STUCK
On the bus home,
stuck in crosstown traffic,
Dad asks me
to explain.
How do I explain without
betraying Holly?
“I just don’t like him”
is all I can think to say.
“That doesn’t mean it’s okay
to shove him.”
A woman on the bus gives us a sideways glance.
The bus wheezes all the way to a halt.
Then:
“You know what we historians say?”
I say back to him,
not for the first time in my life,
“Humans are their choices.”
And as I do,
everything red turns green
a breeze flies through the bus
traffic starts moving.
CUT & PASTE
When I get home
Dad goes right to his desk.
Humans are their choices.
I go to my room
count my cash again
$40 left over from B&H,
$200 now saved from allowance
$110 to go.
I know everything
would be different
if I could take a photo class
go to school
somewhere
else,
somewhere
I fit in,
somewhere
that takes the arts
takes me
seriously.
My choice is clear.
Cut out: failure, disappointment, suspension.
Paste in: success, pride, creation.
CONSIDERATIONS
My phone pings.
A text from Ellery.
You ok? What happened?
I tell her I’m in deep shit.
She says she’s sorry,
tells me to hang in there.
I have too much to do
to write back.
Before Mom gets home
angry
I send her & Dad an email:
I’m sorry. I know I messed up today.
I know you worked hard to get me into that school.
But would you consider letting me go here, instead?
I will do everything I need to do to get in.
Remember the brochure I showed you?
There’s even a photography class nearby where I could learn a lot of techniques so I would have the skills I need to apply.
www.innovativeartsacademyofnyc.edu
Love,
Linc
STONE CASTLE
Holly swings open the door,
I jump.
“How dare you do this to him—to me?”
She stands above me,
defends her evil prince,
the stone castle they’ve built.
“He said something awful.”
Her face flashes fear.
“What?”
“That you had finally given it up.
He was telling other guys. I had to—”
She shuts her eyes tight.
Her lips move side to side.
She opens her eyes, says:
“Whatever, Linc. You’re just jealous.
I see how you look at him.
I know you’ve never liked him.”
She slams down my schoolwork,
everything of mine
she had to carry home.
Then—
shuts the door
in my face.
CONTINUOUS FOCUS
On a digital camera,
you can press
continuous focus,
keep an image
clear
even as it moves.
In my head,
all through a somber dinner of leftovers,
microwave beeping
silverware scraping
hardly any talking,
I keep continuous focus
on IAA.
Afterward
Mom & Dad
come into my room.
At first
no one speaks.
Then finally,
“Linc, we looked at that website.
I’m sorry, but we will not reward you
for jeopardizing your future,”
says Dad.
“But this is about my future!”
I say.
“We cannot support your desire
to go to art school. And what makes you think
you can even handle extracurriculars?
is your schoolwork!”
says Mom.
They take my phone.
“You’re grounded.”
My eyes blur
but my mind holds on
with continuous focus
sharp,
locked
on what I want.
STAINS
In the morning,
Dad wakes me up
as if I were going to school.
Even though I’m suspended
I still have to do homework,
he says.
In bigger trouble than usual,
but not even Holly
comes to talk to me
this time.
Instead she yells at me
to get out of the bathroom.
Sweeps past me
without a word
when I open the door.
A few minutes later,
I hear her and Mom joking
in the kitchen,
making smoothies
kale banana strawberry
their favorite.
I pull my camera out.
Try to capture this feeling.
I take pictures
fingerprints on the window,
hair shadowing the blanket,
a layer of dust,
until they’re all my eye can see.
They don’t care
about my dreams,
so I do what I have to—
dare myself—
sneak to the petty cash drawer,
the one Mom and Dad keep
for food delivery, quick errands.
20, 40, 60, 80
plenty there—
I take what I need.
CERTAINTY
Dad says he’s working
from home
to monitor
my suspension.
What do they think I’m going to do?
I start with chemistry.
Dad helps me
balance equations
//the right way.//
As I do,
my mind flashes—
to Holly, who loves
the certainty of
math
science
questions that have only
one correct answer.
Questions like
Didn’t I have the right to defend my sister?
Don’t families stick together?
BLANK LEAVES
I.
In second grade,
we had to make family trees.
Holly left most of her leaves
blank.
When she brought it home,
I filled her leaves in
with all of our relatives.
I thought
she forgot
their names.
I thought
she needed my help.
When she saw what I’d done
she screamed
cried
hid my favorite toy
but wouldn’t tell me
why.
Mom told me I shouldn’t write on my sister’s work.
Dad told me he knew I didn’t mean to do anything wrong.
But—
that night she slept with Mom & Dad,
I cried into my pillow, slept alone.
II.
The next day
Holly hugged me and handed me a Twix bar
left over from Halloween.
“One for one?”
she asked.
A peace offering.
“One for one,”
I said,
handing her a Twizzlers,
her favorite.
And we never said anything more.
III.
Later,
Dad explained
Holly was upset
because she wanted
the teacher to know
she was adopted.
He told me
he knew I was
just trying to help,
but next time,
I shouldn’t interfere with what belongs to her.
There are so many angles
to right
to wrong.
TRANSFORMING
I grab the money,
my registration form.
No more interfering with Holly’s life.
Time to make something of my own.
I tell Dad I need to work on
my history project.
“Can I go to the park?”
He looks over my other homework
then says, “I’ll come with you.”
I look down.
Grass withers under my feet.
SWIRLING
We walk together
through the bright autumn sun
red oak leaves swirl around our feet
glide past
joggers, strollers,
to where Seneca Village used to be.
Make the most of it for now,
take notes as
Dad tells me how
the idea for Central Park
came from an anonymous source.
A gentleman who,
after visiting the elegant European cities,
decided New York
needed a large park too.
He wrote about it in the newspaper.
Said it was what the city
was missing.
Dad continues, says,
“Originally the park
was going to be along the East River.”
“What happened?”
I ask.
“The owners of that land wouldn’t sell.”
I think of the people who lived here
poor
immigrants
who couldn’t defend their land
from wealthy buyers.
“The park’s pretty.
But that seems unfair.”
Dad puts his arm around me then,
as we walk,
and says,
“You know I don’t approve
of violence.
Period.
But—my missing Linc—
it’s nice being with you
here,
today.”
Dad’s arm
around me feels light
but the guilt
lands heavy.
OVERLAPPING SHADOWS
Sitting on a bench,
we look at my maps
together.
My stomach sinks
with the weight of
stolen money
class registration form
in my pocket.
But click/click/
with continuous focus
I look back down at the map.
I tell Dad I want to take pictures
of the places now
that were a part of the village
then—
a before and after
of one of New York’s iconic spaces.
“What are you hoping to say
through those photos?”
he asks.
I stop
realize:
I don’t know.
Dad tells me to
stick with it,
I will figure it out.
He asks if I am ready to go.
I ask for a little more time.
To “consider my project’s direction.”
He grins, says he trusts me
to be home in an hour.
Tells me this is a risk
he hopes he will not regret.
Shame takes his place beside me
as he leaves me in the park.
The shadows of a couple
pass by.
They overlap with
a stranger’s beside them.
But none of them notice.
Just before leaving,
I take a photo,
capture the place
they overlap.
People’s shadows
floating through
the paths of a history
they never knew.
COLOR ADJUSTMENT
I make sure I still have
at least twenty minutes,
walk
to the Westside Center.
The same receptionist
smiling sweetly behind the counter
takes my bundle of money,
my registration form.
Says the class starts this Saturday,
October 20th, runs 8 weeks.
Despite my suspension
despite the stealing
I’m sure
in his heart
Dad would want this for me.
The trees outside light up
in confirmation.
I feel powerful
like where I’m heading
is **brighter** than where I’ve been.
Like when you realize
your photo could be just how you imagined it
if you simply adjust the colors.
And so you do.
DEPTH OF FIELD
On return,
I shout hello to
Dad in his office.
I swell with warmth
like I’ve swallowed
the sun.
In my field of vision,
a framed picture
of Roy on the mantel.
I walk closer.
He’s looking up from a book, smiling.
Last year in Photo 1, we learned
there’s a shallow depth of field
in portraits—
Roy’s face is in focus but
what’s around him is soft, blurred,
not like a landscape
where everything is sharp.
How much longer after this photo was taken did he die?
I touch the floaty space around him,
tell him I’m going to find my future,
and thank him for his camera.
Watch him smile in reply.
IN FRONT/BEHIND
My eyes drift then
to our sixth grade school pictures.
Holly
beaming bright.
Me
fake smiling.
Not sure what anyone thought
when they looked at me.
Never as smart or pretty as
Holly.
Never comfortable under
the watchful eyes of others.
Now
I’m the one
behind the lens
a place of power,
creation.
Before I leave the mantel
I
blow a kiss to Roy,
turn my photo
upside down.
SCHEDULING
Wednesday, in between homework,
studying for my chemistry test,
practicing with Roy’s camera,
I make a schedule
to keep myself on track.
Mom would be proud,
if she knew.
If I could share it with her.
10/20: Photo Class 1
10/27: Photo Class 2
11/3: Photo Class 3
11/5: ROUGH DRAFT due for HISTORY PROJECT
(use same photos for project & IAA app)
11/10: Photo Class 4
11/15: IAA DEADLINE, application postmark date!
Checklist: 12 portfolio pieces, Artist’s Statement, application, teacher recommendation (from Westside teacher?)
11/17: Photo Class 5
11/19: FINAL HISTORY PROJECT DUE
11/24: No class Thanksgiving Weekend
12/1: Photo Class 6
12/8: Photo Class 7
12/15: Photo Class 8
Jan?: Hear back from IAA
Sept: Go to IAA for junior year!!
I can’t tack it up in my room
so I fold it neatly
place it in my desk drawer
frame it in my mind.
SURREALISM
Thursday,
Holly delivers me homework
but she hardly speaks to me.
Friday,
Ellery emails
asks how I am.
Says she hates not being able
to text me,
she’s missed me all week.
Saturday,
my heart quickens
I’m going to make something of my own.
I put on my best jeans,
my T-shirt of the Magritte painting,
the one with the apple.
Tell my parents I’m going to work in the park.
Dad & Mom look at each other.
Dad tells Mom I’m really working hard.
Holly looks up
mid-stretch
then back down,
just as quick.
I pretend
I don’t care that
she’s ignoring me.
Click/click/past
Click/click/present