Gavin:If you choose not to see it, at least admit
that’s your choice.
Me:He needs me.
Gavin:I love you, Sam, but—
Me:Why do you always see the cup as half empty?
Gavin:Because right now, that’s what the cup is.
Me:Just because George left for the summer doesn’t
mean he left you.
Gavin:Honey, lonely is lonely.
And you can lie to yourself all you want.
My Gavin
my gadfly.
Where It Begins
Party Betty strikes again.
Big Blowout at Betty’s House!
I decide we should go, thinking about
The Cigarette Effect.
X perks up, looks at me differently
like I’m surprising
interesting.
I’m feeling good until we’re at the party and he
runs into friends
walks away
avoids looking at me.
Being good, being the
High Priestess
mother hen
reputable one
doesn’t seem to be working.
So when someone passes around
a bong then some pillsthen who-knows-what
I start my reputation anew, livin’—
The less-than-stressful life.
The paint-my-own-fate life.
The floating-airy-on-top-of-the-world-feeling life.
The back-next-to-my-guy life.
I’m surrounded by friends
so much in love and finally …
… livin’ my life.
How It Continues
The following morning’s
loud
light
less than fun,
feels like a dog
licked the insides
of my brain.
I pad down the hall
in search of
aspirin
water
ice packs
anything to stop
the pounding
the pressure
the pestering pang in my gut,
People who do drugs are lame.
If you choose not to see it, admit that’s your choice.
Instead of comfort, I find
Jane jabbering
Melanie blubbering
something about breakfast.
Melanie:Brewberry pancakes.
Jane:Daddy had to eat with his campaign people.
Melanie:Brewberry pancakes!
Jane:How about pancakes with Daddy for dinner?
The pounding in my head
burning in my eyes
makes me continue down the hall,
pushing past Melanie’s
Brewberry pancakes for breakfast! chant.
The thought of food
makes me queasy.
The thought of Dad
off promising pancakes
on the campaign trail
makes me sicker.
My head finds relief moments after
I take some Tylenol.
My heart finds relief seconds after
his call.
X:I feel so close to you right now, Sam Henderson.
I smile deep in my heart as I listen to his voice—
warm
soothing
calm.
I frown as I find a note on my dresser from Miguel—
Your father asked that I remind you to
iron your dress before the next rally.
I ball the note in my fist
and lob it into the trash
like flipping a hotcake over a skillet.
Me:Wanna grab breakfast?
I ask,
as Melanie’s chants grow louder.
He agrees to meet me
in twenty minutes.
Leo’s Lunchroom.
I throw on my Chucks
and jog down the stairs
hungry for his touch,
starved for his smile.
Closing the front door masks
the sounds of my little sister
and her
flapjack disappointment.
Brewberry pancakes! Brewberry pancakes!
Brewberry pancakes! Brewberry pancakes!
Where It Goes from Here
From here
my dear
I’m up
up!
on top of the world
day after day
night after night
to lean on.
It’s good
crystal clear
up here
painting the feelings of my soul
What’s the fun in feeling safe?
Where’s the safe in feeling fun?
Is this what I’ve been denying myself?
I swallow
and suck
sip
and snort
and then
I lean on
X,
my rock.
I’m powerful
and beautiful and
bohemian
full of vigor and vim
right in line
leaning in time
with X.
Super Samantha Significant
leaning on
the counter
spinning, twirling
becoming alive
livin’ my life.
Blink blink
I drink
sniff
think
up!
Flying High
You ready? X texts.
Quietly, I slip out of the house
3 a.m.
learning myself
liking myself
leaving for another adventure,
I grab a sweater.
August in Chicago’s the hottest
time of the year, but early mornings
can be chilly.
We fly up and down
the empty city streets
while others live a dull life
sleepingbreathingin and out
the dim nothingness
coursing through their veins.
We will careenin and outof adventure.
Another Vespa, another pill
feeling awake and in awe of the
heightened colors of trees,
dewy hues kissing the crosswalks
a real live painting, better than I could paint.
It’s the wee hours and I’m
awakealivealertalongside my favorite
kindred companion.
X shifts gears and the motorjuts us forward
one-stroke
two-stroke
engine roaring
racing to our destination.
We have a destination?
A point of no return?
A permanent smile wraps around my face
I wrap my arms around X.
He speeds forward, swayingside to sidestops,
shh!
takes off his helmet
throws the Vespa in neutral.
We Put It in Writing
We glide the bike up the alley
to the back door of a building.
A motion light flicks on.
Ah!
X opens three locks with a series of keys.
Head spinning, stomach
flip
flop
flip
flopping
I watch the flickering light
standing under
a loose light bulb
flick
flicker
flickery
shining down on me.
X kisses my cheek
dim, bright
pretty light
waves me to step inside.
Bye-bye little light!
Inside, I recognize
the back entrance to Café Hex
where he works
where I watch him
where it all began.
The room rests peacefully amid
pounds of coffee, a humming refrigerator, shiny washed vinyl chairs, lacquered tabletops that smell like Clorox and coffee beans.
Must be what the circus feels like when the
audience goes home
packs up leaving
the bearded lady
all alone.
I spin
round and round
round and round and round
round and round and round and round
enjoying how the red walls blend into the yellow ones.
He watches me twirl closer and closer to him,
eventually, he pulls me in.
Me:This is breaking and entering.
I tease.
X:Not when you’ve got a key.
Me:You’re very clever.
We kiss, hug, dance
eat day-old muffins
from the display case,
drink cold coffee.
I find a chalkboard
and draw a girl holding onto a bird
as they fly toward the sun.
X finds a permanent black marker
and writes, I love you, Henri
on a chair
on the counter
on menus
on my arm.
Officially, his pet name for me.
Gauguin would be happy.
This begins a correspondence
with each other’s skin
on a secondhand couch
in the back of the café,
we tell each other the story of our hearts
writing and kissing
peeling off layers of clothes
in search of more places to pen
our love.
Eventually, we run out of skin
and the whirling, twirling, freedom I felt
at the beginning of this journey
fades.
Exhilaration replaced
with a heavy desire to sleep.
Nestled in his arms,
warm in his embrace
lying on the haggard couch,
I give in and sleep.
Sweet dreams.
It would be
a dull life
without him.
In the Harsh Light of Day
The next morning,
a hand grabs my arm,
yanks me off the couch.
Man:I’m calling the cops!
The owner.
He shoves my shirt at me,
points to X—
Man:You’re fired!
We dress while hearing—
Man:I’m pressing charges.
You’re a disgrace.
How could you have such lack of respect?
Look what you’ve done to this place.
Look what you’ve done to your skin!
and worst yet—
Man:Aren’t you Henderson’s daughter?
I’ve seen you on TV.
Even with X, I can’t escape
being a Henderson.
Caught
The owner
dials the police
or so he pretends.
X doesn’t want to stick around
to find out.
Says they can’t book us if we’re not here.
Really?
I’ve never been in trouble before.
Not like this.
So I follow X’s lead
sneak out the back
half dressed
partially unzipped
mostly tense
fully freaked out
while thinking
Was the damage that bad?
Didn’t seem so last night.
Will I go to jail?
Breaking and entering is illegal.
Even with X, I can’t escape
fearing the future
Senator Henderson.
Outside, the Vespa’s Gone
X kicks the side of a building,
curses about
the poorhouse
his bad luck
unemployment.
My phone rings.
Miguel.
Crap!
My Dad’s rally.
I totally forgot.
I shove my phone in my pocket,
unanswered,
realizing that
in the harsh light of day
I could be grounded
yet again.
Me:I better get home.
As I start to run off,
X points to my skin
covered with words
tracked up and down
my armsmy handsmy feetmy legsmy back.
I’m a mess.
He convinces me to
take a breath
take a minute
take a shower.
His place.
His argument ends with a
peck on my lips.
Who can say no to that?
Arms wrapped tight
around each other’s waist
we walk to his place
like Siamese twins conjoined
at the heart.
Coming Clean
I scrub and scrub,
barely fading the black letters
strewn across my body,
our love letter.
I should be freaked out,
Will the owner press charges?
Will he name names?
Could I go to jail?
Instead, I take a long breath,
under the spray of water
and read everything—
Paris or bust!
You + Me
This is just the beginning
You’re my favorite drug
Who says drugs are bad?
I smile at that last one, the drug one.
Why’d I get so uptight about everything?
How bad can drugs be?
We’re closer now, him and me.
Besides, I did them last night
and the night before
and I’m still here
and still alive
and unharmed.
X is right, this is just the beginning.
I step out of the shower.
Me:I love you.
He kisses my cheek.
What Also Comes Clean
The weight of the morning
slips away with X’s kiss.
That is
until my phone
rings again.
Miguel again.
This time I answer.
Me:I’m not going to Dad’s rally.
Just leave me alone!
Miguel:You better be thankful I haven’t left you alone!
His voice isn’t calm
as usual,
it’s rushed,
sharp.
Miguel:You
’re one lucky kid, Samantha Henderson.
Words spray out his mouth
like shots fired.
I hear only one.
Me:I’m not a kid.
Miguel:You sure you wanna go that route?
He tells me I should be
more concerned with the lucky part.
Lucky that X’s boss called the cops
instead of calling the papers.
Miguel:Officer O’Neil is a friend of your father’s.
Tells me how he
got the whole thing
squared away so Dad
will never know my
“criminal activity.”
Miguel:And thankfully, neither will the papers.
This shouldn’t hurt your dad’s campaign.
Most of me is
happyscaredthankfulrelieved.
Most of me.
The rest of me
doesn’t care
about reputations
or keeping my record
squeaky clean.
Me:Know what else won’t hurt Dad’s campaign?
Me. Not showing up to any more rallies.
Miguel:I can’t tell him that.
Me:Make something up
like all you politicians do.
Heaven forbid I tarnish the reputation of
the Senator for the People!
What I Do for the People
I could run home,
give in
fold.
I could turn around,
be polite,
retreat.
I could beg Miguel
not to tell,
surrender.
I could be Safe Sam,
Ho-hum Henderson
Sweet Senator Hopeful’s Daughter.
But if I want to be
the me that’s
carefree
I cannot
turn around
look back
care
for ralliesstrangerspromiseslies.
I can only
care
for X
and me.
Dad chooses to be
for the people.
So I choose to be
for the people
of me.
Instead of Rallies
X:You ready?
Me:As I’ll ever be.
Night after night
we stroll
for the next few days
party
drift and roll
up to Logan Square
down to Pilsen
Ukranian Village
back to Bucktown.
I’m the belle of the ball
for the people of the party.
Most nights
I’m too high to care
that I’m not where
Dad thinks I should be.