Kara sucks? Kelly Canyon is evil? And
Shay Summers misses her dad’s
Bass-filled laugh
Knock-knock jokes
I
A R
Guitar?
She misses them
So much she can hardly breathe . . .
Still
If I am to become a writer most revered
I guess I better step up my work
Then again, I’m sure Shakespeare would not have spent his whole time
Writing Romeo and Juliet if he had had a cell phone
He’d just text the story and it would get forwarded to
All his friends
Incoming text from William S.
yng luv c-ks 2 bl@hsum @Mung sAvG
vyl3ns & d!scrd. <3rs r34uZn 2 b
Prtd, 4loh thAr
H@rtz on2 a tR@gC fA+3
(Young love seeks to blossom among savage
Violence and discord. Lovers, refusing to be parted, follow their
Hearts on to a tragic fate)
I Was Headed to Lunch When I Saw the Poster
With innocent letters gathered on page
To form a profane phrase: Halloween DANCE
Word spreads. Excitement builds.
Only question asked:
Who asked you to the dance?
A question no one will ask me, certain
No one has asked me
Busy anyway
Books to redevour
DVDs to rewatch
Tiles to recount
Solitaire to play
Stupid. Cruel. Useless. Letters. Forming words to spite me.
Longing to shout, “I am going to the dance with Blake.”
Blake Harrison: God.
Master. King. Sultan.
Of all things hot. Cool. Sextastic.
Able to render me
Motionless. Mute. Mortified.
(If caught stealing a glance)
He walks freely inside the pages of
Textbooks. Notebooks. Journals.
Rescues me without
Super strength. Cape. Theme song.
Simply with his
Walk. Smile. Eyes.
So . . .
Shock! Defy! Announce!
Blake Harrison, my date.
Yes, it would be a lie.
Still . . .
It’s a pretty lie.
It sparkles when the light hits it just right
See there?
Right there, it gleams
My lie: more valuable than
Their truth
Their truth: ugly
Cold. Jagged. Rocks.
Cutting into me, making me bleed
But my lie?
She is a gift. A gift so beautiful
Must be allowed to live!
The lie dances out of my soul
And charges into their world
Blake Harrison asked me to the dance!
Lie leaps into air, bounces off walls, slides down doors
Falls flat on ground.
No one reaches to save her.
No one hears her cry out
Run over, pick her up
She’s bruised. Broken.
She’s dull now
Even in my light
Kelly Canyon walked by
The disappointment on my face warmed her
Like Mama’s apple pie
How Did the Canyon Come to Be
My mortal enemy?
It all came down to chocolate milk
Lawson McGee had
Red hair. Green eyes. Great smile.
And
Extra chocolate milk
At age twenty
Jewelry says: love
At five, it’s chocolate milk
Lawson McGee handed
It to me and not Kelly
Since then I have been
On her radar
I mostly avoid her
But like any demon she has
Powers
A swarm of dark birds
Descend
Notifying her that I’m feeling
Crappy
Kelly Is
Pimple on prom night
Kelly is
Text message to wrong person
Kelly is
Period. Blood. White skirt.
Dread in its true form
She Leaves Me Gifts
Stuffed pig with built-in
“Oink”
In my locker
On my chair
In my backpack
How Do I Thank Her?
Tears. Tears. Tears.
Surely she’s tired of getting my
Thank-you cards
It’s Said That
She and Blake belong
Together
Gods and goddesses
Often do
Yet Zeus
Seeks only a passing friendship
With her sound and fury
A Moment
After she embarrasses
Me
A moment
After she destroys
Me
On her face there
L I V E S
Utter peace
Kelly Acted Like a Person One Day
Someone died, someone she loved
Grandmother
I think
Kelly
Looked small
Shrinking Inside
I gave her a gift by
Walking by
Inhaling food
She
Made rude comment
She got
B I G G E R
And
I began to fade
The Day
Is half over. Thankfully. I have been trying to
Stay cool and avoid
Dash and Boots
As soon as they remember
What tomorrow is, they’ll
Worry
I may break down
They’ll text throughout the day
Asking stupid but vital questions
Best friends have to ask
Are you ok? they’ll say.
Tomorrow is one-year anniversary
Of my dad’s death, and since he’s still
Dead, I am not okay.
At Lunch
I take the path less traveled to get to the cafeteria
(They knew I would)
They wait for me by the door
I smile
Too much.
I look like a walking Crest commercial
“Girl, you know you have to talk to us,” Dash says
Boots looks at me with sadness.
“Boots, you know the rules: Only tumor girls get
Sympathy head tilts. The rest of us get hard candy
And five-dollar gift cards to iTunes,” I remind her.
We sit at the table
I say that I’m fine even before they ask
Dash hands me his prized possession:
Embroidered handkerchief with the names of every
Project Runway winner
Since Season One
I burst into tears
I hate that they know me so well . . .
Once the Tears Came
Getting them to stop?
Impossible
I missed rest of my classes, huddled up in the girls’ bathroom
Until the bell rang, then off to the library
The school library
Has been my friend since The Cat in the Hat
I wanted to jump inside each and every book when I was a kid
Dad said if I was good he’d let me jump
Into Green Eggs and Ham
When I turned five, he gave me a
Green Eggs and Ham
party
Including green eggs and ham
The librarian knows me by name
I spend lots of time in here
Too much, Dash says
The library was near empty
The quiet life-saving.
The Quiet
Was still so loud inside my head
I replayed the day I found out my dad died
I wanted to stop the film in the beginning
’Cause I knew how it ended . . .
The News
That Dad died came
From a telephone call from Kara
I hate it when she calls me
I almost didn’t pick up
Why, oh why, didn’t I send her
To voicemail?
She Told Me
To come home ASAP
I thought we were in for another bonding night
I looked for
Rope. Arsenic. Knife.
Something, anything, to end my life.
I had lived fourteen years; that was enough.
Could not handle any more bonding
No court in the world would force me to
Hang with
K A R A
Smiled as she worked out
Called everyone “sweetie”
Put a line through her 7s
Like the French do.
So, the good old USA
Was not good
Enough for her
She was an awful woman.
Yet something in her voice
A quiet sob? A shaking?
Once Home
I felt something was off
Everything looked the same but something had changed
No, they found out I’m about to fail
Math
Damn it!
Entered kitchen, found her
Sitting in corner, crying
Please, please, let it be about math . . .
Although
She had borrowed
A handful of words from neighbors
And placed them at my feet
Car. Speed. Head.
Docs. Tried. Dad. Dead.
SCREW HER!!!
For placing these lies near me
I’m calling Dad
He’ll fix everything.
I Threw Things
At Kara
I
Swore. Begged. Cried.
She would not
Take words back.
Dad would not
Pick up cell.
Everyone
Failed me
How Could He Leave Me?
We had plans
Plays. Movies. Concerts.
He said he’d help me with
Math. Science. Life.
I could just kill him
What Did I Do?
What words did I
S T R I N G
O
G
E
T
H
E
R
That made him go away?
Crying is pointless
’Cause it won’t bring him back
And that makes me cry . . .
The Sun Came
Up in the
East
Down in the
West
The clock
Ticked
The clock
Tocked
The mailman
Brought
Us
Mail
Man . . .
Guess they don’t know
He’s gone.
Dad’s Funeral Happened
The same day as my favorite
TV show.
I went up to my room to catch it and
Escape the chorus of
“I’m so sorry for your loss”
“He was a good man”
“He will always be with you”
She came to
MY ROOM. Said
I was being rude
Excuse me for having skipped
The “etiquette” chapter of grieving.
She thought I was being mean
I was
That’s what happens when half of you
Is underground
The Next Few Days
Kara and I
Held on to each other
She made me tea. Her hands were too shaky to pour.
The water grew cold. Eventually so did things
Between us.
When Dad was alive he
Measured. Mixed. Marinated.
Like a chef
(In his
Mind)
ACTUALLY
Everything Dad made: burned
Then Kara came
Offered to cook all the things
We SHOULD like
She changed him
His marriage changed me
I
Became
TEEN MONSTER
She became
TEEN MONSTER SLAYER
He became
PEACEMAKER
Had a picture in her head
Of what family would be like
My family, her head
She pictured me
Thinner
I pictured her
Gone
Dad made olive branches
For us to extend to each other
Instituted (mandatory)
Movie Night. Game Night. Girls’ Night.
All
Hell Night
At first, Dad’s death made: bridge
But time reveals truth: Kara and I are
Strangers with
Different pictures of what happy looks like
She hates that I am not hers
I hate that she is not mine
Dad
Measured. Mixed. Marinated.
Like a chef
Everything Dad made: burned
Dad’s death made: bridge
Everything Dad made:
Burned . . .
They Find Me
Dash and Boots
I knew they would
They try to cheer me up
With dirty joke about hookers
Peanut butter and rope
I wonder what would happen
If they put their imaginations to
Good productive use
They want to hang
Just to have fun, they say
Really it is to keep an eye on
Me
They worry I will
Feel lonely and bad again
If left to myself
Truth is I have been
Lonely in
Crowds
Lonely
In the middle
Of conversations
There is no
Escape
Tomorrow will come
And so will
The blues
Dash makes one last
Plea.
Says we can go to revival of
The Rocky Horror Picture Show
He wants us to come with
So he can have someone’s hand to squeeze
When the beauty of
Tim Curry is too much to bear
Boots says she will go
Only if free large popcorn w/drink
Is involved
Friendship comes at a price
And today it’s $9.50
Boots Reminds Me
I promised I would check out Firetrash.com
A site originally created by nerd lovers from our school
But is now flooded with non-Trekkies
Boots stays on there for hours
Discussing important subjects
Does Stewie have a crush on Brian?
Has Gene Roddenberry’s dream
Been fully realized?
And where, oh where, can she find
The Rocky Horror Picture Show
On Blu-ray?
I only said I would go there because she held my burrito
Hostage last week.
Because of my love for
All things sour cream and cheesy
I have to go online and
Face the White Noise
She promises she will be online later and we can talk
I point out that we can also pick up a phone
Dash adds that I am the only person on the planet
Who does not have a Facebook account
Facebook
A public record of all the friends
I don’t have . . .
I Agree
To check it out
Easier
Than arguing
She says it has everything:
411 on best tattoo places
Deals on sci-fi gear
Total access to all things Lost
I could have pointed out that
Lost is off the air
But that’s like pointing out
Edward Cullen is a killer
Sookie and Bill Compton don’t belong together
Elvis is not coming back
Some people cannot process
The truth, and hell
Why should they have to?
Truth takes apart
Everything in its path
As I Make My Way Home
A grayness crawls from the soles
Of my feet
Slides up my legs, thighs, stomach, and chest
Think of something
Chase it away
How? How?
Ben & Jerry’s just up the block.
Salvation . . .
There Is God
In ice cream
Don’t let anyone tell you different
Americone Dream. Chunky Monkey. Cherry Garcia.
Heaven in three scoops
How can something so divine
Be right here on earth?
Don’t question
Eat. Eat. Eat.
Till nothing hurts
After heaven everything else
Is hell (AKA home)
Home
Is a minefield
I avoid hot spots, try and make it to my room
First scurry past kitchen
Where Kara watches healthy cooking show
Run past Dad’s bedroom
Fight the urge to peek in and call out his name
Still think he’s in there somewhere . . .
Rush past hallway closet where
His running sneakers sit foolishly
Waiting for him
Some Days
I can make it past every trap and enter my room
A whole girl
Some Days
A sharp pain rips me from the inside: I make it to my room
In pieces
Some Days
I have to close my eyes so I won’t see all the places he used to
Exist
Some Days
I can’t take my eyes off the last things he
Touched
Some Days
I rage against his ghost for not going away
Some Days
I weep at the thought that his ghost might fade
Consolation
Comes in the form of a greasy
Brown bag
I carry
Into room