Walking on Glass
Page 3
“Jack, let’s go.”
I grab his shoulders
and steer him out of the alley.
He sees this girl
and pushes me away.
“Waaaiit.”
He grabs the girl’s arm
and pulls her close to him.
He says he can bang her
so hard,
her eyeballs will roll
to the back of her head.
She tries to get away,
but he grabs her again.
I say,
“Leave her alone, Jack.”
He doesn’t.
Red marks spread
around his fingers as
they dig into her bare arm.
I yell,
“Let her go, Jack!”
He pulls her close
and licks the tears
off her face.
I hit him.
We’re no longer
friends.
RELIEF
Today
the doctors tell Dad
there’s still no hope.
Mom’s not getting better.
They ask if he would
consent
to have the machines
shut down
and donate
Mom’s organs.
Dad gets mad.
He refuses to believe
she’s gone.
But I’m feeling
more relieved
than mad.
GOD, FORGIVE ME
The thought of my own mother
dying
shouldn’t leave the taste of
freedom
in my mouth.
IS SHE THERE?
I sit with Mom
and squeeze her hand
gently.
Hoping she’ll
squeeze back
like she used to when
I was small and
scared.
But no matter how often
I squeeze her hand,
it stays limp.
IN SCIENCE
Alissa sets all of the butterflies
free.
Colors fill the air
and float through
the school yard.
Mr. Crouch sends her
to the office for pulling
a stupid prank.
I don’t think it was stupid.
I think it was
brave.
JACK’S MOTHER
I see Jack’s mother
in the grocery store.
She asks, “How’s your mom?”
“Same,” I say.
I grab some TV dinners.
She picks through the frozen
vegetables
and says, “You should drop by for
supper.
We miss having you around.”
I say, “I’m pretty busy.”
“I understand.” She looks past me,
far away.
MOM’S ROOM
Nurses flock
to Mom’s room
like she’s having a sale
on white sneakers.
In between their visits
I’m alone with her
and her machines.
I reach for the machine
to do what I need to do.
My hands shake,
and sweat drips
down the back of my legs,
stinging the open blisters
on my heels.
I jerk my hand away,
without even touching
the switch.
I race out of there,
gasping for air,
and throw up on
the shoes I still can’t
fill.
QUESTIONS
“Do you ever feel like
someone’s puppet?” I ask Dr. Mac.
He raises his eyebrows.
“Do you?”
I roll my eyes. “I asked you first.”
“I think at times
we can all get our
strings pulled.”
AVOIDING ALISSA
Alissa has the key
to the cage,
but I can’t let
her open it
yet.
When the phone
rings and I see
Alissa’s number
on the display,
I don’t pick it up.
BREAKING AWAY
I trip over
Mom’s shoes
at the bottom of the stairs.
I pick them up
and whip them through
the dining room window.
It shatters
over Mom’s
precious rosebushes.
The cage
in my chest
loosens.
HIDDEN FROM VIEW
A board covers
the broken window
and I can no longer
see Mom’s torn
roses.
DAD
Dad putters around the house
avoiding me.
I want to get right up
in his face
and scream for him
to be the man he should be
so I won’t have to,
but I
can’t.
ALISSA ASKS
“Why didn’t you call?”
“I was busy.”
“Is everything okay?”
“I think we shouldn’t see each other
for a while.”
“Why?”
I stare at my feet.
Her eyes are my looking glass,
able to flip the truth
and make me want to believes
everything is okay,
but it’s not.
CONVERSATIONS WITH DAD
“I know you think
I’m wrong,”
Dad says.
He looks at me
over the piles of
takeout containers
on the coffee table.
“I can’t let go yet.”
I scarf down my
chow-mein noodles
to avoid looking
directly at him.
“It’s not my fault…,”
he says.
I glance up.
His eyes water.
I focus my attention
on my noodles.
“And I didn’t know she was that
unhappy,” he says.
I push my plate
across the table.
It tips.
I get up
and walk away,
leaving my dad’s heart
and the noodles
spilled all over the floor.
IN THE HALLWAY
At school
I see Alissa
talking to her friends.
I watch her
push her hair away
from her eyes.
Those beautiful
blue eyes, so full
of life.
Why can’t I look
into them
and let her make
me feel
good again?
FORGIVENESS
Jack beats
on my front door.
“Come on!
I know you’re home.
Let me in.
I forgive
you.”
I don’t get up.
He’s not the one
who I need
to forgive
me.
ON THE WAY TO SCHOOL
Jack catches up to me.
“What’s with you
lately?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
“Why you avoiding me then?”
I don’t answer.
He knows why.
MIRRORS
Today
Dad smashes
the mirror
in the front hall.
I guess neither one
of us can stand to
look into it.
I SHOULD HAVE
As I left the house
that June morning,
Mom said,
“I love you.”
I just closed the door
and left her
alone.
I should have told her
I loved her.
Maybe then
she wouldn’t be
in the hospital
today.
WAITING FOR DEATH
I bring Mom
roses.
I watch her carefully,
looking for any clue
she knows I’m with her.
She lies there
lifeless.
I try to swallow the lump
building in my throat,
but it just expands.
The aroma from the roses
filters through the air.
They smell like she used to
when I was small.
Sweet and fresh.
Their scent
will fade
now that they’re
no longer attached
to the roots
which gave them life.
I stare outside
and wonder
if I’ll ever have the courage
to cut Mom off
from her roots.
THE PENALTY
In class today
we had a debate about
whether kids who kill
should be tried as adults.
Some of the class say
kids shouldn’t be tried as adults
because we don’t always know
right from wrong.
I think they’re full of crap.
We do know right from wrong.
OPINION
I don’t doubt for a second
that most people think
what I want to do
is wrong.
But I don’t want to
murder
my mother.
I want to set her
free.
MURDER
The unlawful killing of a human
being
with malice
aforethought.
I’m thinking about it.
Does that make it
murder?
THINKING
Dr. Mac asks,
“What are you thinking?”
“Do you think that if
someone made your life
miserable,
unhooking that person’s
life support
would be the same as murder,
even if you know
they will never get better?”
He leans forward
and looks into my eyes.
“It’s not what I think
that’s important.
It’s what you think.”
I WISH I MAY
Sometimes I wish
I hadn’t held Mom up.
Then it would have
all been over
that rainy June day.
CLOSING DOORS
Jack comes by.
He says, “I need a place to stay.
Mom kicked me out
when I hit her.”
But I just say,
“No.”
And close the door.
FIRST SIGNS OF LIFE
Dad says,
“Jack isn’t
coming by anymore.”
I nod.
He smiles and pats me on the back,
and my cage bars
weaken.
MAYBE HE KNOWS
Dad sits beside
Mom’s bed.
He strokes her hair
and whispers to her.
He closes his eyes.
Clenching his jaw,
he lets out a sigh.
When he opens his eyes,
a tear drips from each corner.
He shakes his head
and walks out of the room.
I wait for him to come back.
He doesn’t.
DAD’S FEELINGS
I wonder
if Dad is torn up inside
for the same reason
I’m torn.
FLASHBACKS
Today
there I am
playing football
and suddenly it starts
to rain and I’m back
in time holding
my mother up
by her legs.
And I pray
I can hold
her long enough
to tell her
what she needs
to hear.
But before I
can get the words out,
I get tackled.
DEPRESSION
Today
Dr. Mac explains how
sick Mom was.
How she needed medicine
to make her feel better,
but she refused to take it.
He explains how,
if she did,
she’d still be here.
Today Dr. Mac
explains how
sick Mom was
and how nothing she did
was my
fault.
GANGS
I can’t concentrate
on homework.
I watch the news
and hear about
a drive-by downtown.
A woman was killed
by a stray bullet.
They caught the shooter.
He’s seventeen and
will be tried as
an adult.
COULD HAVE BEEN
My heart races,
thinking it could have been
me who killed that woman.
And I thank God
it wasn’t.
It was Jack.
SURELY IT’S DIFFERENT
Mom doesn’t have
a future.
Mom doesn’t have
a life.
Mom has been dead
for six months.
You can’t call
it murder.
MOM’S ROSES
This morning
Mom’s garden
froze over.
No one will cover
the fading roses.
Petals dropping
onto the frosty ground
like tears of
death.
MY DREAM
I dream about Jack
beating up that kid.
Blood dripping down his face
all over his shoes.
I watch confused,
knowing that didn’t happen.
There wasn’t blood
on those shoes.
Then it’s my mother’s face
and the blood drips
down onto my shoes.
I wake up screaming.
Because
I know
that happened.
WHAT HAPPENED
That day,
I came home and found
a new pair of shoes
by the door.
When I went into the dining room
to tell Mom they were
too big,
Mom stepped off of the table.
A noose slung around her neck.
I caught her
and held her up.
Mom struggled.
She kicked me away.
But I wouldn’t
let go.
I wanted to tell her
I loved her.
I wanted to tell her
I needed her.
I wanted to tell her
to stay with us.
But the wires holding
the chandelier snapped,
and it crashed on top of her head,
and my a
rm broke
and I dropped her.
Her blood splattered
all over my new shoes.
REMEMBERING MOM
I remember
her soft voice
floating through the air
like the smell of fresh roses,
as she sings me a lullaby
to take away
the monsters in the night.