At stake were both our worlds.
I didn’t care, but it was
a risk she wouldn’t take.
Now That I’ve Opened
That bottle of memories,
they’re pouring out like wine,
crimson and bittersweet.
Ignoring the throbbing pain,
I think back to a crisp fall
Saturday morning, my parents
and sister hundreds of miles
away in California.
Cara is my twin, though
we’re about as alike as
snowflakes—a general
resemblance, but peer under
a microscope, and we’re
completely different. Cara’s
in-your-face, while I handle
things much more discreetly.
You might call me sneaky,
though I’d call me clever,
and on that particular
day, all by myself, clever
me was in need of company.
Emily and I had not
yet been together, but
she was most definitely
on my radar. She was
far above the usual
objects of my lust—sleek
and bronzed, fearless of the star
raining radiation on
this ozone-deprived planet.
The only thing she ever
feared was our short-lived love.
I Knew None of That Then
I only knew she was the
prettiest thing ever to run
by our house. She was a falcon
on the wing, and I wanted
to fly along. She jogged
past every morning, around
eight. That day I stood like
a fisherman waiting to cast
his line and reel in something
worth trawling for. I watched
her sinewy body run by
before calling out her name.
“Emily.” She turned and gave
a probing look, as if she’d
never seen me before. And
here I’d been disrobing her
regularly in my over-
active imagination.
I guess she was lonely too.
Unseemly fascination
made her do an about-face.
Panting gently, she drew even.
Hello, Conner. How can I
help you this enchanting day?
Several things came quickly
to mind, things to save for later.
My eyes poked hers. “I just wanted
you to know I find you quite
beautiful.”
Tony
Dinner’s a Little Late Tonight
Guess there was some kind
of problem in the rec room.
Figures it would be a night
when I could chow down
a horse. Okay, maybe not
a horse. But half a cow.
Food’s a funny thing.
When I was a little kid,
we never had much food,
but I don’t remember
being hungry. Wonder
how Ma managed to feed
me when I was an actual
baby. Formula, I hear, costs
major bucks, and I just
can’t see her letting me
snuggle up against her
titties. Those things
were bait, and not for
babies. No sir, I can’t
imagine how I made
it past the mewling stage.
I feel like mewling now.
At least here, they can’t
slap you around to shut
you up. Not that they
don’t ever touch you
at all. Takedowns.
Cavity searches after
visits from home.
Once in a while, when
someone “in charge”
is in a bad mood, you
might even catch a “playful”
kick in the seat, or a teeth-
rattling shoulder shake.
But Bloody Cuts and Bruises
Are not something you’re
going to see here. No sir.
Except maybe for Vanessa’s.
And why is she in my thoughts
again? I have to admit I’d like
to peek beneath that bandage.
I’ll probably see her at dinner
tonight, not that they let
the guys and the girls sit
other. I guess they think
crappy food is an aphrodisiac.
A time or two or three,
I have seen some serious
make-out sessions—
male/female, male/male,
female/female. Love.
Lust. The need to feel close.
The need to feel safe
because someone dares
to wrap their arms around
you in this cold, sterile place.
The need to feel. I even
half-believe the story
about Dahlia and Dr. Starr.
What better way to grab
preferential treatment?
Oh my lovely, deep-creased
psychologist, let me stick
my tongue dorwn your throat.
Nothing new for Dahlia.
Would be nothing new
for me, either. What’s
new is that I haven’t
strayed down that path
since I’ve been here.
Mostly Because
For once in my life, I
don’t have to have sex.
No one demands it in
exchange for drugs,
ten minutes of disgust
for a well-deserved rush.
No one expects it in
exchange for food,
just a burger and fries,
please; for a hot shower
to wash off the streets,
a warm bed to crash in.
Most of all, no one is
forcing me to. I try
not to look back on
the moment when
my pitiful life turned
unbearable. Unthinkable.
Try to blot it out, scrub
it out, rip it out of my
brain completely.
But you can’t forget
something like that,
no matter how much you
drink, snort, or shoot into
your veins. The memory
stalks you forever and
creeps up to maul you
like a rabid dog, when
you least expect it.
Like now.
Vanessa
Thank God
The intercom squawks.
Okay, Happy Campers,
dinner is served.
Happy Campers?
Must I join that sorority?
Doesn’t much matter.
My days of dinner
arriving by burly butler
have come to a Level One end.
My (non) performance at group
today has netted me a trip
to the communal dining
room. Mmmmm. Can’t wait
to share meat loaf or fish sticks
with a table of friendly, smiling faces.
Like Dahlia’s and Lori’s.
I wonder how you make friends
with people who think
everyone is out to get them.
What is friendship, anyway?
I have no clue, never
lingered long enough
in one place before,
not with Dad in the military.
We only settled down
in Reno when Mama got so bad
she couldn’t find enough white space
to grocery shop or get us to school,
l
et alone make sure we
bathed and brushed.
Grandma, the fool, stepped up
to the plate, volunteered to look
out for Bryan and me.
Poor woman had no idea what
she was getting herself into—
that Daddy had not only
married a gear shifter
but fathered one too.
I Didn’t Realize It Myself
Until a couple of years ago.
Interesting, considering
I’d watched Mom
straddling that seesaw
for as long as I could
remember. Except her highs
and lows lasted for days.
So when I started shifting
gears three or four times
in a twenty-four-hour period,
at first I blamed hormones.
Didn’t PMS make
you irritable? Didn’t boy
trouble drop you to your knees
(in more ways than one)?
Normal adolescent
feelings, right?
Well, no, see … not
when your mother’s
a stark raving psycho.
For years she went
undiagnosed.
“Bipolar” had no
meaning when I was
a little girl, and “schizo”
wasn’t short for
schizophrenic, not
in the clinical sense.
It only meant that some
days Mama was fine—
eyes not muddied, hair
combed into submission,
speech precise.
Those days, her hugs
and kisses were warm
as summer rain,
washing away the hurt.
The hurt that was sure
to fall again.
We just couldn’t guess
exactly when.
When It Fell
It was a rock slide,
crushing, smothering,
bruising, bone twisting.
By the time I was ten,
I knew to hide when Mama
started talking to the air.
Don’ worry, Nessa,
He’s an angel. Can’t you see
him, standing just there?
I figured if someone was
there, invisible and all,
he must be more demon
than angel, especially
when Mama started yelling.
Go away, you bastard. I’m tired
of listening to you.
You make my head hurt.
That was the thing
about her manic phases.
They didn’t always make
her feel what you might
call good. Sometimes
they made her head hurt.
He’s pounding nails
into my brain. Stop!
Make him stop!
Angel. Demon. Whoever
he was, inside her head,
his pounding made
her rage. Rant. Weep.
Sometimes, to make herself
feel better, she took
to hitting things with her fists.
Walls. Doors. Herself.
Me.
Conner
Ten Days Now
All by myself in this
peppermint green room,
nothing to do but read,
eat, collect lint, reflect
on afternoons lazily
spent, in the arms of my
Emily. Yeah, yeah, I’m
focused. Bent. Obsessed.
I have to see her again,
which means I’ve got to lie
my way out of here, make
the perfect self-sales pitch.
Dr. Starr will never buy
into “Conner the saint,”
but Dr. Boston might
award me that honor.
I’ve almost got her right
where I want her—on her
knees, my hands caught in
her silky blond hair as she
whispers, I want you, Conner.
Let me chase away thoughts
of your Emily. Come to me
when you get out of this place.
I’ll show you how a real
woman makes love to men
such as you, and I don’t give
a damn how high the stakes are.
Think it’s all smoke and
mirrors? Perhaps. But at
our last session, I noticed
a small lapse of judgment.
It Was Our Second Session
The first session, I’d pouted,
told her nothing except that life
was tough at home, and I
was sick of being controlled.
She didn’t give much ground.
Rules are a pan of our lives,
Conner. Only children and
fools believe they’re immune.
I also noticed her slate
gray eyes and how they kept
assessing me, in an intensely
provocative way.
I mulled that over for two
days, decided it must have
been sexual attraction,
plotted the coming chase.
I arrived at our second
session prepared to win
her sympathy. I opened
my head, bared my brain—
or what was left of it after
a major dose of Prozac.
“When Emily refused to see
me anymore, it almost
broke me in two. I loved
her like Romeo loved his
Juliet, and I know that
lightning won’t strike again.”
Her eyes held sympathy.
Feeling loss is normal.
Conner. Attempting suicide
isn’t dealing with it so well.
She Wanted to Know
All about Emily, exactly
what made her so outstanding,
so necessary, that I’d rather die
than unknot myself from her.
“She made me feel like the world
turned in my hands, like I could
walk on clouds.” Talking about
her, my body churned desire.
Dr. Boston took notice,
on one level or another.
Her own hands trembled,
and she spun her chair toward
the bookcase. When she turned
back around, the top button
on her Jaclyn Smith blouse
had found a way to open.
A hint of cleavage drew
my stare. Why disguise my
obvious interest? I
swear she did it on purpose.
Lots of guys lose girlfriends,
Conner. Most just go out and
find someone new. Please try
to trust me enough to explain.
I closed my eyes, ignoring
both request and décolletage.
“I can’t think about her
anymore.” Distressed, I stood.
Dr. Boston rose, neck-
line dipping. It ’s hard to share
secrets. Trade, next time? One
of yours for one of mine.
Right.
Tony
Today, They Tell Me
My dad is coming to visit.
Wanting an accounting of
what his money’s buying, is
my best guess. No doubt
he’ll be disappointed.
I’m still just crazy Tony.
I remember the last time
I saw him. I was nine,
and peeing my pants,
waiting for the judge
to tell me what a bad
boy I’d been. Oh yes.
I’d been very bad, and
Dad stood at the back
of t
he courtroom, hat
in hand, a tear in his
eye. ’Course, if he’d
really cared, I wouldn’t
have been there to start
with. He never once
came to visit after he
heard my sentence:
Nine years (the max) in
a juvenile detention facility.
They let me out early due to
good behavior and funding
cutbacks. Seemed the voters
didn’t give two cents about
feeding and schooling hardcore
kids. Rather than build
bigger facilities, so they could
lock up more kids longer, as
space was needed, they cut
delinquents loose early.
Lucky me, they didn’t care
who the kids happened to be.
I Learned a Lot
In juvie, before they sprung
me. Learned when to shut
my mouth, when to scream;
how to glom on to the guys
with power, tap into it and
suck real hard, suck them
inside out. Learned to play—
sports, people, the system;
learned that there was no
such thing as love, only
lust. I knew about lust
already. I’d grown up
immersed in it, and it was
at the core of my young
incarceration. Ma never
admitted her part in that,
never even acknowledged
that the whole thing happened.
Larry is a decent man,
she said, when I told her
about it the first time.
A bit rough around the edges,
yes, but he’d never ever