open my eyes.
Please, Bree?
Adam’s tone
forced me into
the moment.
“Hang on.”
Something happened.
My mouth tasted
like dead speed,
dying beer, and
foreboding.
There was an accident
Coming
Jumped up, dashed
for mouthwash,
forgetting the
uncertainty
of legs, unused for
twenty hours, but
spurred to confront the
fear
in his voice, and
something more,
something too like
guilt.
Oh God, who was in
the mirror? Not Bree,
not Kristina, but some
evil
incarnation glaring
back at me, a horrid
red-eyed crone,
materialized
as if from darkest
dementia, nightmares
to come, hibernating
inside of me.
I Filled the Sink
with cold water,
dunked my whole head
under,
counted to ten,
came up,
repeated the process.
Came up again and
she had retreated,
still close,
I suspected,
but far enough
to let me
go to the door.
His Demon Showed in His Eyes
He stumbled in, tumbled
against me, clutching
like a scared little boy,
in need of his mama’s grace.
She’s hurt real bad.
Who?
Lince.
What?
Fell (or jumped) off the balcony.
When?
Yesterday.
Where?
Right outside.
I didn’t
dare ask
why.
Instead,
I let him
cry.
He Told Me Why Anyway
She came home from the bowling alley,
went looking for me.
Found me.
Here, with you.
Heard us inside,
talking, laughing.
Looked in the window,
watched us kissing,
watched my hands,
running all up an’ down you.
When your dad came home,
she waited for me to come outside.
Said she wanted to talk.
But she wanted more than that.
She wanted to erase you
from my heart.
Never could, Bree.
Never could.
And that’s what
I told her.
The monster rose up hard then,
hard in her eyes,
She looked like an animal,
crazy mad,
diseased.
Spit in every word,
she swore
she’d get back
at you,
at me.
Next thing I knew,
she was on the sidewalk below,
still,
except for the blood running
red from her head.
They say it was an accident,
she tripped,
or leaned over too far.
Crankin’, they said,
and she was.
Oh, yes, she was.
That’s what I wanna believe.
Maybe someday I can.
But right now I think something different.
I never saw it coming.
Never thought she would.
I would have stopped her.
Could I have stopped her?
My Brain Somersaulted
My heart picked up speed,
my stomach threatened
to 86 guilt,
drowning in bile.
Oh, God. I’m sorry.
Hold me.
I wrapped him tight,
hair dripping cool
around the stiffness
of his shoulders.
Not your fault.
Whose, then?
The answer, hanging
over my head like
a stubborn black cloud,
seemed obvious.
Mine.
Don’t say that
I pictured Guinivere,
golden-eyed wildcat,
crumpled against the
sad, cracked cement.
Whose then?
Plenty of blame to go around.
Too much truth in that.
And I never heard a thing,
dead to the world
for twenty hours.
We Sat on the Floor
Tangled up in each other,
a knot of emotions
desperate for release.
And the more we kissed,
the more we talked,
the more confused we became.
He loved me. He loved her.
He loved her, first.
He loved me now.
I loved him. I hated her.
I hated him for loving her.
I loved him for loving her still.
He wanted me. He needed me.
He needed more to go to her, let her
know he loved her still.
I wanted him. I needed him.
I wanted him to forget her, needed
more to let him tell her he loved her.
When he asked me to go
along, some masochistic
piece of me agreed.
Fifteen Blocks on Foot and a Bus Ride Later
We walked through big revolving doors,
into the Land of Antiseptic.
My empty stomach rocked
at the alcohol/bleach perfume,
yet somewhere in that revolting scent
a lovely memory floated,
ghostlike.
The receptionist told us Lince was in ICU
and asked if we were relatives.
I’d seen enough soap operas to know
to nod an affirmative answer.
Adam played along.
I’m her brother and this is …
I held my breath
… my fiancé.
The lady didn’t even blink behind her thick
gray lenses. She directed us to
the elevators. We got off
on the 7th floor. A nurse said
we’d missed visiting hours,
but since we were relatives
she’d let us poke in
through the door.
Intensive care is not a private place,
big windows allowed unobstructed
hallway-to-room views.
It was a sea of white.
Uniforms. Sheets. Curtains.
Floors and walls.
Why did that feel comforting?
Lince Floated
in that white water world,
Guinivere upon the River Styx,
tubes intruding wrists and nose,
liquid-filled lifelines.
Adam let go of my hand
and I stopped in mute agreement.
This was his show.
I found the waiting room.
A dozen needs attacked me there.
I needed
food,
fluid,
soap,
shampoo.
I needed
Adam,
his heart,
his promises
his tomorrows.
I needed
to go home
’cause somewhere
deep down
I needed
my mommy.
And all that made me really
really need
Evening, When We Left
The breeze,
too hot
to cool
the blooming
flower of summer
night,
seemed to
ignite star
candles in a sky,
darkened as much
by mood as
time.
We found
the bus stop
in silence,
though I knew
he had something
to say.
Walked home
beneath
the celestial
cathedral. No kiss
at my door, only his
good-bye.
Not enough,
but how could
I beg for more? Did he
mean forever, or just for
now?
Dad Asked Where I’d Been
How’s she doin’?
I opened my mouth
to tell him, realized
I didn’t know. Adam
had given nothing away.
Heard it was touch-and-go for a while.
Still looked touch-and-go
to me, machines pumping
existence into her
through plastic tubes.
Too damn bad. Pretty girl.
Not so pretty now, Dad,
head to toe black-and-blue,
and shattered framework,
facing uncertain healing.
Hard to believe we just partied together.
He really didn’t get it,
turned back to his TV. I
went to the refrigerator,
held my breath, looked inside.
Sorry, not much in there.
Moldy cheese, outdated
milk, peanut butter, and
soggy celery. I found an apple,
soft, but edible. Almost sweet.
We could go out to dinner.
My brain claimed I was
crazy to even consider such
a thing. But my insistent
stomach won the day.
McD’s okay?
One Hour
Tons of tasteless, useless, meaningless
food and conversation later,
two rounded, roiling
bellies pushed
back through
the front door.
Not that Dad didn’t ask plenty of
questions, worthy of answers,
but how could I tell
the man who turned
his back on “daddy” status
how my life had changed?
How could I explain
gut-wrenching insights to
someone so lacking
vision?
How could I admit my
part in the current melodrama
to a psyche devoid
of guilt?
How could I share the
way my heart was breaking
when my confessor
didn’t believe
in love?
Instead We Returned to Small Talk
which is probably all we’ll ever manage,
all we’ll ever get to,
if we get to anything at all.
We couldn’t have spent more than
two hours, total, within three weeks,
tied up in trying to talk to each other.
Inter-family communication
must be an acquired skill.
He never even asked
if I’d gotten high before my little
Albuquerque adventure.
Never asked if I enjoyed
spending time with the monster.
He only wanted to know if Buddy
and I had done the dirty, perhaps right there
between his own disgusting sheets.
His question reeked
of voyeurism.
And he accepted my negative answer
with a smile that meant
he didn’t believe a word.
I wondered if Mom
would have.
Dad Went Out
Left me
to
fret
to
stress
to
cry
to
choke
on
emotion
and
great
green
nose
clogging
gobs
in
sincere
need
of a
good
blow
instead,
I let
the
snot
drip.
I Was Mid-Drip
when Adam knocked on the door.
I half considered pretending
I wasn’t there.
Hurting.
Bursting.
Over him.
Over this whole sorry
pile of crap
I’d dug myself into.
But I wanted to see him
more than anything.
Needed to know
I hadn’t imagined
the whole head over heels
thing. I had to go home
in a couple of days. I
wanted to go
still in love.
I found a paper towel,
let go a mighty blow
and went to
let him in,
even though I knew
I must have looked
very much like my
dead and buried grandma.
Okay, I Looked Awful
To anyone else,
he probably looked worse.
To me, he resembled an angel.
A poor, sad, beautiful angel.
His hurt swallowed mine,
like space swallows time,
and the two intertwine.
We tangled together
I’m sorry.
Me too.
I’m just so confused.
Ditto.
I do know I love you.
Ditto
squared.
So of Course I Did a Really Stupid Thing
He pulled a bindle from his pocket,
tapped the sparkly powder inside.
Cooked up fresh yesterday.
Mother Kristina said no.
The monster stormed Bree’s door.
That’s my girl. Let’s forget
the bullshit and fly.
We soared through the night,
well beyond daylight.
Funny thing about the monster.
The worse he treats you,
the more you love him.
I knew already that had to be true.
Blood geysered in my veins.
Thoughts stampeded across my
brain. Together, ecstasy.
You are the most incredible girl.
I never believed someone like you
would fall for someone like me.
But are you Kristina? Or Bree?
At the moment, all Bree.
“Kristina is who they made me.
Bree is who I choose to be. How
’bout you? Adam or Buddy?”
With you, I am Adam.
And you are my beautiful
Eve. Let’s run away,
find our garden, live there
together, happy. Naked.
Adam
took me in his arms
hurt, forgotten ice
kisses melting
Unhurried hands lifted
Pump. Pump. Pump
my shirt
Passion rose up in
my heart.
and a bit farther south
The monster-fueled
thigh to belly button
inferno built
Adam’s mouth moved
by trembling inch
lower, inch
&nbs
p; I was ready to do it
right that very instant….
oh, so ready.
But First I Had to Pee
Passing the mirror,
I chanced a glance at Bree,
crank embers glowing behind
dilated black windows.
She didn’t look half bad,
certainly not dead and buried.
In fact, she looked quite animated.
I dropped my jeans. And guess what
I discovered, already staining my panties?
That pesky monthly visitor
who shows, unbidden, on
your step, a true-blue party killer.
Only this time,
encouraged by the monster,
it blew across the threshold,
smashed down my door.
I staunched the flow, changed
my clothes, and went to tell Adam.
Flustered, flushed,
he swore he didn’t care,
pouted and pleaded and cajoled.
But I was not about
to lose my virginity
in a fountain of
menstrual fluid.
How many times
have I regretted that decision?
But That Day
there was still enough
Kristina left to feel
humiliation
still a smattering of
old-fashioned morals,
somewhere
inside; still a healthy dose
of survival instinct, buried
beneath
a childhood, fractured by
hormones, smashed by
the monster’s
fist and pressed into
memory by two-faced
bravo
So I Said
“No way.”
Why not?
“You know
why not.”
But you know you want to.
“I do.
But I
can’t.”
Not right, Bree. Look what you’ve done to me.
And I
thought,
What did I do?
You made me need you.
He brought
the crank.
Made me have to have you.
He let
things get
out of hand.
Not later. Not next time. Now.
And then
he took
my hand,
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