I spot one girl with chalk
drawing swirls on the pavement.
I take pictures
of kids running
laughing
crying
crawling
over ground that once held the prayers
of a community.
Years ago
on this same playground,
Holly pushed the tire swing
as I held firm to the rope.
We didn’t need anyone else.
She jumped up onto the swing.
We sat across from each other
until we took flight
and even the sun followed.
WHOLENESS
When I get home
Holly’s doing yoga.
I hear the recording going.
Inhale up,
exhale down.
I imagine the photos I just took
in my mind’s eye:
The composition of the old boulder
peering into the playground.
The way the light
hits the swings.
The contrast in the kids crying
with the ones laughing.
I know
there is potential.
~~Take a few deep breaths myself,
try to hold still,
but I can’t bury this feeling.~~
Don’t want to.
The application is due 11/15,
only five weeks away.
Only five weeks to build a portfolio.
I look at the brochure
from the Westside Center
the Intermediate Photo class,
the class that starts next week,
the class that costs more than I have saved.
I don’t know
yet
how to pay the whole
$350
but
I do know this:
This is something I have to do.
I fill out the registration form.
Inhale up,
exhale down.
SATURDAY NIGHT
Holly has her “going out” music on,
as much a part of her routine
as homework,
soccer practice,
yoga.
Mom at work, on-call,
Dad and I have a plan
to watch our show.
Mostly we watch fantasies.
Before Holly leaves
hair perfectly straightened
best jeans
makeup just right—
hard not to wonder
if she will look different
after.
I ask if she wants to talk about it.
She says no but thanks.
Says she’s excited.
Squeezes my hand.
After she leaves,
I rub the spot
where her hand gripped mine.
Whisper, “Good luck?”
to the space
she left behind.
HAZY LIGHT
Before our show starts
I go out
get Dad & me ice cream.
But the way the lights flicker
above the park
calls to me.
The night set aglow.
I
enter.
Promise myself I’ll be quick.
Follow the hazy light
down paths
past people
but I’m stopped
drawn
by the carousel,
horses still
silent
in the night.
I walk closer.
There’s a guy there
with blue hair—
smoking an electronic cigarette.
In the dark, the light from it
a firefly.
I take a picture of this boy—
his light—
all those colored horses
inside a ring
and huge trees
limbs like arms
hovering.
Watching and clicking
my insides spark alive
color gleaming
in the blanketed darkness.
Floating,
then
force myself to
rejoin the world
beyond the park.
BORN TO BE
When I get home,
“I couldn’t decide
which flavors to get.”
He chuckles,
seems to believe me.
We each grab a spoon, dig in.
At the very same time, we say yum.
Before I can stop it,
thoughts creep in:
What would it have been like
if it had been just us?
What would it have been like
never knowing
I had a better-than-me sister
with a fuller-than-mine life?
What would it have been like
never facing
disappointment
from a never-happy-with-me mother?
If it had been just us,
maybe Dad would’ve let me be
just who I was born to be.
INVASION
In the middle of our show,
the elves invading the gnomes,
a text from Ellery:
WE HOOKED UP!
Emojis parade behind the words.
Of course I know she means
Taryn.
What do you say to that?
I write: OMG Congrats
but as I do
my heart sags.
Holly & Stefano,
now Ellery & Taryn.
still //just//
click//
click//
Linc.
ALMOST
I strain to hear the door
when Holly comes home.
Hear the water running
as she brushes her teeth,
washes her face.
I head next door
to ask her how it was.
But when I do,
I hear her on the phone
giggling.
Maggs.
I turn
around
go back to my room.
I sketch on my wall.
Two tiny birds
walking
in a line
on
a
tightrope.
Take a picture of it for Ellery
and send.
I keep checking my phone until I fall asleep
but she never writes back.
RESTS
Sunday,
I wake up to
a flurry of texts from Ellery.
How amazing Taryn is.
How smart.
Hot.
But not one caption
for the image I sent.
Before breakfast,
Holly comes to me,
says:
“It was perfect.”
A part of me
wants to believe her.
But her eyes give it away,
she blinks too many times.
Her smile stays wide, though.
I give a small smile back.
Holly forgave me for not voting,
she helped me get Roy’s camera,
maybe I owe it to her
to believe her
?
“I’m happy for you, Holly.”
I try to sound like
I mean it.
OUR SUNDAY RELIGION
I.
By Sunday afternoon,
Holly has somehow
lost her virginity
but also done her homework
chores
gone for a run.
She spins in a swirl of gold stars.
She helps Mom & Dad
finish the Sunday crossword puzzle,
building bridges made
of esoteric words.
While I count my money,
try to figure out how to pay
for the photo class at the Center,
Mom enters.
No knock.
Wineglass in hand.
I knew she was coming.
Weekdays she spot-checks,
Sundays she reads through
every
single
assignment.
This is our religion:
Devotions began in sixth grade,
when my
“overactive imagination”
became laziness, procrastination.
Sidestepping the truth:
I’m just not—
won’t ever be—
book smart.
of my lab report,
a short English essay,
a set of math problems,
tell her I’m going outside
to work on my history project.
Run for the park,
camera swinging.
II.
There
I focus
on a path in the center
of where Seneca Village once stood.
Two little girls,
skipping,
holding hands.
There
I see
the rock outcropping
that sits across from where
the All Angels (integrated) Church
once stood.
As I snap photos of
the black-and-white stone
I command the colors to blur.
Envision myself with
a teacher
a class
a way
to capture this history better.
III.
Home two hours later.
Mom greets me,
pacing,
her mouth a tight line,
drink in hand,
she guides me into my room.
“To talk.”
Worse than weeknights,
Sundays are when her voice
gets louder,
meaner.
Sunday is the day she drinks.
When we were younger, she never did.
But now—libations have been added
to our Sunday tradition—
the only day when she says
everything she thinks.
She pulls lines from her “Bible”:
“How can you still not understand this stuff?”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“When will you take your work seriously?”
Every assignment lined with red.
I bend my head,
another ritual,
whisper sorry.
She tells me that’s not enough.
Makes me sit down at my desk.
Watches me
as I make
each correction.
My hand shakes.
Problems blur
and then when she yells
“Focus, Linc, Jesus”—
I do, I do.
I try, I try.
Finally,
she leaves to pour another glass.
Then another.
A few more than usual.
She’s done with me.
I hear her bedroom door close.
And the whole house sighs in relief.
Amen.
EXCUSES
Dad comes in
like he does every time this happens,
delivers snacks, sympathies,
makes excuses for Mom:
She just wants what’s best for you.
She’s been stressed at work.
Holly comes in
like she does every time this happens,
tries to distract me with some gossip
about kids I hardly know:
Cara got dumped by Seth,
Liam finally came out.
But there’s something else
I want to talk about.
“Did you notice Mom drank more
than usual today?”
Holly flicks her wrist.
Cracks her neck.
She says yes
then continues on
about Cara and Seth.
After she leaves,
I stay in my room
like I do every time this happens,
work on the details
in my wall sketches:
shading petals,
growing stems.
Then take pictures of each drawing,
intensify their color.
Dim.
Intensify.
ALLOWANCES
Monday,
Mom
leaves our allowances
on the table
plus
a note for Holly:
Have a great day!
One for me:
Attitude is everything. Make today count!
As if I can change
the inferior functioning
of my own brain
just by thinking positively.
I grab my bag
stash the money
throw the note
in the trash.
Imagine it
bursting into flames.
CIRCLES
At lunch, Taryn sits with us.
Both sides of her head shaved,
the hair on top flops to the side.
A Jewish star around her neck.
She tosses me a hey.
I throw a hey back.
Taryn doesn’t say anything else
to me, her eyes stuck on Ellery.
Ellery asks about my weekend.
I tell her it was like every other weekend.
She blushes, says
~~more to Taryn than to me~~
hers wasn’t.
As if that wasn’t obvious already.
She & Taryn
draw a circle
around themselves,
me on the periphery.
They sit shoulder to shoulder
curl in together just like
Holly & Stefano
so close
they push everyone else
farther out.
If I ever find someone
of my own
we won’t be a circle
but something with edges
and openings.
INSTINCT
After lunch, in the hallway—
I’m behind
Stefano
and his friends
when I hear him say
“she finally gave it up.”
Watch him high-five,
receive congrats.
It was perfect,
she said.
My body goes stiff.
It’s not a choice
I make
so much as a
&nb
sp; reflex—
I shove him
as hard as I can.
PREDATORS
He’s caught off guard
stumbles forward
turns around.
Sees it’s me.
“What the hell, Linc?”
His friends surround him,
laugh.
I am small
in comparison
but I
feel
huge.
Ellery bounds up to my side.
Right to his face I say:
“Don’t ever talk about Holly that way.”
A crowd gathers
Stefano and I eyes deadlocked
neither one of us prey
when the vice principal
sprouts from the center.
WEIGHT
We’re taken to the office.
Stefano is seen first.
Ellery waits with me,
keeps asking me what Stefano said
to make me so upset.
I don’t tell her Holly’s business,
shrug off her questions.
Mr. Chapman calls me in,
Ellery says, “Good luck.”
He asks what happened.
What happened is that
Stefano is an asshole.
He doesn’t deserve my sister.
If my words held weight,
he wouldn’t be
the other half of her circle.
SUSPENDED
The vice principal says
academic probation
plus this “act of violence”
equals
suspension
for a week.
Mr. Chapman looks at me
sympathetically, leaves.
My parents are called,
one of them has to take me home
even though I usually
go back and forth to school
all the time
//alone.//
My stomach spins—
Mom.
Her anger.
Her disappointment.
Suddenly,
my mind catches up—
what does this mean for my permanent record?
My GPA?
(and IAA?)
I watch the vice principal on the phone,
focus on its cord,
how she curls it around her finger.
She doesn’t reach my mom.
Tries again.
Dad.
Exhale.
At least he can
break the news to her.
“Unfortunately, Mr. Malone, Linc’s been suspended.”
I watch her skywrite the words
I watch them hang in the air
then slowly disappear.