But I prefer
to think of it as
rebooting my ovarian operating system.
HOW MY MOTHER TOOK THE NEWS
I remember how my mother reacted,
on that fateful day two years ago,
when I told her I’d gotten my first period:
her face turned the color of the ashes
dangling from the tip of her cigarette.
She tried to smile
but ended up looking like she just
took a gulp of
what she thought was water
only it turned out to be vinegar.
She rummaged around
in the bathroom cabinet
and handed me what I needed,
saying, “I’ve been keeping these for you.
For when the time came.”
Then she patted me on the back,
looking like she wanted
to say something more.
But she didn’t.
She just wandered out of the room,
leaving me with a box full of questions.
MY FIRST TIME BUYING YOU-KNOW-WHATS
I had used my last one at school
right before lunch.
And I knew I didn’t have
any more of them at the house,
so I stopped off on the way home
to buy some at Drugtown.
I wasn’t too worried about it.
I figured I’d just cruise
down the feminine hygiene aisle
and act like I knew what I was doing.
Only I couldn’t find the kind
my mother had been buying for me,
and I could not believe
how many different types of them
there were to choose from.
I finally made my decision
and headed to the cash register
with the neon pink cardboard box
tucked surreptitiously under my arm.
But I hadn’t counted on a guy
being the cashier.
And I sure hadn’t counted on that guy
being Rachel’s cousin Perry,
on whom I had a severe crush.
I had to think fast.
So while he finished up
with the customer in front of me,
I managed to stash the box
behind an Enquirer.
Then, I bought a pack of Juicy Fruit
and got the heck out of there.
MOM’S THE WORD
My mother has never talked to me
about birth control or safe sex or about
whether I should wait till I’m married.
But whenever I’m getting ready
to go out with Dylan,
she hovers in the hall
and keeps wringing her hands,
like she’s scared that
I’m going to get pregnant or something.
And if I ever did,
which of course I won’t,
it would serve her right.
Actually, all we do so far is kiss
even though he wants to do more
and I won’t let him.
But
I’m not about to
tell her that.
HE’LL BE HERE ANY MINUTE NOW
and I’ll watch him
from my bedroom window
when he hurries up the front walk
onto the porch
and he’ll ring the bell
and my mother will answer the door
and he’ll step into the hall
and they’ll say hello to each other
and I’ll come floating down the stairs
and his eyes
will singe my sweater
but my mother won’t see
and we’ll say goodbye to her
and head down the front walk
looking straight ahead
not even holding hands
feeling my mother’s gaze
on our backs
and then we’ll turn left
and go just a few more yards
and the second we’re hidden
behind the Sweeneys’ lilac hedge
we’ll grab each other
and start kissing
IN THE DARK WITH DYLAN
The truth is
I have no idea
what this movie’s even about.
I couldn’t tell the good guys
from the bad guys
if you paid me a million dollars.
But I do know
that there isn’t anyone
on this whole entire planet
that I’d rather be
not watching this movie with
than Dylan.
CLOSE TO MIDNIGHT
gazing up at the
glow-in-the-dark stars
on my ceiling,
I’m thinking of you
lying in bed
gazing up at your ceiling,
maybe thinking of me
at this very same
moment.
I’m thinking that
you’ve never seen my stars
glow in the dark,
and wondering
if you ever will.
CONFESSION
All right.
I admit it.
When you aren’t here,
I kiss my knee
and pretend it’s you.
I know it’s dumb.
But I do.
THE NAKED TRUTH
I can’t even remember whose idea it was,
but we decided we were going to
do it!
So a few minutes ago,
Rachel and Grace and me
put on our raincoats
and walked over to Herrell’s
for ice cream.
We couldn’t stop giggling
the whole way over.
Now we’re just sitting here,
eating our sundaes nonchalantly,
but Zak and Danny just came in.
And—oh no!
They’re walking over to us!
We’re nudging each other in the ribs,
trying hard not to crack up.
They want to know if they can sit with us!
I can feel my face catching fire.
But Rachel says we’re having
a very private girl talk.
And Grace adds,
“Besides. This booth is too small.
There’s barely enough room.”
The three of us
burst into hysterics at this,
and Zak and Danny look at us
like they think we’re nuts.
That’s because
they don’t know our secret:
This afternoon
before we put on
our raincoats,
we took everything else
off!
LEFT OUT
Rachel and Grace
are sitting there on the bed,
laughing and chatting away,
taking turns
popping the zits
on each other’s backs,
and I’m sitting here on the rug,
watching them,
feeling so left out
that I’m actually wishing
I had some zits
on my back, too.
Sick. Aren’t I?
DYLAN’S BUZZ CUT
I wish he hadn’t gone and cut his hair.
He looks about eight years old.
His ears have tripled in size.
Everyone’s started calling him Dumbo.
Which wouldn’t be so bad,
except they’ve started calling me
Mrs. Dumbo.
You can’t even tell
he’s got curly hair anymore.
There’s nothing left
to run my fingers through.
Just this weird
blond
AstroTurf
sprouting out of his skull.
FRIDAY NIGHT FIGHT
Dylan says he doesn’t have
to ask for my permission
to get his hair cut.
I say I know
but maybe he could at least
warn me next time he’s
planning on getting scalped.
And then he says it’ll grow back
and I say it’ll take forever
and then he says
he guesses I’ll just
have to get used to it
and I say not if I don’t
have to look at it anymore
and he says
you don’t!
Then he stomps out of the house
and slams the door.
Loud.
And I kick it
so hard
that my dad has to get me some ice
to put on my big toe.
LONG WEEKEND
Forty-eight hours
of silence go by.
Forty-eight hours
alone.
Forty-eight hours
is such a long time
to sit
and stare
at the phone.
I DIDN’T SEE HIM AT SCHOOL TODAY
Not in the hall.
Not in the cafeteria.
Not in the library.
Not anywhere.
Not even once.
Not that I wanted to see him.
Not that I would have
said anything if I had.
Not that I would have run up to him
or flung my arms around him
or begged for forgiveness
or anything like that.
Well—
probably not.
I YANK OPEN THE DOOR
And there he is.
But before he even has a chance
to say one word
I blurt out how sorry I am,
so sorry I wish I could go on national TV
and tell the whole world.
And he says he’s so sorry
he wishes he could fill up my entire house
with roses.
And then I say I’m so sorry
I want to have it printed on
all the billboards in Massachusetts.
And then he says
he’s going to have “I’M SORRY SAPPHIRE”
tattooed onto his chest.
And I say I’m going to hire
a thousand airplanes
to write it all over the sky.
And then he kisses me
and his I’m-sorry kisses are so sweet
that for a second
I find myself thinking
it was almost worth
having the fight.
I WISH
I wish I could drink a magic potion and
shrink way down till I was small
enough to fit right into his
shirt pocket and live
there tucked near to
his heart listening
to it beating in
rhythm with
mine every
minute of
every
day
I LOVED WATCHING IT HAPPEN
The way his eyelids
got heavier and heavier.
The way his chin
drifted to his chest
and his history book
slipped into his lap.
I know I should be studying right now
but I can’t resist
sketching him.
So until he wakes up,
I’m going to let my pencil trace
the contours
of his perfect cheekbones,
the shadows of his golden lashes,
the soft curve of his neck.
This
is definitely
bliss.
WHEN DYLAN WAKES UP
I show him
his portrait.
He glances at it
for a second,
then all he says
is “Cool.”
The truth is,
Dylan doesn’t get art.
But I guess
he doesn’t have to.
He is
art.
THE MEANING OF MURPHY
I don’t know
how it got started,
but it happens
all the time:
When someone at school
acts like a dork
the other kids say,
“What a Murphy!”
Someone will do something dumb,
like today in science class
when Danny knocked a beaker onto the floor
and it crashed into a zillion pieces.
Zak shouted,
“Jeez, Danny!
Don’t be such a Murphy!”
and the whole class burst out laughing.
(Okay.
I laughed too.
But only so no one would think
I was strange.)
I wonder how Murphy would feel
if he knew his name
had become synonymous
with “jerk.”
I guess I know how he’d feel.
ART CLASS EXERCISE
Mr. Schultz says today we’ve got to sit
face to face with someone in class
and draw their portrait
while they draw ours.
I glance over at Murphy
and know
that if I don’t choose him,
no one will.
So I do.
DRAWING EACH OTHER
He’s drawing my nose.
I’m drawing his mouth.
He’s drawing my mouth.
I’m drawing his nose.
He’s drawing my eyes.
I’m drawing his eyes,
and suddenly I notice
that they’re smiling into mine.
So I let my eyes
smile back at his,
and no one sees
but us.
I SHOW MY DRAWING TO THE GIRLS
Rachel just kind of gapes at it
and says, “Eeeeooooo.
You drew Murphy!”
I say, “No, duh.”
Grace says, “You’ve captured
the utter Murphyness of Murphy,
you Murphy.”
Rachel says, “Takes one to draw one.”
And I clonk them both
over their heads
with my sketchbook.
CULTURE CLASH
Dylan says
when I meet his mother today
I shouldn’t mention
that I’m Jewish.
I say
okay, but can I
tell her about
the HIV positive thing?
He gives me a look.
I give him one back.
ON THE WAY TO MEETING DYLAN’S MOTHER
I’m thinking about the time
my mother and I were in the car,
waiting for an old lady who was taking forever
to pull out of a parking space
in front of Flair Cleaners.
I’m thinking about how when she finally drove off
this crow-faced man zipped
right into the space from behind us
and about how my mother
rolled down her window and said, “Excuse me, sir.
But we’ve been waiting
for that spot for five minutes.”
I’m remembering what the man said
as he shoved open his car door:
“God damn kikes!”
I’m remembering
the look on my mother’s face,
the way her hand flew up to her cheek,
as though she’d been slapped.
And I’m remembering
the first thought that came into my head:
Do we look
that Jewish?
IT’S JUST AN EXPRESSION
Dylan’s mother
is in the middle of having a garage sale
when we walk up.
She kisses him on the cheek,
and then starts pumping my hand,
saying how delighted she is
to finally be meeting me.
She says she only wishes
we’d been here this morning
because she could have used our help when
the huge crowd of “early birds” descended.
She says they were
swarming all over her stuff like flies
and everyone kept trying to
Jew her down on the prices.
I glance over at Dylan
to see his reaction to what she’s said.
He just laughs and says, “That’s how
people are at garage sales, Mom.”
I don’t know which is worse—
the fact that she said it,
or the fact that it didn’t even faze him.
GRACE IS IN LOVE
For the past two weeks,
Grace hasn’t stopped blabbing
to Rachel and me about
this new guy named Henry
who sits two seats over from her
in science class.
She says he’s the most gorgeous creature
that she’s ever laid eyes on
and she keeps telling us all about
how brilliant and hilarious he is,
and how he’s got this English accent
that just about makes her drool.
And she says every time
she sneaks a glance at him,
she catches him staring at her
with this perfect little crooked smile,