Mom nods
thanks him effusively
glares at me
so
I murmur some promises,
apologies.
Though for this meeting
about me
it seems like
I’m their paper doll
a cutout
that they make walk and talk
the way they want
I didn’t need to be here at all.
DISTORTIONS
“One final chance.
This is it,”
Mom says,
like I haven’t already heard.
Roll my eyes.
“I get it.”
The hallways press in around us,
like we’re in a house of mirrors.
Our limbs stretch, then shrink
f r a g m e n t e d, distorted .
“Listen to me, Linc.
You will work harder than you’ve ever worked.
Is that clear?”
I smile to myself.
She doesn’t know about
the GPA preference for IAA.
So when I promise her I will,
my image ~~wobbles~~
then
stills.
It’s not a lie.
HAND ON WINDOW
Silas texts back after school: great shot.
My heart leaps.
All week
we send each other filtered images:
streetlights,
windows,
shadows.
We change what’s dark
to light.
Light to dark.
All week
I focus
on schoolwork, IAA.
For each set of problems I work on,
each reading I finish,
I spend time on my application.
Reread the Artist’s Statement details.
What is your vision?
What truth are you trying to capture with your art?
The questions bark at me.
I take a photo
of my hand
between the windowpane
and the security bars.
Light leaks around each finger.
Light that seeps in.
Light that demands to be seen.
Even if I try to block it.
How much am I capturing something with my art
as much as I am releasing it?
ARTIST’S STATEMENT FOR INNOVATIVE ARTS ACADEMY APPLICATION
Artists express the world the way they see it. Oftentimes, they see things in unusual ways—sometimes they even see what isn’t actually there but could be. My vision as a photographer is to show that there is more than one truth to any given moment. One example of this is how the past lives on in the present.
I have always felt better at expressing myself, more understood, through images. At a school like IAA, I believe I would be surrounded by others who could relate to this experience. Whether someone is sculpting, painting, acting, dancing, singing or taking a photograph, they are offering something to an audience. They are offering art and creativity. And through that art, the viewer is exposed to a new perspective.
I come from a family who sees academic achievement as the height of success. Maybe at IAA my viewpoint will be seen as valid, essential, necessary.
SHOCKWAVE
I work harder
than I’ve ever worked before,
just like I promised I would.
Thursday night,
Dad tells me
he’s noticed
and he’s proud.
Mom nods in agreement,
says she’s impressed
with my focus,
says I’m no longer
grounded.
I stop, mid-chew.
Even Holly looks up in surprise.
The chandelier blinks twice.
The curtains fly up and down.
Our chairs spin.
Mom says
that I’m walking
a fine line,
but today
the floor trembles
I’m on the right side of it.
A tidal wave of guilt threatens
to unleash
the stolen money
the photo class
the IAA application
but Mom is so busy smiling at me
that despite the storm inside
despite silence still from Holly
I let myself smile right back.
UNEARTHED
After school on Friday,
Ellery asks if I want to hang
with her and Taryn and Taryn’s friends,
but I tell her I need to work.
I focus on my history project
read my notes from online sources:
“Seneca Village brought stability and community
to the persecuted . . .”
in 1853 ground was broken
to erect the AME Zion Church,
“but it was a brief reprieve . . .
wealthy buyers destroyed everything.”
Just a few years later
it was demolished
along with the African Union Church,
Colored School #3.
I take pictures of
bikers
runners
Rollerbladers
as they whiz past
a history so deep
no one ever stops running
to see.
I take photos
to try to show I do.
SPIN & CHANGE
That night:
Can you hang out?
Silas asks.
Bored & at my dad’s.
Mom & Dad at a work function.
Holly is sleeping at Maggs’s.
I’m not grounded anymore, right?
Either way, no one will know that I’m
gone.
I text him back
Meet me in the park?
and as I do,
the streetlight
outside my window
spins
changes colors
transforms into a disco ball.
FOUNDATION
We meet at Mariners’ Gates.
He tells me I look good.
I blush and
ask him about his week.
He says same old shit—
school, parents on his case.
I tell him I want to show him
something cool about the park.
Guide him to the spot.
As we stand
on top
of the square of cobblestones
in the ground
on the hill
of the park,
I say:
“Did you know
historians used to think these stones
were remnants
of the original All Angels’ Church
foundation?
When they excavated,
they realized their mistake—
a theory surfaced—
the stones just remnants
of a hot dog stand from the ’50s.
Most of the church
was actually moved,
beam by beam,
to a new location.”
Silas nods but doesn’t speak.
I realize
I sound like Dad.
Suddenly
I’m self-conscious.
The silence is awkward
but trees envelo
p us,
his brown eyes dive into me.
“That’s one cool fact,”
he says.
“Well, it’s really just a theory—”
He puts his finger over my lips.
Then his arms around my hips.
I reach down,
pull them up,
our fingers entwine like branches.
As he leans down, I lean into him.
My first kiss.
On top of these stones
we form our own
foundation.
SWIRLING
After,
Silas walks me to the corner.
The wind picks up.
He kisses me one more time
asks if we can see each other
tomorrow, after class.
I tell him yes.
He smiles
hands lingering on my waist
then heads home the other way.
I watch him go
and, as I do,
press my hand to my lips.
Holding on to
my very first kiss.
My mind-camera clicks on
and I am flipping through
a photo album
on the cover
engraved letters swirl
into each other
Silas & Linc Linc & Silas
LEADING
As I walk up to the house,
Holly stands in the doorway
with her key.
The light from the entry
shines on us.
She asks:
“Where were you?”
just as I say:
“Why are you home?”
We break into
simultaneous smiles.
Then she says
she & Maggs had a fight
didn’t wanna stay there.
My heart jumps.
Holly’s actually speaking to me?
I consider telling
her about Silas.
But instead
I open the door for her,
let the light lead us in.
CHANGING THE SUBJECT
She says they were out to dinner
on a double date.
“I don’t know how we got on the subject but—
everyone started asking me about
what it’s like to be adopted.
To have parents who are a different race—
Stefano and Ethan had some interesting questions—”
Holly pauses.
The name Stefano
drives a wall between us.
“They had interesting questions . . . ?”
I try to knock the wall down.
“Yeah. Like how being in a white family changed
my experience, if I had ever felt discriminated against—
if I felt like I experienced it more or less—”
“What did you say?”
Holly waves her hand.
Like I asked the wrong question.
“Maggs kept shutting me up.
Changing the subject.
Then she made me go with her
to the bathroom,
said it wasn’t sexy to talk about discrimination.
I told her they were the ones asking me—
but she said I should’ve just changed the subject.”
Holly moves her lips to the side.
Shakes her head.
“But Maggs is mixed race,” I say.
“Wouldn’t she be used to talking about—”
“Yeah.
Just not around Ethan, I guess.”
Blond Ethan,
white as me.
Holly looks so bummed,
I think of how I could distract her,
look down at my old jeans,
remember something we used to do together,
say:
“Want to go shopping this weekend?”
She looks at my jeans too—then—
“Tomorrow?”
she asks.
A guilt wrinkle spreads through me.
I iron it down, smooth it out.
“Can’t . . . meeting up with . . . Ellery. Sunday?”
She shrugs, agrees.
DYNAMIC TENSION
PHOTO CLASS #2, SATURDAY, OCTOBER 27TH
19 DAYS UNTIL IAA APPLICATION DUE
Ellery asks if she can meet Silas.
I say I’ll ask him if we can all hang out.
I tell my parents (what I told Holly)
I’m meeting up with Ellery.
In class, Fiona shows us a series
of time-lapse photographs:
first, the moon in all stages circling the sky,
next, planes taking off & landing,
last, a planted seed blooming into a flower.
Then
dynamic tension.
How it can //intensify// a moment.
She shows us two photos
of the same bridge rising up for boats to pass.
One: shows the two sides separating in the middle
perfectly symmetrical
Two: shows one side close-up
like it’s coming straight toward the viewer.
As she says this
Silas
scoots his hand straight toward me
so close
we almost touch.
ENVISIONING
I pass Silas a note
asking if he wants to meet up
with some of my friends
after class.
With my mind-camera
I see
him and Ellery
laughing together,
his arm around my waist.
My head resting on his shoulder.
Kisses in between.
//Spin
spin
see//
BALANCING
On the way,
Silas & I hold each other’s gloved hands.
mine green, knitted.
At the restaurant,
circus performers mural the walls.
Ellery’s already at the table.
A tightrope walker
behind her.
Silas tells her he likes her
“Dolphins in Love” shirt.
She scans Silas’s outfit,
says his hair matches his socks.
Taryn comes in late.
Kisses Ellery hard.
Silas grins, “That was fun.”
“Really, dude?” Taryn says.
Both hands up, “Just a joke.”
The tightrope walker wobbles.
My eyes glued to the wall,
balancing,
I say: “Ellery . . . Silas is an artist—like us.”
Ellery half smiles at me
asks Silas what it is he creates.
EXCUSES
Taryn doesn’t talk much.
Eats her burger fast.
Makes an excuse
to go
before the rest of us
are done.
She leaves
without kissing Ellery.
“Not going to give you the pleasure,”
she says to Silas.
Once she’s gone,
Ellery says,
“She’s kind of intense,”
sips her milk shake.
“You think?” Silas asks.
I shift in my seat.
The tightrope walker
falls.
TUNNELING
After we leave,
Ellery downtown,
me and Silas up,
I tell him,
“You know that wasn’t cool,
what you said.
Lesbians aren’t there
to get you off.”
“Can’t help it if I like kissing. All kinds of kissing.”
Then he moves in on my neck.
His eyes are a tunnel,
and I
drive
right
in.
RELEVANCE
Silas brings me to his dad’s house.
Not far from the restaurant.
Dad out at the movies,
stepsister out with friends.
His room is what I expect:
clothes on floor
posters on walls
a record player.
He puts music on,
leans me down onto the bed.
We kiss for a while
then he
puts his hand up my shirt.
I push it down.
He puts it all the way up my thigh.
I spring up,
“I love this song.”
“Me too,”
he says,
kissing my neck.
My eyes wander to a photo on the dresser
—Silas with his mom and dad—
he looks about ten.
Then another of him and a girl.
Arms around each other.
The stepsister he mentioned.
“When did your parents get divorced?”
Silas laughs,
says, “I love it when you talk dirty.”
“Seriously, I want to get to know you
better.”
He pulls his arms off me.
I look him in the eyes.
He tells me it was a long time ago.
Just a typical divorce.
But then his eyes dart away.
He says
he doesn’t remember them fighting.
Just remembers this feeling
of mismatch
when they were all together.
Remembers feeling they never fit.
That’s when he started to draw.
I put his arms back
around me,
push him down
onto
the bed.
MATCHING
Sunday,
I hand Mom my homework
before she asks for it,
Holly and I escape, go shopping.