to understand my photos.
My stomach sinks.
Would Mom ask that too?
Maybe this project
is worthless.
I glance at Silas
who’s beaming at me
and I get the courage.
I say:
“No, I don’t think so.
Whether or not you know the history,
you can see the layering of the images
is significant,
telling a different story
than the one that appears
on the surface.”
Then Silas backs me up, says:
“Really makes you think.
Showing how many things exist at once.”
“Thank you,” I mouth.
In that moment,
I see us
wrapped in the woods
limb to limb
branch to branch.
WITHOUT A CHANCE
More critiques left
including Silas’s
but I have to go—
already twenty minutes late.
But I couldn’t walk out
on my own critique.
Holly will be okay.
Whisper “sorry” to Silas, the class—
gather my things quickly,
rush to rejoin the world.
Outside in the cold,
all my prints in hand,
racing,
beaming with the class’s positive words.
Turn on Amsterdam,
rush to close the gap
between me and where
Holly is waiting,
spy—
a fair-skinned woman
with auburn hair
in a low ponytail,
big brown down coat.
It takes a second for my brain
to catch up with my eyes
but when it does
I realize
the person standing
on the corner is
not Holly,
it’s
my mom.
My heart jumps into my throat.
I freeze.
PROPELLING
Mom grabs me by the arm
and almost pulls me home.
I hang on to my photos
desperately
as her anger propels us forward,
cuts through the wind.
She stops
like she just noticed
what I’m holding.
Grabs them from me.
“Is this what you’ve been doing?”
“Every Saturday? After we told you no?”
“So selfish!”
“What were you thinking?”
she yells
as we continue down the street.
The wind rushes past.
What were you thinking?
The question repeats.
But this time
it’s me who asks.
The air
cyclones.
Stupid/
stupid/
stupid.
And then repeat.
LOCATING
Holly hardly looks at me
when I get home.
I can hardly look at her
either.
Then
I take out my phone.
Dead.
Shit.
What happened?
I don’t get the chance to ask her.
My parents need answers
need to know
NOW:
How long have I been lying?
As angry as they are,
I am almost used to it by now.
Mom looks expectant, mad.
But—
Dad looks hopeful
like I might have a good explanation.
It hurts much more.
I take a deep breath.
Tell them the truth about the class.
How I paid for it.
Then it isn’t Mom
but Dad
who starts yelling.
Click/
click/
switch.
AFTER DREAMS
Dad says
my behavior
is unacceptable.
I tell him I’m just trying
to go after my dreams.
“Don’t I deserve to try?”
“Don’t my dreams mean anything to either of you?”
But he says I’m being selfish.
That they cannot trust me.
That they are so disappointed.
That I’m grounded again.
Mom asks:
Was it worth it?
So I don’t tell them about IAA.
How the Center was a means
to get me there.
It would only make things
worse—
Dad’s harsh words
Mom’s icy looks
make that clear—
so I say the only thing left to say:
another
flimsy
“sorry.”
STRETCHING
I walk into Holly’s room
without knocking
this time.
She’s in downward dog.
“How could you do this to me?”
She finishes her stretch.
Moves into plank.
Calmly says, “I was worried.”
Her calm makes me angrier.
“I would never rat you out like that!”
She moves into a cross-legged position.
“Look, I’m sorry.
I waited ten minutes
on the street for you.
It was freezing.
I came home
and Mom was here,
insisting that I explain why
I came back without you—
you know how she can be!
Besides, that guy you were with . . .
I did not get a good vibe.”
“This is not about him. It’s about me!
Going after what I want and
everyone else just getting in the way and
ruining things.
And you don’t know anything about him!
Or me!”
I leave her as she shrinks further into herself.
Child’s pose.
IN ORDER
Slam my door,
lock it.
Plug in my phone.
I have
the prints from class,
some of them even multiples.
Who cares if I’m grounded.
I can
still make my portfolio.
Glue
captions to the photo backs.
Put
my photos in order of the map.
Forge
my parents’ signatures.
How much more trouble could I get in now?
Check
the shipping places open this time of night.
Find
three on the Upper West Side.
I’ve got nothing left to lose.
POUNDING
After Mom & Dad go to bed,
Holly on the phone, laughing,
I sneak
down into the kitchen
rip
a check from Dad’s checkbook
for the application fee, shipping
then head out
into the night
wad
e through
the city that never sleeps.
Every step echoes
pounds
into my head
my mother’s words
my father’s too.
Every piece of litter
every “don’t walk”
screams and scowls,
“Selfish.”
“Childish.”
I ignore them all,
carry my application to a 24-hour UPS.
Dare myself.
Mail it.
WORTHINESS
I walk and walk and walk.
I can’t go home yet.
Think of texting Ellery
but I don’t have
the energy to explain
everything.
At least there’s
one person who
knows enough already
and who
really gets me
really sees me.
He said my images
make the viewer think.
Was it worth it?
my mom asked.
Every step I take
is a
yes
yes
yes.
I text him I’m coming his way.
DRIFT & HOLD
Silas
blinks twice
when he sees me on the street.
Snow drifting at his feet.
He doesn’t ask questions,
just holds his arms outstretched i fall right in
Looking into his eyes,
I find the words.
I tell him how
I lied
stole money
to pay for the class.
My sister ratted me out.
I tell him I just mailed in my application to IAA.
Screw my parents.
Tells me he had a shitty night too.
“What happened?”
I ask.
But he doesn’t say
why
what
or who.
And like he’s read my mind,
he says now that we’re
//together//
the rest of it doesn’t matter.
A HALO
He backs me
into a street alley.
If I took his photo
now
it would be a portrait:
the light in back of him,
a halo.
He says forget about your parents—
everyone can see you’re talented.
He tells me I am beautiful,
a visionary,
pulls me closer.
“As beautiful as your ex?”
I ask.
He doesn’t respond.
“Have you had a lot of girlfriends?”
“Linc,” he says,
“I’m into you.”
I feel it in his body.
I let myself believe him.
FLASHES IN THE DARK
We go into a random movie.
There’s hardly anyone in the theater.
The lights go down.
We don’t see much of anything,
just each other.
I’ve never had anyone touch me
where he does.
Bra undone, zipper down.
Here, in a theater.
Feels like I’m inside a movie myself.
I feel shy about touching him,
he shows me how.
His eyes close.
His face glimmers.
I ignore whatever story is being told.
Ignore my phone
when it lights up
with text after text.
Power it down
without reading.
Say yes to him.
The movie screen’s images
the only flashes
pulsing
in the dark.
FRAMING
SOMETHING INSIDE
After the movie,
Silas says
he has to deal with “some things.”
We’ll see each other soon.
I ask him if we are, like,
exclusive.
“Sure,” he says back.
I smile.
We kiss goodbye,
but I keep that warmth inside
as I pass
each person
car
flashing light
all the way back
uptown.
DOUBLE MOMENT
I walk inside
quietly,
almost jump when I see
Holly.
She says she covered
for me
didn’t tell anyone
I was gone.
Is that supposed to make me
forgive her?
I tell her I’m still
mad.
She says she didn’t
have a choice.
Couldn’t she have chosen to wait just a little longer?
Couldn’t she have chosen not to tell Mom?
“You don’t get it.
Mom & Dad are different
with you—
they let
you do
just what
you want
what you love.”
She nods, says,
“But they don’t know
everything I want.”
Tears hover in her eyes.
I can tell
she wants me
to ask
what she means
but tonight
I don’t want to.
I want to keep
me and Silas
our shared night
alive.
So:
I go to my room
climb into bed
eyes wide open,
I watch a slide show.
No angry mother
no disappointed father
no sad sister, just
Silas & me
kissing
over and over and over again.
LAYERS
The next morning,
Mom doesn’t let me sleep in.
She says she knows
my final history project
is due in a week.
I don’t need her to
remind me.
Reread
revise
polish
my essay
try to prove point by point
that the expulsion of the inhabitants
was a tragedy.
That the community is one
that deserves
remembering.
I can’t know the suffering
of an African American
owning land for the first time
then being robbed of it.
An Irish immigrant
trying to make a new home
in a foreign country, not their own.
I can’t know how that kind of displacement
feels.
But I do know what it’s like to glimpse
a sense of belonging
just to be tossed right
out-
side of it.
EVERY ANGLE
Monday
Silas texts that he’ll miss me
in class this week.
I text him
you and me both.
Send a crying emoji
face.
In history class,
Ellery
shows me
her outline
she’s printed out
and then crossed out,
written over.
Other students mumble
that this project
is making them crazy,
that they don’t have enough
source material,
that they know they’re
going to fail.
Later,
at home,
I look down at my own.
This project
these photographs
this history.
I stand up.
Move across the room.
I look at my images from
every angle
the way they tell a story.
But whether sideways or upside down
my work
doesn’t make me feel crazy—
it is the only thing that grounds me.
SNAPSHOT
All week I
study
do homework
keep my head down
my GPA up
focus on
English quiz on Julius Caesar
chemistry problem sets
geometry too
rework my essay for history.
Ignore texts from Ellery.
Now, Saturday—
during the time
I’m supposed to be
in photo class #5—
Mom & Dad demand
I organize the overstuffed hall closet.
They say that in addition to being grounded,
I will do chores to make up for
the stolen money.
Fiona,
Silas,
all my classmates
making art
as I sort loose wrapping paper,
hunt for matching gloves.
A box labeled “Roy Memorabilia”
—the one that held his camera—
makes me stop.
I make sure no one
is around before I
open it up.
Inside:
a small sketchbook
full of
hands,
faces,
buildings
a card
“My dearest Cynthia sister, Where would I be without you?
Let’s live forever together.
Happy Birthday, your dearest Roy brother”
cassette tapes
The B-52s, The Police
a snapshot of teenage Roy
and a friend in front of
a place called Tower Records.
When I hear Mom’s footsteps coming