telling people to spray perfume on furniture
and adopt a manatee
and cook with balsamic vinegar and toasted hazelnuts
and thyme sprigs and goat cheese.
He said, this will be us someday.
But all those ingredients were just a poem to me.
He said, time to expand the business.
Me first he ruined . . . whom will he next?
Tonight started out with the same dialogue,
with Widow saying,
you again?
She said, I’m nobody’s babysitter
fine by me you wanna get dead
see if I care.
She said, you watch out
don’t you be thinking I’ll save you
and don’t you get in that car there either
I heard he’s a woman-hater.
She said, don’t step over that line.
She said, what’s the matter with you? you dopesick?
Call cut you off? why then?
you want to feel it the way you did the first time? why then?
how can you stand it?
don’t you throw up around me,
throwup makes me throw up.
She said, how can you work?
I said, when I’m clean I’ll find out your real name,
and she said, guess.
I said, is it Marnie?
Lenora?
Dorothy?
Elaine?
Widow listened to each name,
trying it on,
and
no
no
no
no.
I said, Widow is a nice name
and she said, too spidery.
I said, call your mom.
She said, I don’t remember my mom.
She said, some date knocked my memories out of me
but I bet if I hear my real name
I’ll know.
If I could remember my name
I might remember my mom who gave it to me.
Then came Mr. Mercedes pointing at me
and Mr. Shiny Suburban who pinched
and the guy who had his girlfriend on his cell all the while
and the guy who had a Mickey Mouse watch
and Mickey danced the whole time
and the guy who asked me for a password
and was sure I was a spy
and the nice man whose girl was far away.
The whole time I was shaking and sweating and coughing
and one man said stop it
but no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t stop
shaking and coughing and yawning.
He put his hand over my mouth
until he was done
so I could hardly breathe—
and right then and there I gave up.
I said, Widow, I’m done.
I walked back to Call’s place same as always
knowing he would give me give me give me
all the candy I could take.
I walked back to Call’s place
thinking, I give up,
thinking, I’m dying I’m dying,
and me not knowing,
just walking in the door,
and there I found
an angel.
A little one.
A little girl.
Call said, you needed some help.
He said, her name is Melli.
His words replete with guile into her heart too easy entrance won . . .
Melli, a little girl
you could see her veins through
and her eyelids?
you could see the blue through
and her feet?
you could see the bones through
and her hair?
you could see the light through
She was almost not there.
I thought, if I blink
I could make her go away—
but no
she was never gone, blink blink,
she was there and there
and what was I going to do?
The air of this place
could crush such bones
such blue.
I said, where did you get her?
He said, group home here,
nobody cares about those kids.
I said, that’s not true—
I said, I’ll work hard—
I said, take her back
it’s not right
she’s too little—
I said, if you got caught you would be in big trouble.
Call said, all great businessmen take risks.
I said please.
He said, you need some candy,
and I said, just a minute.
I had to think, had to,
but I knew I couldn’t think on Call’s candy.
I said, in a minute.
I threw up in Call’s bathroom sink
so hard I thought bits of stomach
slid out of my mouth
and then I came back into Call’s living room.
Melli.
I was careful, didn’t move too fast around her,
didn’t want to scare her.
Call said, I need to go out,
and he went into the bathroom
and ran the shower, started singing
something about little miss strange
no one knows where she comes from—
While Call sang in the shower,
I asked her, how old are you?
She put up all ten fingers
and then one—
same age as my little brother Jeremy.
It’s okay, I said to her, my voice shaking, shaking,
you can trust me—
what’s group home?
where are your parents?
But my words went through her
as if she weren’t solid
and she didn’t answer.
I said, Melli, is that your real name?
She nodded.
I said, can you talk?
She shrugged, looked down.
Why don’t you talk?
I looked in her mouth,
she let me,
and she had a tongue
pink as a baby’s
and I knew that mouth
had never eaten fruit off the knowledge tree.
I said, it’s okay, silent Melli—
it’s okay.
I said, Melli, where are you from?
where do you live?
I looked in the phone book,
but Group Connect
Group Sales Office
Group Telecom
Grout
Grove
no Group Home.
I said, Melli, where is Group Home?
What is it near?
She looked away, looked around,
looked sad that she didn’t know the answers to the quiz.
I said, what’s your last name?
I said, do you write, Melli? write your last name,
and I gave her paper and she printed neatly
Smith.
Sometimes God thinks he is so funny.
Call came in holding out candy,
offered it to Melli,
said, wanna try?
I said, she’s too young,
and he said, mind your own business.
But he left her alone anyway.
I held Melli’s hand and took her in the bedroom
and I whispered,
don’t, ’kay?
Trust me, Melli,
sometimes one bite
and everything’s different after that.
I put her to bed,
tucked the blanket under her chin
like I used to with Jeremy
and I lay beside her on top of the blanket
and didn’t stare at her until she was asleep.
Getting a little girl makes you stop pretending,
makes you remember things,
makes you sick
makes you see
makes you say
this is what happened to me . . .
When I wished for an angel
this isn’t what I meant at all.
She’s just a little girl.
I caught Call looking at me
looking at her sleeping,
and he knew I was thinking, just you touch her,
just you touch her.
I said, quiet, so I didn’t wake her up,
you don’t have to put her to work,
I’ll make lots of money.
Call said, this is just business,
right, Angel?
Someday I’ll be legal,
someday the government will acknowledge
this is just business
and give me a license
and I’ll pay my taxes like any other guy.
He said, I’ll be a marketing guy, a retail man . . .
I saw me and Melli, mannequins in his store window,
mute and hard, undressed,
but still wearing our shoes,
still wearing our smiles.
He said, you want your sweet candy now?
And I said, no thank you.
I used to be afraid that Call didn’t love me
but now I knew I didn’t love him.
Call said,
she’s in for a million.
You be her main girl, Angel.
That’s what he said.
He said, you be the boss of her.
I said, I would never,
and he said, you’ll do what I say,
and I said, I’ll die first,
and he said, okay.
And then he showed me pictures,
pictures of Jeremy
at the playground
sliding
swinging
hanging
testing gravity
pretending to die.
Call said, I visited Jeremy a few weeks ago.
I walked him home from the playground
to keep him safe.
He said, he’s cute, huh?
and my heart was
sliding
swinging
hanging
and I saw the gravity
of the situation.
I laughed and said, what a brat,
I ripped up the pictures one by one
until just a Jeremy eye
and a Jeremy mouth
all in pieces on the floor.
I don’t care, I said, I don’t care.
But Call was smiling
and I was dying for real.
Then he showed me a stuffed blue rhino.
I had seen that stuffed blue rhino before.
I had bought this very stuffed rhino
and given it to Jeremy.
I took it from Call, smelled it, smelled Jeremy on it,
grass and jam and sour milk,
and my brain shook, I felt it rattle in my skull,
right behind my nose
like my brain came loose,
picked right off the stem.
Call said, if you leave me, if you take Melli,
I’ll hurt Jeremy.
Nothing bad will happen to Jeremy
as long as you remember that.
I said, why would you say something like that?
and he hit me
and that was the right answer.
Call went out
and I slept on top of the blanket beside Melli
and I dreamed
that Call stretched and shrank,
stretched and shrank in his skin—
I never knew what he would be next—
a whale? a gnat? a wolf? a sea bird?
a snake . . . ?
every one could swallow me whole,
that’s how small I was.
I dreamed that it was all a dream . . .
But when I woke up she was still there.
Hate stronger, under show of love
well feigned . . .
She was lying silent beside me,
staring at me, not moving,
and it was people’s lunchtime
so I said, you must be hungry.
I got up and in the bathroom threw up
maybe bits of spleen
and my shoulders ached like the time Call beat me
because I said I was too tired to work.
It was like my back and shoulders
remembered everything.
But Melli had to eat.
Call said,
now it’s my turn to stand on the corner,
collect names for my petition.
I said, take your time.
Good luck.
Goodbye.
He said, take care of her,
she’s your retirement plan.
She’s here so you can be the baby mom,
have my baby someday.
So take care of her.
I said, yes I will, and I did not lie,
And he locked us in.
I looked in the kitchen and found
pasta
white bread
salt
instant potatoes
vanilla ice cream
milk
cottage cheese
cauliflower
plain yogurt
bananas
cream of wheat
mayonnaise
mozzarella
and sponge cake.
I said, Melli, are you hungry?
I gave her a mozzarella cheese sandwich
with mayonnaise
and milk to drink
but I couldn’t eat anything.
Melli sat on the broken-bone couch in a ball
silent, silent—whatever I said to her
she didn’t answer.
I said, Melli, when you’re a kid
you think if you break the rules
you will die.
But one day you break the rules, and you don’t die,
and then you think you’ll never die.
You dump all the rules and you’re so light you float.
But you can get so high
there’s no air up there.
You can get so high there’s nothing to see but clouds
that rain you down.
Don’t, ’kay?
Don’t take Call’s candy, ’kay?
I said, who runs Group Home?
what’s her name? do you remember a name?
but she just shrugged, shook her head.
I said, what’s your daddy’s name?
Write your daddy’s name,
and she wrote Mike.
The phone book had lots of Mike and Michael Smiths
but none of them were the dad of Melli.
No one was the dad, brother or uncle of a Melli.
After a while I started not understanding the word no.
It sounded strange to me.
Michael Smith number I don’t know said no,
and I said yes?
He said no,
and I said what?
He said, what part of no don’t you understand?
I said, the first part
and the last part.
I said, Melli, what about your mom?
Write your mom’s name—
so she wrote Sue neat and careful
and the phone book had lots
of Sue Smiths too.
I called every S, Sue, and Susan Smith
and none of them had misplaced a little girl.
But Suzanna Smith had a dog named Melli,
named after a distant cousin—
she hadn’t seen that cousin in twenty-three years
which made Suzanna cry.
Melli lay on the couch
and looked at me
and didn’t care that a dog had her name.
I said to Melli, time to listen up.
All the little children in the world aren’t lucky
and Melli, you are one of the unluckies.
I’m sorry, but it is so.
I’m sorry to tell you that
but you have to help me, Melli.
I’m not feeling so good.
But Melli was silent, silent.
I thought, what am I going to do?
what am I going to do?
Right then Call came back.
He said, I’ve been trying to call,
he said, no more phone privileges,
and he smashed me into the wall
and Melli started to cry.
I said, don’t be sad, Melli, don’t cry.
It doesn’t hurt . . .
Call said, ripping the phone jack out,
from now on I’ll use my cell.
Later I whispered to Melli,
ha ha things on me that have been broken
by Call and by dates:
nose,
finger,
toe,
eardrum.
But angels don’t break, Melli, I said.
Angels are bendy.
Ha ha, Melli. Ha ha, right?
Don’t cry, ’kay?
Call said later, I forgive you,
said, here’s your candy.