by Sarah Tregay
Childish Games
We play games meant for kids
younger than us by years—
duck-duck-goose,
Chutes and Ladders,
Candy Land,
and Twister.
Bug crawls around, wide-eyed.
Wondering, probably, why all the laughter?
She isn’t sure what to think
of the Mylar balloons,
the crepe paper streamers,
of her uncle and the Leftovers.
She decides that the party,
most certainly, is for her
because she doesn’t
see any other baby,
just her friend Emily,
sitting out.
Roller Coaster
“Em?” I ask, pulling my chair close to hers.
“Is all of this really okay with you?”
(I think it’s really weird
to celebrate an adopted baby’s birthday,
when he isn’t here.)
Em looks at me.
Tears have tracked shiny lines down her pretty face.
(I’m ready to call the whole thing off,
whisk her away, feed her orange juice,
chicken soup, and One A Day vitamins.)
“Yeah.” She nods.
“I’m saying good-bye to my baby.”
“You sure?” I ask again.
“Uh-huh, it’s part of my grieving process.
Sharon, my therapist,
says it’s okay to feel emotions.”
“Like all of them? All at once?” I ask.
(Olive, Ian, Carolina, and Katie collapse
into a giddy giggling mess on the Twister mat.)
“Happy and sad.”
Emily nods, then smiles.
“All mixed up,” I say,
and wrap her in a hug.
Flame
Katie’s mom dims the lights,
brings in a cupcake and candle.
In the flickering candlelight,
we sing “Happy Birthday” to Emily’s baby.
Sitting on Linus’s lap, Bug spies the flame
and bursts into tears because the food is on fire.
“It’s okay, my little friend,”
Katie’s mom explains.
Emily blows out the candle
and says, “One year down.”
Emily’s giggles turn to tears
as Bug’s tears turn to giggles.
To Love, To Family, To Friends
Katie’s mom makes a toast,
to family and to friends.
“I want to thank Emily,
on behalf of adoptee families everywhere,
for her selfless gift.
The gift of life
that makes families like ours complete.
We love our daughter, Katie,
like the parents of Em’s baby love him.
So much—so much I can’t explain.”
“I love Katie, too,”
Angelo announces,
wrapping his arms around her.
I look at Linus holding Bug—
both sticky with frosting.
And think he’s the one.
Not just for silly parties,
Candy Land and Twister,
but for all the times in between.
There, watching Linus
feed Bug bits of cupcake,
I decide
to patch up my mistakes, his heart.
To make mortar out of tears.
I’ve Changed My Mind,
All I Want Is Everything
I want respect. I will respect.
I want love. I will love
I want passion. with passion.
A Conversation for Adults
When I tell Mom that
my friend Emily
has a therapist named Sharon,
she says, “That’s good.”
“Maybe what is good for Emily
would be good for you, too,” I suggest.
“Yes, I should talk to a counselor.
But I have to take my meds, too.”
“Meds?”
“I suffer from depression, Marcie.”
“I know, I mean, I noticed.”
“So I need to take antidepressants.”
“Are you?”
“I’ve started again.” She sighs.
“But you weren’t?”
“No. Not after your dad . . .
um, made his announcement.
I just took the Ambien. Not the others.”
“Why not?”
“Because I wanted to feel something—
my husband left me for a
twenty-seven-year-old man
and all I felt was numb.”
“Huh?”
“My meds build this barrier
between me and my emotions—
leaving me without a backstage pass.”
“You wanted to feel bad?”
“I was depressed.
I couldn’t see straight, think straight.”
“You could have told me.
I could have called the doctor.
I could have helped—”
She says, “I’m sorry, Marcie,”
her voice all shaky.
“I didn’t know how to ask for help.
I didn’t realize that you’d understand.”
She sniffles.
My lower lip starts to tremble
and I grip the receiver,
as if it were her hand.
Revelations
“Don’t cry, Mommy,” I say,
because hearing her sob is breaking my heart.
“I wasn’t a good mom, was I?”
“Everybody makes mistakes.”
“But I’m the parent.”
“Not even parents are perfect.”
“Ethan is. I hated that,
always trying to be his storybook bride.
I couldn’t do it.”
“Daddy doesn’t seem
like he expected much.”
“No, I just felt like he was too good for me—
because I had to see a psychotherapist
and take medicine just to get by.”
Mom Plans to Come for a Visit
She says she won’t stay too long—
that she’s looking for a job in Boston
and has to move in with Aunt Greta
before the first of March,
but she’ll come see me.
I don’t care
what she’s planning
as long as she’s here.
Even if
it is
just for a little while.
My Mother Always Told Me
that women could be anything they wanted to be
mayor | governor | senator | president
But I guess it never occurred to her that I’d act like
a player | a frat boy | my father | Bill Clinton
Then again, I don’t think it was part of her plan to be
a thief | a kidnapper | addicted | depressed
She certainly thought I was above depending on boys for
doughnuts | coffee | companionship | acceptance
Instead I had turned to J.D. to make me feel
worthwhile | beautiful | sexy | happy
And hurt someone who loved me because I was
careless | insensitive | mean | self-centered
Now that I am man-free, Mom would probably say
that I have achieved some sort of feminist
Zen | pride | accomplishment | freedom
But no matter how hard I try, I still yearn for
hugs | kisses | smiles | a hand to hold.
Wishful Thinking
Today I was looking at Linus
in that way girls look at guys,
watching his actions,
his body,
his hands,
listening to the timbre of his voice
(and n
ot hearing the words),
watching his eye movement,
just in case our eyes should meet
for a brief moment
in time.
What My Ex-Boyfriend Doesn’t Know
I have the
biggest crush
on him.
On One Side
Seeing Linus at the bus stop,
slouched on Katie’s couch while we study,
in the cafeteria, pushing ketchup around his plate,
starts an emotional tug-of-war.
I’m on one side rooting for Emily
(because she deserves the nicest guy on planet Earth).
As Emily’s cheerleader I want her to win.
(She deserves a decent boyfriend.)
But she keeps dropping passes
(turning her head away from a direct on-the-lips kiss)
fumbling the ball
(letting go of his hand to tuck her hair behind her ear)
and faking left instead of running right
(making excuses every time he invites her somewhere).
The only thing she and Linus do together
is babysit his niece.
And it’s okay. I’ve done that, too.
But you can only get so much kissing done
between bottles, baths, and binkies.
On the Other Side
I’m on the other side
(wanting Linus back).
When I root for my team, I want to win.
(Because I deserve a rematch).
I receive every serve
(smiling when he says hello to me)
return every volley
(talking about the weather when he offers one word)
and covet every match
(hoping to shake the “ex-girlfriend”
label and trade it in for “friend”).
The only things Linus and I do together
are wait for the bus,
eat lunch (well, I eat, anyway), and
study at Katie’s with the Leftovers.
But you can only get so much conversation in
between buses, bells, and books.
Every Morning at the Bus Stop
I say hello to Linus, hoping that someday,
like back in eighth grade, we can be friends again,
when we hung out in his room and talk about everything
for hours. just because.
“Brrr,” he says, “Cold,” I agree.
his breath forming steam “But at least,
in the frostbitten air. it’s gonna be sunny.”
Just Silence
Katie and I
spread our notebooks and pencils across the coffee table
to write, draw, and eat chocolate chip cookies.
Although we’re quiet,
I know we’re going to be okay.
No more fighting. No more blame. No more tears.
I know because we’re spending time together, alone.
Before the Leftovers come over to study for a history test.
Studying at Katie’s House
Linus sits next to me on the couch,
oddly close, but distant.
Sometimes his knee touches mine,
the soft fringes of torn denim tickling my bare skin.
Maybe it is too close, too soon,
but I enjoy every minute.
I Can’t Find My Blue Notebook
I must have left it at Katie’s.
I know it’s safe.
Katie would guard my secrets
with an army of anime ninja girls
with shadow-clone jutsu powers
who’d leap into action
if anyone tried to read
my poems.
Today at the Bus Stop
“Your cheeks are pink,” Linus says.
My heart beats once.
He steps closer.
I hold my breath.
He takes his hands from his pockets.
And touches my face.
He caresses my cheeks
as if to warm them.
I search his eyes
as if, in them, I could read his thoughts.
Longing? Tenderness? Love?
Okay, so I’m not so good at reading minds.
Except my own.
Longing? Check.
Desire? Check.
Lust? Check.
Heartbeat? Check.
I reach up,
wrap my cold fingers around his warm neck,
and pull his face down toward mine.
At that moment, I decide
I must be dreaming
because he’s not resisting or pulling away.
I kiss his lips, his mouth.
Hungry for him, for heat,
for the stolen moment in dreamland
before he realizes I am not Emily.
He pulls me close.
Air whooshes from my parka.
Our mouths press on.
Tasting like toothpaste and Scope.
“God, Marcie,” he whispers
prayers into my lips.
I pray that my alarm clock
doesn’t run out of snooze.
“Shit,” Linus says. “The bus.”
Linus doesn’t swear in my dreams.
Sitting Down
In Boise,
we don’t ride school buses
in high school.
So Linus and I
slide our cards
through the city bus
fare box.
We step past commuters,
the usual kids from earlier stops.
There’s one seat
and Linus motions
for me to take it.
I do. Even though
I’d rather
sit on his knee
like I used to—
his arms around me
like a seat belt.
I tug on his sleeve, whisper,
“What just happened?”
He bends close.
“That,” he says in my ear,
“was amazing.”
A Moment of Truth
“Does that mean, that you and I—”
“Not so fast,” Linus warns,
caution written in his voice.
“There’s one more thing
you need to know.”
And from his backpack,
he removes a blue notebook.
“It’s yours.
I read it.”
My Notebook
Immediately, I know the notebook’s contents:
poems about love, lust, and loneliness,
docks, fires, and gravel lanes,
big panties and condoms,
blue dresses and rocking canoes,
talent shows and selfish bitches,
quiet crushes and candlelit cupcakes.
“I picked it up by accident—