and will it still be an apple
if it doesn’t look like an apple?
While I am sitting there gazing at the apple
I tell Grandpa about the coach
asking me to try out for the track team
and about Max telling me the same
and about how the coach kept bugging me
and now the tryouts are over
and the coach does not even
look me in the eye
and then I tell him about Max saying
I am a chicken
and how I don’t feel like a chicken
and how I love to run
but I don’t want to run
in a herd
and I don’t like watching people
worry about fast and faster and fastest
and about
winning and losing
and all the while I am talking
Grandpa is nodding, nodding
and finally he says
You stick to your guns, honey.
And I say
But they say I will regret it—
and Grandpa says
Do you think you will regret it?
And I say
No—but they think I am wrong
that I can’t know
what I will regret.
And Grandpa says
Wrong. Right. Regret.
When I stopped running races
everyone told me I was wrong
and everyone told me I would regret it.
He is looking at the photo of himself
with the trophy.
I ask him
And did you regret it?
Grandpa shifts his gaze to my apple folder.
Not for one tiny minute
he says.
And I want him to say more
to tell me why he stopped running races
but he leans his head back against the chair
and closes his eyes
and falls asleep.
His face looks different in sleep
the muscles slack
the wrinkles smoothed.
Has that brown spot on his cheek
always been that large?
Has it always been the shape
of a pear?
I draw his profile:
the wide forehead
the unruly eyebrows
the noble nose
the downturned mouth.
Is he not happy in his sleep?
I draw the brown spot
and the dimpled chin.
I lie back on the floor
and close my eyes
and try to keep the image
of my grandpa’s face
in my mind
and I dream
not of races
but of colored pencils
and charcoal pencils
and thick, white, smooth paper
and Grandpa’s face.
MAD MAX
Hey, Annie-banany!
Mrs. Cobber calls as I run past the church
You going to cut my grass today?
Yes, Mrs. Cobber-obber
I’ll be there later.
And I am happy to mow
Mrs. Cobber’s lawn today
because then I will have enough money
to buy the charcoal pencils
and the colored pencils
and the white paper.
Hey, Max!
Hey, Annie—
Max looks angry
black mood all around him
and I do not even try to pick up my pace.
I let him surge ahead of me.
I can hear and feel his feet
pounding hard
thump-thump, thump-thump
and when I reach the bench
he is sitting there with his head hanging
between his legs
breathing hard.
I stretch and sit and tap his back.
What’s the matter?
I ask.
Nothing. Everything.
I examine the soles of my feet
wishing there were words there
magic words to say to Max
but there is only dirt on my feet
and one lone pebble.
You get your shoes yet?
I ask.
I know the coach has been letting him
run barefoot for practices
but I know he has to have the shoes
for the first meet.
No, he says.
You going to have time to get them
and break them in?
He talks to the ground, angrily:
They cost so much money, Annie!
Can you borrow someone else’s shoes?
I ask.
He doesn’t answer.
I check out his feet
wondering if maybe my father’s shoes
would fit him
although I know my father’s tennis shoes
are not the kind that Max has in mind—
they are not stylish
or new or clean.
I have a little money
I hear myself saying
and I want to cut off my tongue
because I don’t want to part with my money
but before I can say more
Max stands and says
No. Thank. You.
And he takes off running
back down the path
and I stay on the bench
secretly glad that he does not want my money
but profoundly sad that he seems
angry
with
me
and
I
do
not
know
why.
And then I wonder:
if I joined the team
would Max not be mad at me
and if I won the races
would Max not be mad at me?
But it does not seem a good reason
to join a team—
just so someone will not be mad at you.
THE BIRTHING CENTER
Today we visited the birthing center
where my mother will have the baby.
It is not a hospital8—
it looks like a house
and has offices downstairs
and bedrooms upstairs
where the babies will be born.
You can choose your room:
the Colonial, which has a four-poster bed
or the Modern, which is all sharp angles
or the Regency, which is extremely flouncy.
My mother has chosen the Colonial.
Next to each bedroom is a room
sheltering a blue whirlpool tub
and on the other side of the bedroom
is a bathroom
and across from that is an office
with an incubator and scales
and scary-looking equipment.
Only women work here
most of them are midwives
and they will bring the baby
into the world
and if there is a problem9
there is a hospital five minutes away.
My mother loved the birthing center
but my father looked a little worried
and on the way home he asked my mother
again if she was absolutely sure
that this is where she wanted
to have the baby
and she said yes
and she reminded him that
at the birthing center
both he and I
could be present
for the whole birth.
We would not miss one single moment.
My father cleared his throat
and tried to smile
because I think he really wants to be there
and to be a good husband and father
but he feels a little queasy about it, too<
br />
and me, I am so proud that I can be there
it makes me feel grown up
but I am also a little queasy
because I do not want to see my mother
in pain
and I do not know if I can stay calm
which is what the midwives say that
we will need to be.
We have to study the coaching manuals
to know how to help my mother breathe
and we have to watch the videos
to know what to expect
and the birth of the alien baby
is starting to seem more real
and I am going to be there
and I will have a sister or brother
and I will not be afraid.10
APPLE
I have been feeling so proud
that I have not lost my apple.
Most people are on their third or fourth
apple by now
but I’ve been hoping to keep mine
right up until the one hundredth
drawing.
Its skin has not been looking so shiny
lately
and sometimes it seems that it has
shrunk
but still it is MY apple
completely different
from anyone else’s apple
which came as a surprise to me.
Sometimes I can stare at one tiny patch
of my apple
for the longest time
and the more I study it
the more I see in that one little patch:
the smallest indentations
multiple colors
flecks and spots—
a miniature landscape.
I thought that the apple
would be easier to draw each day
but it is harder
trying to capture all those
colors and flecks and spots.
When I was running today
and thinking about the apple
I felt as if I was full of that apple
and I knew the apple11
and I couldn’t wait to get home
to draw it
but
I
could
not
find
my
apple.
I always leave it in the same place
on my windowsill
but I searched my whole room
and then the rest of the house
and then I peeked into Grandpa’s room.
He was lying on the bed
asleep
and I was about to close the door again
when I saw it—
my apple—
on his nightstand
with
one
bite
taken
out
of
it.
THE BITE
It was very good
Grandpa says
as I snatch the apple
from his nightstand
but I didn’t want to eat any more.
I was saving it for later.
I feel sad for my poor bitten apple
but I put it back on the nightstand
and as I am leaving the room
I get an idea:
I will draw the apple
with a bite out of it
and then I will draw the apple
with two bites out of it
and on and on
a diminishing apple
vanishing
until
there
is
just
a
core
remaining
and something else I know instantly:
that I will not need to look at the apple12—
that I can draw
the apple that’s in my mind.
LINES
On the days we have art class
Miss Freely shows us how to use
different mediums
pen and ink
charcoal
pastels
acrylics.
I have drawn my apple
with each of them
and my favorites are
the pen and ink
and the chalky pastel ones.
Miss Freely asked us each to choose
our ten favorite apple drawings
so far
and she has posted these
all around the room
hundreds of apples
apples apples apples
everywhere.
I walk round and round
the room
looking at all the different apples
and I spot one
which looks like a hat
an apple hat
so I know it must be Kaylee’s.
At first I think I will not find mine
among all the hundreds of apples
but they jump out at me
and I know them instantly
as mine.
I know my line
and now I can see what Miss Freely
says about line
how you can see the difference
among the drawings.
Miss Freely is looking through
the rest of my folder
sixty apples
plus the ten on the wall
seventy days
seventy apples.
She closes the folder
and holds it to her chest
and pats the folder
once
twice
and then she moves on
to another student’s folder
and I am wondering
what she thinks
and suddenly I think
that I will be sad
when I draw the
one hundredth apple
because it will be
the apple core
and because now I know
that there is still so much more
to learn about apples.
FORBIDDEN WORDS
Mr. Welling put a list of forbidden words
on the board today.
He says we use these words too much
and they are empty words and phrases
and we should try to talk and to write
without using them.
Here is his list:
very
like
ya know?
uh
well
stuff
yeah
Kaylee raised her hand and said
Well, what—
Mr. Welling tapped the board
next to the word well.
Kaylee started again
Like, ya know—
Mr. Welling tapped the board
at like and ya know.
Kaylee was getting angry.
What I am trying to ask—
She paused, listening to herself
pleased that she’d managed
not to say any forbidden words
before she moved on.
is, like—wait! No! Don’t tap!
What I am trying to ask—
She paused again, thinking.
is—is—well, crud—no, not well—
Most of us were laughing
we couldn’t help it
and Kaylee turned to us and said
If you think it is so easy, you try it!
And so other people tried to speak
but each of us could barely ask
a single question
or make a single comment
without using at least one
of the forbidden words.
It was very—oops, no, not very—
it was extremely amusing.
It is easier in writing to avoid
the forbidden words
but I see that I do use
very
a lot.13
SHOELESS
After school I see Max at the track
being scolded by his coach
who is holding a pair of running shoes
worn and beaten
waving them in front of Max.
I cannot hear the coach’s words
but I figure he is trying to get Max
proud Max
to take the used shoes.
Max stands with his arms crossed
defiant
scowling
and I am thinking he should not be
so proud
when I see the girls’ coach
coming toward me.
She says
I saw you run yesterday, Annie
up near the stone church—
that was you, wasn’t it?
I say, Maybe.
She says, You have a fine stride—
I cross my arms
like Max.
What is it you’re afraid of?
she asks.
I do so want to punch her14
because there is something about her
some poking, prying, pushy thing
that engulfs me
but I do not punch her
instead I say
I am not afraid.
I love to run
but I love to run by myself.
She studies me
disbelieving
a little scornful
as if I am hiding something
or lying to her
and then she smiles
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