Pretty name, Bree.
Okay, good call.
Confidence flooded our
brain like hormones.
Our turn. Who was he?
My friends call me Buddy.
Hardly a handle
for a white knight.
Bree asked for the name
on his birth certificate.
Mom named me Adam.
Better. We liked it. So
why didn’t he use it?
(Forgetting completely
about the Kristina thing.)
Hard name to live up to.
Not really. It isn’t hard
to fall from grace. Revisit
Genesis. Maybe I’ll go with
you. Might be fun.
You’re a strange girl.
I had to agree. What
was up with this person,
Bree? And was she
a permanent fixture?
But I’d like to get to know you.
I Wanted to Know Him, Too
Wanted to know
what Guinivere knew.
Bree might have pulled him
closer, tempted his kiss that very
moment, given hers in return.
But with a sudden slam, reality
kicked into gear. Downstairs,
Guinivere called his name.
He answered,
Up here.
I looked in his eyes, caught
a hint of warped humor,
jumped up to go inside.
He asked,
How long are you staying?
Not long enough, I wanted
to say. But I told him,
“Three weeks.”
He said,
Not much time.
Footsteps on the stairs.
Bree vanished, leaving
panic in her wake.
He finished,
But maybe enough.
The Return of Guinivere
She took in the scene,
face cinder-block hard,
eyes blinking like
mad, black turn signals.
“Who is she?”
As if he had something
to explain. He didn’t,
did he? Yet his voice was
right beside my ear,
Bree.
I swear I saw her claws
spring out. I froze, prey.
She told me her name was
Lince. Then translated,
“Lynx.”
She had claimed her territory.
I decided to let the wildcats
play, uninterrupted. His warm
hand whispered against mine.
See you soon.
His promise fell,
soft as a premonition,
followed by the bobcat’s
predatory growl,
“Me too.”
That’ll Teach Me
to spy
to moan
to covet
my neighbor’s boyfriend.
I ran inside, tried
to breathe
to laugh
to silence
the drumming inside my head.
Went into the kitchen
to get a drink
to get away
to get a glimpse
of the biggest cockroach I’d ever seen.
Toss-and-Turn Night
Bone-oven hot outside,
swamp-cooler cool three
feet up the hallway,
temperature in Dad’s
claustrophobic guest
room: lukewarm.
The bed was a monstrous box
spring. Thin, mildewed foam,
two sprays of Lysol, and one
thrift-store sheet were all
that lay between
Bedzilla and me.
Tried my right side. Kept
seeing the kitchen
cockroach, the one I
tried to pretend was
only a Mormon cricket,
Los Alamos—grown.
Tried my left side. Flashed
on my bedroom at home.
Pin clean, pretty in
mauve, a ballet of pink
butterflies on the walls,
pillow-top mattress to die for.
Flopped onto my back. Found
the keyhole behind my eyes,
squeezed through, into sleep.
Not slumber, but sleep just this
side of waking, where dreams
fuse with reality.
Through the Keyhole
I found myself in a meadow,
brilliant green beneath a soft
wash of sunshine.
I moved at a near sprint,
drawn toward a symphony,
primitive passion.
Lovemaking.
Wildcats mating, snarls at
the joining, satisfied roars
signaling completion.
I slowed, shifted upwind,
crept very near,
somehow unafraid.
Fascinated.
Some movement gave me
away. Exquisite feline eyes
found me in the grass,
golden eyes, flecked green.
He purred and she looked up.
I gasped at her face.
My face.
So Much for Sleep
Jump-started awake,
I sat up in bed,
found the eyes of the lynx
at the glass, snarls
in the hallway.
Sweat-drenched,
shivering, I threw back
the sheet, went to the
window, three flights
above a deserted alley.
Found no eyes but dream eyes.
One demon conquered,
I slipped on flip-flops,
mediocre protection
against monster
cockroaches, wandered
toward the kitchen.
Found no snarls but Dad’s snores.
I Hid Out for Three Days
Spent them sleeping in,
like Dad.
I work late. No shame in that.
Afternoons we ate fast
food and talked.
Sure I want more. Some day.
He was pushing 45. Time
was running out.
A house of my own. A good woman.
Surely he’d dated one or
two since Mom?
Slept with a few. Don’t do movies….
There’s more to dating
than movies.
Don’t do dinner, unless they cook.
Come on, Dad. What
about love?
Love is overrated. Besides …
I couldn’t believe
his confession:
No one can measure up to your mom.
I Even Spent Time at the Bowling Alley
He Hadn’t Changed After All
But he wasn’t such a bad guy,
really. Not ambitious, true.
In fact, you might call
him lazy, at least when
the drug of the day
was green.
Been smokin’ pot since I was 13,
couldn’t quit if I tried. Besides,
why try? It keeps me happy,
mellow. Makes me eat
too much, but
oh, well.
The white
stuff was a different
story. He’d stay up all
night, eating zip, bowling
and snorting line after line.
Rent money, right up the nose.
We used to
do coke, till “Just
Say No” put the stuff
out of reach. Now it’s crank.
Meth. The monster. It’s a bitch
on the body, but damn do you fly.
You Fly Until You Crash
Two
days,
&
nbsp; two
nights,
no
sleep,
no
food,
come
down
off
the
monster,
you
crash
real
hard.
Dad Crashed
Slept twelve hours, got
up for a drink and a
pee, slept six more.
Good thing it was his
day off.
But was it always his
day off? Or did he
sometimes go to work,
mind folded down
around exhaustion?
Did he sometimes
blow off work completely,
call in sick, notating on
his calendar the
Illness of the Day?
No bowling, no small talk,
just plain, empty time,
I walked down to
the corner store for
Pepsi and Cosmopolitan.
Guess who was buying
cigarettes, copper skin
glistening bittersweet
summer sweat. One
look, I was Play-Doh.
He Knew It, Too
He turned, flashed
a drop-dead-in-your-tracks
gorgeous grin.
Hey, Bree.
His voice dripped
honey and cream,
irresistible poison.
You been avoiding me?
I plead not guilty,
argued spending time
with my dad.
All-night bowling?
He knew too much. I
fumbled for change,
came up short.
No worries. My treat.
He paid for my Pepsi,
asked if he could
walk me back.
I’ll be good. Honest.
Hip brushing hip,
his hand slipped
around my waist.
You on your own today?
Heartbeat bombs
went off in my head.
Spectacular.
Can we talk awhile?
His Mom Was at Work
We went to his apartment, a nice
quiet place to talk awhile.
Mind if I light up?
What could I say? It was his
apartment.
His lungs.
Bad habit, I know.
I watched hands, hard and etched
like granite, light a match
with finesse.
Do you have any bad habits?
I could have made up something.
Instead I shook my head.
Want any?
I wanted him. Bad enough. I reached
for the cigarette in his hand.
You don’t smoke, do you?
I took a small puff. Struggled
like hell not to cough.
Or throw up.
Careful. You’ll get sick.
So I did the sensible thing. Took
another drag. Felt better.
Come here, Bree.
He pulled me close, locked my eyes,
tilted his face just a fraction.
Then I really felt queasy.
He Wanted to Kiss Me
I felt it with every nerve,
every fiber,
every molecule
of my being.
I wanted him to kiss me,
with every nerve,
every fiber,
every molecule
of my being.
But I was scared to kiss him.
Every nerve,
every fiber,
every molecule
screamed!
He leaned forward,
parted those
perfect lips.
At that exact moment,
every
single
thing
about
my
life
changed.
Forever.
First Kiss
They say you’ll remember
your first kiss forever. I will.
It was Fourth of July.
It was Christmas.
Fireworks. Snowflakes.
Sunstroke and frostbite.
It was all that I could ask for
and completely unexpected.
I expected demands.
He gifted me with tenderness.
I expected ego.
He let me experiment.
I expected disrespect.
He called me beautiful.
I expected him to expect perfection.
He taught me all I needed to know.
The Week Flew By
Monday
Ducked Lince and made out
at the park.
Learned a thing or three.
Tuesday
Took in a movie.
Sat in the back row.
Really made out.
Wednesday
Had a Slurpee fight.
Kissed the sticky stuff
off each other’s faces.
Thursday
Back to his apartment.
Things got heavy.
Heart-stomping heavy.
Friday
Bummed a ride and went
skinny-dipping up
Red Rock Canyon.
Saturday
Talked with Dad, wishing I was doing
something else with Adam.
Sneaked out after dinner
for a smoke
and a taste of tongue.
Sunday
Met Adam at the bowling alley.
Somehow the Place Looked Different
What had changed?
It was still a run-down bowling
alley in a bad part
of town.
I had changed.
Somehow I didn’t care about
obsessions.
I was obsessed.
Somehow I didn’t care about
public make-out
sessions.
I plotted make-out sessions.
Somehow I didn’t care about
women, stealing other
women’s boyfriends.
Had I stolen someone’s boyfriend?
Somehow I didn’t care about
back-room parties.
It was my turn. I’d been invited.
Choices, Choices
Life is full of
choices
We don’t
always
make
good ones.
It seems to
Kristina
you gotta
be
crazy
to open your
windows,
invite the
demons in.
Bree
throws rocks
at the feeble
glass,
laughs.
You Have to Remember
It had been
a tempestuous week,
snared by emotions
rubbing me so raw
I hurt at night,
alone in the dark.
I finagled my way
on this trip to fall back
in love with my dad.
Instead I fell
for a boy from
the wrong side of the tracks,
worse, the wrong part
of the country! I
had come, wanting to
want to go home. Now the
dark side of Albuquerque
looked pretty damn good.
So when he asked
about getting high, I didn’t
think, I agreed. We smoked
some good California green.
Took three tries to put me in
the place he said I should be.
Sleepy. Not “high” at
all, but real low. And real
slow. Not my idea of a party,
except the munchies part. I
wanted to meet the monster.
Why go down if you can go up?
We Met at the Bowling Alley
I introduced Adam to my dad. He
and Buddy already knew each other.
Small building, you know.
Their networking surprised me.
Not exactly sure why.
Some good green bud around.
Dad seemed to accept that I
knew about such things.
Don’t worry. She’s safe with me.
Someone called for bowling shoes.
Adam and I eased down to the far lane.
Okay, little girl. Ready to party?
I was ready to take a big bite
of freedom before my time was up.
You gotta be sure.
Mom expected me home in ten
days. Of course, I was sure.
Let’s hit the back room.
We ducked behind a stack
of crates, sat on the floor.
You really never tried this?
Like magic, a mirror and
razor blade appeared.
You’re gonna love it. You’ll see.
I watched him pour powder,
yellowish white.
It will take you to heaven.
Used the blade to chop the chunks
fine, draw two crooked lines.
Make you want to fly all night.
He held the mirror to my face,
handed me a sawed-off straw,
Make you want to make love to me.
Just Before the Drop
You know how you
stand and stand and stand
in line for the most
gigantic incredible roller
coaster
you’ve ever dared attempt.
Anticipation swelling,
minute by minute by minute,
you choose to wait even
longer, to ride in the front
car
and finally it’s your turn.
They buckle you in, lock
the safety bar with a jolting clunk!
Hook engaged, the chain jerks
you forward. You start to
climb
crank-crank-crank.
Cresting the top, time
moves into overtime
as you wait for that scant
hesitation, just before you
drop
knowing you can’t turn back.
You know how you feel
at that instant? Well, that’s
exactly how it feels when you
shake hands with the
monster.