to think about it.
But I also can’t stand it
any longer:
those unexpected pangs to my heart
when that something rattles at me from
the glass container where I keep it
sealed up inside.
It’s time to poke some holes in the jar
and give it some air.
THE RAT
What??!
I didn’t know THAT!
says Rhea,
when I mention
Furball’s missing.
(I make it sound like
an accident.)
Rhea’s been avoiding
the lunchroom kitchen
because of a little rat
she’s seen scurrying by—
A rat that looks like…
Furball.
GETTING HER BACK
Where could she be???!!!!!!!!
Which
crack
corner
crevice
holds Furball?
Does she know
I wish I could go
back in time,
change things,
not let her out?
Does she know
I didn’t mean it,
that I love her,
even if HE
gave her to me?
These are the questions
on repeat,
the questions I ask
while we search,
Rhea and I—
together.
I also wonder about HER—
my best friend—who is suddenly
the sun shining on me.
And I didn’t even realize
she’d been there all along,
right outside of
the cloud I was stuck in.
Can you be lonely
without knowing it?
Can you get someone back
when you didn’t even know
she was lost?
(NOT REALLY) FINE
On our fifth diner outing
Dad gets the call
I didn’t know would come
until it did,
but then realized
I’d known the whole time
this would happen.
Sorry, kiddo,
his words too bright
in the dim light
of what he’s saying.
A sick baby,
an emergency.
(A REAL emergency,
apparently.)
Melanie in hysterics,
calling him away.
He swings his phone around the joint
of his thumb and forefinger like
he does when he’s nervous,
this stranger I know
so well and
not at all.
I’m only human,
the stranger says,
looking very sad.
I can’t be in
two places
at once.
You’re going NOW? Already?
Mom’s sharp voice pierces through the phone
when he says we’ll be back early,
on his way to the airport.
But I know this is good news
for her, his leaving,
his leaving me.
Never mind
the sinking feeling
in my tummy from him pulling
the plug on this diner daddy duo thing
that wasn’t really real.
I need to remember
what’s at stake.
Maybe if he forgets
about me again
I can stay home and
Mom will stop crying
when she thinks I can’t see.
Dad, I say, neutral,
no hint of a whine,
no complaining,
it’s fine.
My bright moment,
look at that good girl
so grown-up:
I think you should go.
They need you there.
NOT UP TO ME
On the way back home
Detective Dad is back,
asks me to tell him if It
only happened That Once.
His voice is gentle,
it’s the same question
Mom asked, but he
says I HAVE to tell him,
that he NEEDS to know.
And I—
I don’t want to live with you!!!!
—LOSE it.
Well, it’s not up to you!
Dad’s face is red, but
his eyes look sorry.
He even follows
up with words:
I shouldn’t have
snapped at you.
But he’s right.
It never was
up to me:
Who lives where (across the entire country, that’s where)
Who lives with him (his new family: Melanie and now that sick baby)
Who I live with (far away, not with him)
Who gets split up (Mom and Dad, me and Dad, Tay and Dad)
Being good is good for nothing:
it’s never been up to me
and it never will be.
I may as well be a terror.
Being good doesn’t help at all.
THE GOOD GIRL
But when I see Mom’s
pinched-up face waiting
for us in the driveway,
I try to get the good girl back—
FAST—
And I only slam the door shut
on his expensive rental truck
instead of kicking it.
TAY AND ME
Later on, after
Dad’s long gone,
I knock on Tay’s door.
I stand there a minute,
trying to find the words
to apologize to
my baby sister
who stares at me
so serious like
she’s aged twenty years
in a few weeks.
I’m sorry, I mumble,
but before I can say more,
about hogging Dad,
about stupidly having hope,
Tay stops me short.
I know, she says.
I get it.
But—I start up.
She cuts me off again.
You’re not the one
who needs to say
Sorry.
THE SEARCH
How could Furball
have gotten to
Treetop Elementary?!?
The backpack.
It’s the only thing
we can think of,
Rhea and me.
Furball must have
somehow gotten into
my backpack.
We search and
we search and
we search but
no luck.
The kitchen,
the coatroom,
the rotten-mushroom-scented gym closet,
art.
Before school,
after school,
bathroom trips back inside at recess,
lunch.
Every
spare second
we have but
no luck.
My heart jumps
for a second when
something wriggles (!!)
on a card table jumbled
with toilet roll tunnels.
But this critter
belongs to a fourth-grade
science fair project:
someone else’s pet.
HOW OLD?
Maybe it’s the cold, cold,
early March morning,
which makes the warm water running
down my back
my arms
my legs
feel so good,
like I’m going to melt
into a lounge chair
at the beach.
/> And somehow in my delicious state,
for some unknowable reason in my vacationing mind,
old words from who knows back when—
Preschool?
Younger?
—start flowing out of my mouth.
Grab your ducky,
start to hope.
Aren’t you lucky?
You’ll need your soap.
Pouring out of me,
smooth and goofy.
I laugh and then start
the chorus:
Bath-bath,
Bath, bathtime!
Bath-bath,
Bath, bathtime!
The bathroom door opens
into a grinning Tay on my
towel-clad way out to my room.
She snorts at me.
HOW old are you now?
It’s a dig I used to make at her,
when she’d throw a fit
at a restaurant or grocery store,
or anywhere else
that embarrassed me.
So I stick my tongue out at her,
which just makes her eyes twinkle
as she laughs at me some more.
Seriously, Tay says,
What WAS that song?
I pull the smaller towel off my hair
and whip it at her.
Bathtime Bomp.
STILL WEIRD
I sassed Mom yesterday
about how fast
(okay, fine, how slow)
I cleared the table.
Her face got all
overripe tomato
like it does
when she’s about
to explode.
And I felt a little jolt
of surprise ’cause
I haven’t seen
that expression
in a while.
Guess this ghost girl’s
been a model chore-do-er
what with my mind
distracted and my body
only half here.
But then instead of
flinging demands
and commands
and reprimands
(that was a challenge
spelling word last week),
Mom laughed
a short, barky laugh.
Her anger kind of
whooshed out
like when you let go
of the end of a balloon.
And then she laughed
some more.
And then I laughed too.
She’s back, she said,
my girl, I’ve missed her.
And then I started crying
(tried to pretend I was
only laughing,
let my bangs fall over
my eyes)
because it all reminded me
how things are
Still
Weird.
GUESS WHO?
When I get home from school today,
guess who’s there in the living room?
Grandma’s sitting on the sofa
facing the front door
when I come through it,
like she’s been there all day,
waiting for me
to get home.
I am so
not in the mood
to talk about
meatloaf.
But she doesn’t.
She just stretches both hands
out to me
and says,
I’m sorry.
WHY GRANDMA’S HERE
It turns out
I wasn’t the only one.
Another kid told on him.
It turns out
Uncle Andy got arrested.
He wants to get bailed out.
It turns out
that’s why Grandma’s here with me.
She came straight here instead.
A START
It turns out
that “sorry” isn’t the same
thing as back to normal.
When Grandma leaves,
I let her give me
a hug on her way
out the door past
Mom’s tense face.
I can’t melt into her hug—
not like before—though
it crushes my lungs
with her trying.
I promise
to come back
again soon,
she whispers
into my hair.
As Mom closes the door,
she looks at me with
a crooked almost-smile.
Well, it’s a start.
SPRINGTIME
When did the trees lose their leaves?
Now they have new buds. I see
how they look like thorns before
they unfurl as new leaves.
When did it get so cold?
Now it’s warming up; I feel
my skin basking in the bright
sun toasting the cold air.
When did fall and winter come and go?
Now it is spring, and I hear
birds twittering like crazy,
eager to catch up, so much to do.
WHAT THEN?
What if he goes to prison?
I shake my head clear, squint down at the work sheet in front of me.
What if he doesn’t?
Math’s not really my thing, but I kind of like decimals.
What if I want him to?
They’re so neat and tidy, their little dots telling you everything you need to know.
What if I never see him again?
These
What-Ifs
will
make me
lose my mind,
lose my Self.
What if
I lose
the What-Ifs?
What then?
My pencil scratches, and I have
the answer.
THE OTHERS
How could I be glad?
That other kid,
who is she?
Or he?
Mom says now it’s more,
more than one other kid
who’s told.
Do they live near here,
maybe one street over,
on Magnolia Way?
Or far away from here,
maybe in Florida,
or New York City,
where He used to travel
for work sometimes?
Are they my age,
almost eleven,
just a couple short months
to make it official?
How could I be glad it
happened to them too?
I do feel bad for them,
I do. But…
But it means
I’m not crazy.
It means
I didn’t lie.
It means
Grandma talked to me
about the ham she’s
planning for Easter.
And Dad is finally
dropping his fight
for custody.
(Maybe he feels like
something got solved.
Probably he realized
he didn’t really want
me to live with him and
his new family after all.)
But mainly it means
it wasn’t just me.
How could that make me feel better?
I don’t know.
But it does.
NOT YET
Easter service today,
and there we were
at Grandma’s church,
Mom guilted into going by
Grandma,
me and Tay dragged along by
Mom.
Just like I’d known it would be,
it was stare-at-a-fly-
for-excitement boring.
But then I was listening.
Looked away from that
fascinating fly,
as he got going
about forgiveness.
But… I don’t know.
He said all about
this Lamb
who does it all
for us.
We don’t have to do
anything,
just let the Light shine
out from us.
The Lamb takes care
of the rest.
That’s Forgiveness.
When he said that, I got a
yuck feeling like my
tummy would dribble right
down my legs and onto the
hard wooden pew.
I took a breath
(we were supposed
to be praying), and
I tried to let some Light in.
I peeked at
the stained-glass window
above Pastor Ríos.
And there was the Lamb.
A little baby Lamb.
But… I don’t know.
I didn’t feel any sweet
Light there inside me.
Still just the sludgy yuck.
How can you forgive someone
you have been trying
not to think about
ever again?
I felt kind of bad about
feeling the yuck,
not the Light.
But then something in me said:
Not Yet.
And that felt
okay.
A JOKE
Nate Young sits next to me now
that we’ve swapped desks for April.
He is the class clown.
I am a challenge.
Nate:
How many tickles does it take
to make an octopus laugh?
Ten tickles. Get it? Ten-tacles?
Very funny.
But it was. A little bit.
My cheeks hurt from smiling.
Guess I haven’t used those muscles in a while.
MAYBE
It’s so great to hear your voice!
While I unlock my old purple bike from the rack,
When You Know What I Know Page 5