too much
it makes me feel like I might
blow
it all.
“I don’t know, Ms. Francine. I can just wear something I already have. I don’t need anything new.”
“I know you don’t need anything, Louisa. But I want to do this for you.”
I puff out my cheeks as I think
about the pressure mounting.
The competition is tomorrow
and I’ve rehearsed non-stop
trying to block
out any negative thoughts.
Just trying to think about
what I am.
Ignoring what I’m not.
That’s what Margot told me to do.
“Jess said I could borrow her black leather pants. Maybe I’ll just do that.”
“Is that what you want to do?” Ms. F asks.
“Uh, I don’t know. I’ve only been to one of these things and it was all adults. Adults who like looked like they knew what they were doing.”
“Well, I’ve been to lots of these things over the years for Margot and I know that the most important thing is to be comfortable and be yourself.”
“Is this like a pep talk or something?” I roll my eyes.
“No, but I do know that skin tight leather pants in a crowded room might make you pretty sweaty, which might make you feel less then amazing.”
True.
Not to mention Jess is at least
two sizes smaller than me.
Sucking in all night to
pull that off
might be
less than
ideal.
“I guess that makes sense…in that case, what I’d really love to wear is this.”
I hold up a dress from the rack
with a vintage look of lace on the
hem but purposefully sewn in
crooked.
“You never wear white,” she says.
“No. This one. This one is perfect.”
I hold the white dress
up to myself
in a mirror
seeing everything
more clear.
164.
Shit.
I keep smudging my eyeliner.
Not on purpose.
More like in mini-freak-out-mode
what the hell do I know
about standing on stage?
Why did I agree choose to do this?
Margot comes to my rescue
as she walks into my bedroom
grabbing a tissue to
help fix
my misuse
of a black gel pen.
“Are you doing okay? I heard a scream from up here.”
“I don’t know. Do you like this dress? I keep messing up my makeup and I don’t think I can even remember the words anymore. Can I write them on my hand?” I ask.
She taps her forefinger
on her lips
listening with intent
to my rant.
“And Margot, I should have listened to you and Jess and just read my poem to practice, out loud, to you guys. I don’t know why I didn’t. Can we go through it now? We have time!”
Margot doesn’t give into my
meltdown so I try
again.
“Also, do you know who all is going to be there tonight? I know Toby and his boyfriend said they were coming. And Ms. F’s friends from book club. And shit, Jess texted saying Markus was coming with her. Do you think you could just call everyone and tell them the show was cancelled. Or pneumonia. I think I have pneumonia!”
I fall on my bed.
Face down.
“Stand up,” she says.
“Huh?” I eek out.
“I said, stand up. You heard me.”
I roll over
to look at her while I clutch
my stomach
feigning my newly-discovered
illness.
“Louisa, in the time I have known you I don’t think I’ve ever, ever seen you act so…so…normal.”
“You don’t think I’m normal?”
“No, not that you aren’t normally normal- just like, you are so acting like a teenager right now. It’s hilarious. Usually you’re so reserved. This is good. You need this emotion for tonight.”
I roll my eyes.
Knowing I’m playing into what she said
about me
but trying to
repress the smile
twitching at the side of my mouth
it’s near impossible.
“Can you please call them and cancel?” I try one last time.
“Absolutely not. You are going to rock this. I don’t even know what you’re going to say and I still know you will.”
“Can’t we go through it once, together, before we go?”
“Nope. You got yourself this far, you can do the rest. I’m excited to hear this just like everyone else. As a fan.”
“Fine.”
I huff and go back to the mirror
to reapply the liner
on my eyes.
“Would you tell Ms. Francine I just need another minute.”
“Of course, and you know, Louisa, I always find the best way to fight my jitters is to have the person who calms me the most talk me down.”
“I don’t know who that is,” I answer.
“I think you do.”
She walks out of my room
leaving me alone.
I turn back to the mirror
blowing out my cheeks.
165.
Margot drove her own car
so it’s just the two of us
in the car together, like so many
days before.
Ms. Francine always taking me to where I need
to go.
“You doing okay? You hardly ate all day, Louisa,” she asks.
“I’m fine. Just nervous. I don’t know why I’m doing this.”
“Yes, you do. You know why, Louisa. Because your heart is telling you
this is exactly what you need to do.”
“But why do you believe in me so much when I’ve never done this before?” I ask.
At a red light she stops
and looks over,
choosing to see
me as I am.
“Because I was you, Louisa. I was a girl, with a story to tell, who was never free until I learned to use my words.”
“You went onstage, like Margot?”
“No, I didn’t go on stage. But I did spend years and years keeping the truth a secret from the people who wanted to help help.”
“It was the story Margot told at the poetry night, on New Years Eve, right? When you were crying?”
“That was part of my story. And it isn’t in me to share it on stage, but Margot is made to do that, so I want her to share that part of our past. To help someone else be strong, in ways that I can’t.”
“But maybe I’m like you, Ms. Francine. Maybe it isn’t in me either. Maybe someone like Margot is better for this job.”
“I can’t answer that for you. But I do think if you’ve gotten yourself to this place –– to sign up for this on your own, to write the words without any help, to practice every day –– that something inside of you knows –– really knows –– this is the right thing, for you.”
She’s right.
I feel it in my bones.
The shaky bones
that
deep down know
this is the
way for me
to find a way
out
of the secret hiding place.
“Ms. F?”
“Mmhmm?”
“Who is your new room mate going to be?”
“Louisa, I’d love to talk to you about that, so much so –– but can we wait until after the show?”
She pulls in a parking space
turns off the car.
She leans over to me
kisses my forehead
and I see
that she’s the one
who calms me most
and that she
was just able to
talk
me
d
o
w
n
.
166.
Walking into that room
BoomBoomBoom
the noise going heavy on the bass
trying to find the right place
to shake.
Shake me.
Because I should have waited for that
car ride pep talk
until I got backstage
because this place is packed
and it’s already pulsing
BoomBoomBoom
goes my heart.
I gravitate to the desk
sign-in sheet before me
name tag, number, roll call
ready
set
go.
I am #22 out of 24.
So many performers before
me.
Ms. Francine and the rest of my
motley crew is busy finding seats.
I’ll be sitting in the back
with the rest of the teens
who are waiting for their shot in the limelight.
Shot in the dark.
The other performers
offer their hands for me to shake
repeating names
repeating jokes
talking about nerves
anxiety
times they competed before
they all seem so far
ahead of me.
“Louisa,” I say.
They smile and nod.
“No, this is my first time. Have you done this before?” I ask.
They answer:
My third time
My fourth
I’m on a team at school
A club
I went to summer camp
My mom knew this guy who helped me out
Iamalloftheeabove.
But with that they also say:
I love that dress
I’m so freaking out right now
Even if I don’t win, I’m taking that class over summer break
I made my mom promise not to take my picture
Did you see that video of that one performance on YouTube?
And I feel that
that feeling
I had when I saw Margot with her friends
at the club
when she performed.
A camaraderie
a sense of in-it-together-artists-forever
spirit that took away the competition
who is the best vibe
and replaced it with an
I-believe-in-you-even-though-I-don’t-know-you
kind of high.
I’m smiling away my nerves and I’m
looking all around.
And for the first time in my life
I don’t want my eyes to face
the ground because
I-don’t-want-to-miss-a-thing.
When did full on
contact
sports start to
feel
so. damned. good?
167.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Annual Young
Poet’s Slam! The students here tonight are thirteen to seventeen years old. For some, this is the first time on stage and some have been practicing for years. We have twenty four performances tonight along with a lovely panel of judges.”
The emcee motions to the table
of five adults, none I’ve ever seen
sitting side-by-side
waiting to
watch us
spill our guts.
The house is full tonight
there’s a buzz in the air.
“Without further ado, I would like to welcome our first act of the evening, Abdul Jamon!”
The room claps
loudly as can be
and nothing’s even started yet.
God.
I hope they’ll clap for me.
168.
The competition starts
off with a bang.
These people are good.
Like good:
#5…A silvery girl
with white hair that glows under the lights
on stage.
She barely whispers when she speaks
yet her voice commands the room
and her words reflect the
feelings she felt
the day her parents divorced
the day her world fell.
How she thought life was over,
but now
three years later, she sees that they
(her parents)
are finally happy.
And so is she.
#12…He stood over six feet tall
his smile revealing the moment
on his face
when he was most happy:
the day he got his driver’s license.
Speaking in simple terms he
explained how his life changed that day
because he was
for the first time ever
free to be
sixteen.
#18…The room was cracking up from the first
line until the last.
He was honest –– brutally so ––
about his first job ever
at McDonalds.
He compared the first shift
to when he goes shit.
Really crappy.
He ended and they we
clapped wildly as he took his bow.
#22…Me!
169.
Breathe, Louisa, breathe.
First things first
I move the mic a little lower
glance over my shoulder
wanting to look anywhere but
out.
Somebody shouts
in the crowd
my gu
ess is Markus.
Brushing aside pieces of my hair
I push away my fear.
Benji’s words echo inside:
“I wish I’d said something sooner. Told the truth sooner. But I was scared. I’m sick of being scared.”
I’m so sick of being scared, too.
I look at the crowd
my cheering section
each nodding their heads.
Suddenly the words they’ve been saying
start echoing inside of me too:
“You are the strongest person I know.”
“Louisa, this is not pathetic-this is your story. It’s beautiful.”
“You can do this because your heart’s telling you this is what you need.”
And I clear my throat, ready to speak.
It’s because of them that I can
do this courageous thing.
It’s because of them that I believe
the words
Ms. Francine echoed to me all along:
Be Brave.
I open my mouth, and begin.
170.
“There are some things we all like to talk about.
Who is gonna win the football game,
the guy we think is cute,
our plans for summer break,
what girl’s in hot pursuit.
We can easily ask for
fries with that
or can you turn the volume up?
We can ask if dinner’s ready or
if the door got shut.