flag up, flag down.
A narrow living room holds
mismatched furniture, dead flowers.
A woman’s voice calls from the kitchen,
the scent of homemade hot sauce greets me.
She sits at the kitchen table
hunched over bills, adding and sighing.
X kisses her cheek.
She tells him she’s making tamales.
We sit. We talk.
My name. My family.
Her:Henderson? Any relation to the one running for
state senator?
I cannot escape my roots
even out here in the middle of the 1940s.
X visits the basement,
while I help mush masa.
Her:You have the most interesting eyes.
Her eyes burn into me like Lady Elba’s hand on my chest.
Her:Oh, you must get that all the time, you’re so pretty.
Not really.
Her:They’re so big. I’ve seen your dad on TV …
Oh no, not this about Dad again.
Her:He’s got tiny eyes. You must have your mother’s eyes.
Do I have my mother’s eyes?
See what my mother sees?
Her:I’m sorry, X always tells me I’m nosy.
She pats my hand in a comforting
motherly way. Her skin,
palesoftcooldelicate
like Mom’s skin,
before the testsbefore treatmentsbefore “that time.”
X returns, wraps an apron around his waist
his arms around his mother’s midsection.
X:My two favorite gals.
She smiles, proud, loving, ready to
mix the spices
mold the corn husks
make the most of her time with us.
Suddenly,
the smell of cumin
and the coziness of this kitchen
make me see a new side.
X as
compassionate son
talented tamale maker.
X as
a partner in caring
as well as
a partner in crime.
If Tamales Could Talk
After we taste the tamales,
X
revisits the basement
hoists a very large duffel bag
over his shoulder.
X:Okay mama, see you in a week.
We leave.
Me,
thinking of what it would be like to
visit again.
X,
scrolling through his phone for messages
or something.
The secret nature of things feels funny,
and too familiar.
When we get back to town, he says
there’s a party …
could be fun …
we should go …
When we get back to town, I remember
there’s a political event …
won’t be fun …
I have to go …
And my father’s clause—
Sam must support family in all events leading up
to election
fresh in my mind
from serving my time
being grounded.
X tells me to blow it off, be with him.
My heart wants to, but my head wins tonight.
Me:I can’t.
He stares at the steering wheel. Says I’ll miss a great party.
So he plans on going?
Even after the meth, the sorrysorrysorry, pink hearts, red roses?
He drops me off in front of my house
as I wonder if he will ever meet my dad,
shake his hand.
Would it be better?
Or worse?
“So you’re going?”
“I have to.”
Whose words to whom?
We kiss goodbye
slow and sweet.
It burns a little
just like homemade tamales.
Vive Le Senator!
Tonight’s soirée takes place
in a French restaurant.
C’est la vie, I’m not hungry.
Miguel rushes around
thanking donors for their money.
Merci. Merci. Oh please!
Dad gushes about us being
one big, happy family.
Quelle surprise, that’s what he sees?
I play along with joie de vivre
the more supportive I am,
the less he notices of me.
I hone my acting skills.
We sit at the front table.
Dad shakes hands with everyone.
Vive le Senator!
Whose hand does X shake tonight?
Why would he go without me?
Why would he want to go without me?
I slurp my soup with Melanie
until Jane yells at us.
Queen Vanilla has a migraine.
Quelle horreur!
More and more people show up.
So many so, I become claustrophobic,
duck out the side door and
get some fresh air.
Vive la blah blah blah.
French Lessons
Outside, I call X.
It rings and rings and rings.
I leave a message,
something stupid,
sounding insecure.
Merde.
As I contemplate my needy state
I notice a guy smoking a few yards away
seeming equally as bored.
He looks interestingavant-gardeEiffel Tower tall.
I approach him for a cigarette.
It’s the only thing I can think of—a cig.
I’m bad at smoking
worse at flirting
but, if X can party without me
I can try and smoke with a cute boy.
I brush a curl out of my eye
brush up on my French, say hello.
He turns around. I gasp,
Sacrebleu!
Ted.
He looks at me like I’m from Planet Lame.
He’s calm
cool
careful.
Ted:Think your dad will win?
Like this is what’s primarily
on both our minds.
I shrug, say I don’t care.
I look closer at the Ted du jour
longer, floppy hair
Chuck Taylors
Long Live Anarchy bracelet
He’s au contraire to the Ted I knew
buzz cuts
preppy shirts
basketball obsessed.
The space between us feels tense, yet
for the first time ever—electric.
Did he become interesting, accidentally, over the summer?
A je ne sais quoi oozes out of him
like laissez-faire took over
his Type-A personality.
He asks about “the college dude” as if spitting out escargot.
I shrug.
How should I know?
He’s at some party not answering his phone.
I start to ask about his girlfriend,
realize I have no clue who she is
I’ve been so wrapped up in
me and X.
He tells me her name, and that it’s over.
I try to act casual, yet my stomach flops a little.
Was that
a pity flop?
Or …
Ted:So is there a reason you came over to talk to me?
Me:Maybe. There a reason you’re here?
Ted:Maybe.
Not getting anywhere, I resign.
Me:I should go back inside.
Ted mumbles something
about me looking all serious
like Madame Roulin.
I smile at him.
He knows Gauguin?
Smokescreen
Inside, I run smack into my father
and
Ted’s dad:Your father tells me you’re really focused
on those SATs.
I shrug.
Ted’s dad:Good. The more you study, the more you
increase that X factor.
Yes, I’m focused on the X factor.
Dad wraps his arm around me
pleased, puffed up with pride
Henderson blood coursing through both of us.
Ted’s dad:Wish some of your discipline would rub
off on Ted.
No wonder Ted’s sporting
an anarchy bracelet instead of a basketball.
A woman shakes Dad’s hand,
asks for a favor in return for her vote:
get the loud drug parties on her block to go—
disturbing ruckus …
reeks of chemicals …
kids who should be in college …
not carousing …
Dad agrees, whole-heartedly.
She gives her address
which sounds vaguely familiar.
Party Betty’s house?
Sweating, I excuse myself.
Dad gives me a little hug,
asks why I smell like smoke.
I smile at his guests as if he’s whispered something
sweet in my ear.
Alone, I check my phone
sixteen times
pit in my stomach
finally, one text from Gavin—
I hope LA crumbles into the Pacific!
nothing from X.
Positive Energy
Twenty-four hours later
no word from X.
WTF?
Not one to sulk, I call April,
tell her about X and Ted.
Talk some sense into me!
What’s going on?
Did something change,
something happen
at the party?
He just went to a party, and I didn’t.
Is that a big deal?
Am I being a baby?
Do college girls get paranoid?
Or is this just high school insecurity?
Me:Tell me I’m not crazy.
April:You’re not crazy.
Me:Did I misjudge Ted?
April:You didn’t misjudge Ted.
Me:But Ted’s changed.
April:It’s possible.
Me:Then it’s possible for guys to change.
Thinking of X.
April:Not all of them.
Reading my mind.
My friend’s good at
lifting moods
igniting hope
living in a Utopian
reality.
But just to be sure,
she suggests we consult Lady Elba.
Lady Elba, Pt. II
Same red neon open sign.
Same triangle-sounding chimes.
Lady Elba:Ah, the Great Samantha.
Me:Ah, the Lady Elba.
She remembers me well.
I remember her words well.
Something big is on its way to your soul.
But, is something big, something good?
She peeks into the cards.
I seek her answers.
Cards flip, flip, flip
she tsk, tsk, tsks
then, fingernail to lips.
Is my something big, something bad?
Is my something big, someone better?
How did I end up back here
with
this illusionist?
Why did I come back
while
the cards flip, flip, flip?
once
twice
bad
nice
pausing on a woman that looks like a nun.
Great, I’m going to become a nun.
Me,
becoming a nun.
Me,
already undone.
Lady Elba:Ah, the High Priestess.
High Priestess means you have …
knowledge
secret knowledge
powerful knowledge
all-knowing knowledge.
Me:But, what about something big?
Lady Elba:That, I’m afraid, has yet to surface.
surety in her eyes
uncertainty in mine
the future is a mystery
a future of uncertainty
Lady Elba:The High Priestess, you …
her hand on my heart
my head held up high
Lady Elba: … are on a journey with
The Fool.
The Fool?
Lady Elba:Yes.
I’m starting to think that …
Lady Elba:But you possess the answers …
… are stronger, braver, wiser than
you know.
Lady Elba:The Fool is your friend.
And so it is.
Part deux.
Strike two.
When will I be through searching?
I, the High Priestess, should know that much.
Surely this makes me
the Fool.
Thirty-One Head-Spinning Flavors
After, I enjoy a caramel cone as
Party Betty sneaks up.
Betty:You missed a great party.
She licks her mint chocolate chip
while wearing Jane’s earrings.
They look better on her than on Queen Vanilla.
Betty:X was there …
party at the Lab …
never heard of the Lab? …
a place anybody who’s anybody …
would know.
I’ve heard nothing from X.
My stomach
jumpsleapsshoots up through my chest
my heart
What will Party Betty say next?
Betty:I thought you guys were exclusive?
Her words funnel
through my ears
into my head
around my skull
down my spine
between my eyes.
Me:Not really, why?
A casual lie
I did not know I was capable of.
A part of me jettisons out of my own body
replaced by the High Priestess.
April watches this tennis match.
Betty:So that explains why Jessica was all over him.
15 Betty
Me:Yeah, X mentioned her once.
15 all
Betty:Well, he was really messed up on pills …
30 Betty
Pills? Stay strong, Sam.
Me:It’s not like I’m only seeing X …
30 all
I think of Ted.
Betty:And X doesn’t care?
Me:Sometimes he gets jealous, but …
40 Sam
Betty:Wow. I didn’t know.
She lobs a large bite of cone into her mouth
game
set
match
goes to Samantha, the High Priestess.
I hide my aching heart.
Party Betty leaves.
April’s in awe of my composure.
The High Priestess version of me won’t play
the fool
the baby
the high school girl left behind.
Although, I go
back to my house
up to my bedroom
throw my face in my pillows
and scream.
Suspicions and Doubt
My moist
hot
breath.
My burning
wet
eyes.
The sham
muffles my rage
stifles my anger
calms me enough to
reconsider Party Betty’s statements.
Just because I haven’t heard from X
doesn’t mean
he’s out doing awful things.
Just because Betty says it was X
doesn’t mean
I have to accept it.
My guy?
The one who
helps his mom make tamales
laces my sidewalk with chalk hearts
fills my ears with love songs?
Party Betty?
The one who
wears stolen diamond studs
parties with druggies
rats out her own friends?
Why should I believe her?
Why would she lie?
Maybe X can explain.
Maybe Betty’s mistaken.
Perhaps there’s a
sensible answer
a missed call
forgotten message
deleted text.
Perhaps there’s a
reason
alibi
excuse
…
Oh,
even my heart has trouble believing
the hope.
The fact—
It has been over twenty-four hours
and no word from X.
Images
When I paint
everything seems clearin focus.
When I blur an edge
suddenly the imageworks.
If only life were that simple.
When I finish
my final piece for RISD,
Melanie and Angie Hippocheer me.
Melanie:Sometimes my eyes get cloudy,
but the tears wash the sad thoughts away.
Most times, I don’t even notice her.
How can she be sad, see sorrow?
People leave—
X
my mom
how my dad used to be
but Melanie’s always