by Roth, Judith
It is her job
to stop the moles
to pounce on the moles
to wrestle the moles
until
they are too afraid
to move.
She does her job well.
Miss Conglin tells us to put our photos
at the top of our desks.
Before we start writing
she lets us walk around
and see everyone else’s pictures.
Garrett’s family must like camping.
He and his little sisters and parents
are messing around in front of a tent.
Walking further
I see I am not the only one
with a broken family.
I forgot how Breanna lives alone
with her grandmother.
Giselle’s pictures
show two different houses
her mom in one
her dad in the other.
Jaime has a shot
of him and his dad
before his dad was deported.
I guess all families
have some kind of story.
In my chosen picture
my parents sit on a piano bench
with little me on Mom’s lap.
It looks like Easter.
We’re all dressed up
and I’m holding a basket.
One of my legs
is flung off to the side
like I can’t wait to get down
and find those hidden eggs.
Mom’s arms surround me
like she’s holding
something precious.
Dad’s face shines with twinkling eyes
and a crooked grin.
I glance over at my picture
from across the room.
It seems to glow with the promise
of a story
but I’m not looking for a story prompt
I’m looking for something else
and I’m not sure what it is.
After we’ve walked around the room
we head back to our desks
to begin working.
I see Garrett stop at Kelli’s desk
and hear them laughing
about a bulldog in Kelli’s picture
dressed up like a pirate.
Something in me sinks.
I wonder if Garrett knows the dog.
I wonder if Garrett has been to Kelli’s house
like he’s been to mine
only not just there
to drop off something
from the teacher.
There because he wanted to be.
Maybe Garrett feels me watching him
because he looks over at me
and smiles.
Oh.
Does he know I like him?
Is he throwing me a crumb?
I look down at my happy picture
but it makes me sad.
I begin writing without thinking.
Once upon a time there was a family.
Then there was none.
Once upon a time there was a mom
who lived and breathed and danced and sang
who loved and dreamed and wished on stars.
Then there was a car.
Then there was a fog.
Then there was the sound of metal
and it was not the sound
of swords and armor
in a story about Joan of Arc
but the crash of a car
as the fog stole the mother’s sight
and the headlights of eighty other cars
that piled up like broken sticks
beneath a burning stake.
Once upon a time there was a family.
Then there was none.
I didn’t realize a picture
of a bright Easter morning
could prompt such dark writing.
I feel like I just burped
a cloud of smoke.
A hand appears near my picture.
A finger points to Mom.
Garrett on his way to the front.
He lifts a strand of my hair
that’s close to my cheek.
Two blondies, he says.
You look just like her.
I stop breathing a moment
as the sun comes out
from behind a thick cloud.
Wondering how I should react
to his touch
and his words.
She looks beautiful in the picture
to me.
Is that how I look
to him?
Walking home from school
I pass Mom’s dorm.
The kittens are in the window again.
On an impulse, I climb over bushes
to tap-play with them
on the glass.
But the kittens startle at me coming so close
and one falls into the room.
The curtain moves and reveals Jocelyn
who widens her dark-fringed eyes.
She pulls open the window.
Sara! How are you?
Good. I motion through the window opening.
I was just gonna look at the kittens.
I figured. How’s your new kitty?
I blink. I guess she’s not keeping secrets.
Great—well—I don’t know
if I’ll be able to keep her.
She makes an exaggerated frowny face.
Fingers crossed, right?
Right.
Jocelyn looks back into the room
then says As long as you’re here . . .
Why don’t you stay and talk awhile, she says.
Climb on in.
I don’t know what my dad
would think about this
but I climb in anyway
twisting past a scrambled desktop
trying not to disturb a long-legged girl
sprawled on the opposite bed.
The kittens scatter when I land.
Where’d you get these kittens?
Their mom was a stray . . . pregnant.
She got hit by a car after they were born.
We’re still trying to find homes
for these last two.
Jocelyn waits a beat and
gives me a considering look.
Do you know if your mom lived here?
I nod. Yeah, this was her dorm.
I thought so. When I heard your fairy tale
and I saw her name, Aislinn,
I wondered if it was the same one.
That’s an unusual name.
The leggy girl sits up.
Jocelyn. That’s not for outsiders.
Jocelyn shrugs.
She’s not really an outsider.
She turns back to me.
She left an artifact.
My mind goes to old pottery and arrowheads.
Artifact?
Come on, I’ll show you.
Jocelyn leads me across the hall
to another dorm room.
Coming through
she says to the occupants.
This is Sara.
Aislinn’s daughter.
The girls look up from their books
and gaze at me.
It makes me feel like a zoo creature.
<
br /> Jocelyn twists a lamp
so that it shines into a drawer.
She pushes aside pens,
index cards, and highlighters.
Take a peek, she says to me.
The inside of the drawer is littered
with graffiti.
Dorm tradition, Jocelyn says.
Girls who get engaged
while they’re here
put their names in the drawer.
I follow her finger
to my mother’s name.
She’s written
Aislinn and Matthew.
Jocelyn sighs.
Isn’t it romantic?
She leans toward me.
Your parents must have been
secretly engaged.
It’s against the rules
for a professor and a student
to have a relationship.
She leans back.
But how can love be
against the rules?
She shakes her head
at how ridiculous that sounds.
Jocelyn jumps up all of the sudden.
Omigosh, I’m late for a test.
She gathers notebooks and pens.
Don’t worry about that rule thing.
It was a long time ago.
Things worked out—right?
She flashes me a counselor’s smile.
Gotta run!
She’s gone just like that
and I feel dumb with these girls
I don’t know
so I drift back across the hall
half-smile at the girl on the bed
and scramble out the window
heading for home
and that rule-breaker—
my dad.
I guess I’m not the only one
who’s wanted something
not allowed.
Walking home
I almost kick myself.
I could have at least petted the kittens.
Fortunately, I still have my own at home.
Serendipity follows me into the living room
grabbing at my shoelaces.
There’s an empty spot on the bookshelf
where The Book was.
Dad comes around the corner
his arms full of sheets
his face full of disgust.
It’s hard to imagine him
as the rebellious romantic hero.
Guess where the little monster
decided to pee he says.
Um Uh-oh. Your bed?
Righto. Heavy sigh.
Any phone calls yet?
Or what about Taylor’s mom?
Dad, I say
and then I stop.
What else can I say?
I follow Dad to the washing machine.
Maybe you could teach me to do laundry
I say.
He gives me a double take.
Why the sudden interest?
I put Serendipity on the dryer
to let her peek into the washer.
So if this happens again
I could fix it instead of you.
Dad narrows his eyes
shows me which way
to turn the knobs
and twist the dial,
how much detergent to put in.
Then he says
It’s not like she’ll be here long enough
to make this a habit.
Saturday morning at the latest.
I clutch her like a baby
stunned by the real time frame
and scratch her forehead.
No, I know
I say.
But I’m hoping I don’t.
Serendipity tries to help us make up the bed
by standing in the middle of the mattress
paws reaching as the sheet floats down.
She dances out of our reach.
Finally Dad says, Just grab her
and I’ll do this myself.
I tackle her and pluck her claw-hold
from the mattress.
I sit in the armchair
and hold her on my lap
so she looks like she’s sitting
like a regular person.
Dad, I say
to get his attention.
He turns to look
and I hear his breath go in sharp
at the sight of us.
He quick-flips the covers
at the end of the bed
and the Love Songs book
goes flying toward the dresser.
Dad sees me looking at it.
He picks it up
and puts it on his nightstand.
I think he’s going to say something
but he doesn’t.
With his chin, he holds a pillow
ready to drop
into an opened pillowcase.
Dad, I say.
He lets the pillow fall into the case.
Sighs.
Your mom gave me that book
to let me know how she felt about me.
So—what’s the long story?
He reaches for the book.
Cradles it in both hands.
Silent.
Dad, I say, I want to talk about her sometimes.
Couldn’t we talk about her?
He replaces the book.
His hands drop to his sides.
Serendipity must think
there’s a treat in his hand
because she springs from my lap
and claws her way up his pant leg
to investigate.
Dad yells and pulls her off
like she’s a sticky burr.
He tosses her onto the bed.
That’s enough for now.
He’s looking at Serendipity
but I’m pretty sure
he’s talking to me.
I pick up Serendipity
and take her from his room.
I go into my room and close the door.
Not sure what to do now.
I stand by the door and
watch Serendipity play hide-and-seek
with my blankets and quilt.
I can hear Dad finishing up his bed
then footsteps to his study
then outside my door.
I wait on my side of the door
feeling kind of ridiculous.
Serendipity runs to the door
and paws at it.
A good excuse to open it.
Dad’s there
looking like he got caught
doing something he shouldn’t.
Looking like he feels silly.
Then he holds out the book
and a piece of paper.
Here, he says.
I know I should be able to
talk about her with you
but I just can’t.
Not yet.
I take the book
and the paper
from his trembling hands.
He turns to go
then turns back.
He taps the book.
Mom named you
after how we began . . .
with Sara’s poems.
He doesn’t stay
to watch me read them.
It’s a really old book.
&nb
sp; Love Songs, by Sara Teasdale.
I wonder if this is a poet
Dad teaches about
in his American Lit class.
Inside the front cover
there’s an inscription—
For Matthew,
who makes the world
a poem.
Then the book flips open
to a poem called “The Look”
like it’s been opened
to this page
time after time.
Someone has pasted in
the name “Matthew”
over one of the original names.
It had to be Mom.
Now with Mom’s editing
the poem says,
“Strephon kissed me in the spring,
Robin in the fall,
But Matthew only looked at me
And never kissed at all.
“Strephon’s kiss was lost in jest,
Robin’s lost in play,
But the kiss in Matthew’s eyes
Haunts me night and day.”