Identical
Page 17
iced tea, one of Mom’s Power-
Bars, and a handful of grapes.
Eating healthy? So not me.
But at the moment, nothing
inside needs to be killed with food.
No shame. No pain. No loneliness.
Every demon is fast asleep.
Notice I Didn’t Say Gone
I’m not stupid enough to
believe one magical afternoon
can vanquish my monsters
forever. And what is
forever,
anyway, but enough time
for monster to beget monster?
No matter, I take a big bite
of the PowerBar, which
is
stale, the texture of rubber,
and mostly flavorless, though
the wrapper claims “great
chocolate taste.” It takes
a long
while and too many teeth-
grinding chews to swallow
a single bite. I toss the rest, gulp
some tea, and just about the
time
I consider my homework,
I hear the garage door open.
If I hurry, I can slip out the front
before Daddy knows I’m here.
Too much of me is happy right
now to allow the rest
to worry
about his current state of mind.
Raeanne
The Library
Is busy this afternoon.
Lots of little kids running
around. It seems like it takes
forever
to find a quiet place in an
unobtrusive corner. I put my
sweater on the chair across
from mine. Wait. Mr. Lawler
is
late, and it crosses my mind
that he might stand me up.
I pretend to be working,
and after what seems like
a long
long time (though the clock
insists it’s only ten minutes),
I sense eyes and smell Lawler’s
woody cologne. Sorry I’m late.
Time
got away from me this afternoon.
Is this yours? He points to
my sweater and I nod. “Saved
you a seat.” He smiles and sits
across the narrow table from
me and seems not
to worry
at all that our legs touch.
Glad I Wore Jeans Today
I haven’t shaved in a few days.
Nothing less sexy than stubble,
when you’re leg to leg
with an amazing guy.
And, teacher or no teacher,
ten years (or maybe more) my
senior or not, he is def amazing.
I lean forward slightly, notice
his eyes fall to what almost
passes as cleavage, with a good
Victoria’s Secret push-up bra
helping out. Glad I wore that, too.
He clears his throat. Of all
my students this semester,
you seem to have the best
grip on history. Not just
dates and events, but also
their relevance to today.
So how can I help you?
I smile. “Loaded question.
But what I’d like is your take
on conspiracy theories….”
We spend the next twenty minutes
discussing the Kennedys, Martin
Luther King Jr., Castro,
Lyndon B. Johnson, and government goons.
Who knew conspiracy theories
and sixties politics could be
such a major turn-on?
The entire time, my legs rest
gently between his, knees
touching the inside of his,
and despite my “lunch” with
Mick today, I’m starting to
feel incredibly, um…aroused.
And what’s more, I can tell
Lawler feels the same way.
While we talk, his hair strays
down close to his eyes and
I start to reach up, move it out
of the way for him. Reconsider.
Damn, the man is totally hot.
Just as I think that, my cell
phone rings. Once. Twice.
I glance at who’s calling.
Daddy, of course. “Excuse
me one second?” I turn my
back to Lawler, take the call,
explain where I am and when
I’ll be home. After I hang
up, Mr. Lawler says,
Sounds like it’s time to go.
Any more questions?
Questions? Yeah, I’ve Got Them
Do you or don’t you have a girl-
friend? If you do, is she prettier
than me? If you do, do you
sleep around on her?
If you do, would
you sleep with me?
Even if you don’t
have a girlfriend,
would you pretty
please sleep with
me? Have you ever
slept with a student?
If you have, was she
prettier than me? Even
if you’ve never slept
with a student, would
you pretty please sleep
with me? Is this over-
whelming attraction
really mutual, or
is my believing
that just a sign
of impending
insanity? Is my
lunacy on the
horizon, or is
already here?
I Don’t Actually Ask
Any of those questions, although
I’d really, really like the answers.
Instead I say, “No more questions
right now, at least not about
conspiracies. But I’m seriously
thinking about majoring in history.
When I start looking at colleges,
will you help?” I still haven’t moved
my legs. Neither has he, and that
encourages my next move. I slide
my arm under the table, rest
my hand on his knee. Okay, now
this can go either way. “I’d like
your views on schools. And maybe
you’ll honor me with a good reference?”
Lawler Doesn’t Jerk Away
Doesn’t run away.
In fact, he barely
even blinks.
All he does
is smile and cover
my hand with his own.
His palm is smooth,
and it wears a thin
patina of sweat.
You know you’re
my favorite student.
A good reference is no
problem at all. And of
course we can talk
about schools.
You still owe me
that cup of coffee. I’m
not likely to forget. Next time?
Next Time!
There’s going to be a next time,
and darlin’, it’s gonna be a lot
more private than this time,
I’m guessing. Don’t want to
look too anxious, though, so
I simply agree, “Next time.”
Neither of us has moved yet,
not a finger, not a knee. I think
maybe before my next history
class I’ll shave my legs, buy
some nylons, and make sure
my shortest skirt is clean.
Finally he lifts his hand away
from mine. I sigh and he smiles.
Thanks for an enlightening afternoon.
He lowers his voice slightly.
&
nbsp; You really are an exceptional
young woman, you know.
I look forward to coffee and you
very soon. Better take my leave
before the gossip mill starts to spin.
I Watch Him Go
My heart races and my brain
buzzes, replaying his words:
I look forward to coffee and you
coffee and you
and you
you.
Maybe I’m reading way too much
into it. It’s weird, because I so
believed there was something
between us, but now I’m not
so sure there really is, even
though just a second ago, I was.
I look forward to coffee and you
coffee and you
and you
you.
Take out the “coffee” and what
have you got? Words. Decaf words.
Coffee Actually Sounds
Pretty damn good right now
(coffee and…him).
All I had for lunch was a big
fat doobie and an overdose
of Mick. My blood
sugar has bottomed out.
I told Daddy I’d be home about
six, and it’s only a little
after five now. I’ll grab a quick
something before I try to walk
home. It’s not too far,
mostly downhill, but a quick
carb injection will not hurt one
bit. I drop into the little
market nearby, grab a Nutri-Grain
Bar and a Diet Coke. Mmm. Well,
at least it will get me
home. As I exit, a silver car zips
into the parking lot, radio blaring.
Hey! calls Brittany.
What’s up? Need a ride somewhere?
I Know Daddy Has Issued
A “no rides with Brittany” edict.
But that was to Kaeleigh, not me,
and I really don’t feel like walking.
Besides, he’s probably halfway
to drunk by now. If I’m lucky,
he won’t notice me come in at all.
“Sure,” I agree. “Why not?” Just in case,
I point Brittany in the opposite direction,
around the block from how I usually go.
No need to tempt the devil, I always say.
As she cruises slowly up the street,
something makes me turn my head.
We’re passing Hannah’s house.
She’s the not-yet-nurse with the big
mouth, the one who busted Kaeleigh.
She’s standing on her front step,
talking to the devil himself. In fact,
she is standing very close to Daddy.
To an outsider, they are the picture
of propriety. Neighbor to neighbor,
discussing the weather, perhaps.
But I see something more
in the way he leans toward her,
close, as if he’s hard of hearing.
Darkness has closed in, but Hannah
might recognize Brittany’s car.
I think I am too obvious, and duck.
“Don’t slow down. Keep going.”
Yeah, sure, she says, and she does,
apparently used to such deception.
I poke up my face, barely over
the seat, look out the back window,
fingers crossed I remain incognito.
Daddy and Hannah are lost in each
other, and Daddy’s body language
tells me everything I need to know.
I’m an Expert Interpreter
Of body language: slant
of face, arc of hand,
frame of shoulder,
the whisper of knee
against willing knee.
I know that one well.
I recognize anger in
a certain arch of Mom’s
spine; obstinacy, double-
clenched in her jaw;
the tip of chin signaling
imminent tears.
Desire? Every man
displays it differently.
Some, like Mick, wear
it puffed up, peacocks
strutting ostentation
in lieu of real substance.
Men like Ty are harder
to read—granite-faced,
molded smiles that can
mean anything. You find
their fire in the unfathomable
pewter of their eyes.
Lawler-types store lust
not in sinew or bone, but
rather just beneath the skin,
a steady pulse at the wrists
and temples. And when need
rises, easy beat becomes throb.
But I know one man
better than the rest.
I know when it’s safe
to be near him—when
booze or pills divorce
every muscle from stress.
I know when it’s best
to sneak away—when
he comes in the door
stiff and heavy as iron,
eyelids wide and ears
practically steaming.
And I know when his
face flushes and his breath
comes in raspy little pants
and his red-rimmed eyes
fall on all the wrong places,
it’s definitely time to run.
Right Now His Eyes
Fall on all the wrong places,
and those places belong
to Hannah. I should yell,
“Run!” It doesn’t really
surprise
me that he’s hitting on her,
I suppose. She’s only a few
years older than me, and
looks like she’s twelve. I
guess
she’s about five feet tall
and size three. (And how will
someone that little handle ER
work, anyway?) She’s married,
I’m pretty sure, to some guy
who
I’ve never seen. Soldier?
Merchant marine? Jailbird?
No matter. He’s not around
much and hey, lucky her,
Daddy’s
just down the street, and
always up for some young-
looking meat. And just
maybe this little detour
means Daddy won’t be
screwing
Kaeleigh, too, at least not
for the foreseeable future.
Kaeleigh
Today Was Incredible
Today was impossible.
Today was perfect and
terrible and filled with
surprise
after surprise. The thing
with Ian scares the living hell
out of me. Love, I know,
isn’t something to second-
guess,
but in my world, love is
always defined by ulterior
motive. To say yes, give
my whole heart away,
simply terrifies me. But
who
can I ever trust, if not Ian?
Trust—another indefinable
word. I’m not sure how to
process learning about
Daddy’s
possible affair, not that there’s
much overt proof of it. Even
if it’s the real deal, I doubt
Mom would care. It’s not like
the two of them do much
screwing,
at least not with each other.
So why should I care?
My Parents Aren’t Real
Parents anyway.
They’re cardboard
cutouts. I mean, aren’t
parents supposed
>
to care about their
kids? Care for their
kids? Not abuse
them or use them or
lose track of them.
And aren’t they
supposed to care for
each other? Not use
each other or lose
the love that was
once central to each
other’s existence.
Not toss each other
aside because life
threw a curveball
their way, even if it
was a major curve
ball. No wonder
I’m a little paranoid
about giving away my
love. What if I go
ahead, give it, and he
decides to re-gift it?
Of Course, Maybe Daddy
Isn’t really sleeping with Hannah.
Maybe it’s a harmless flirtation.
(Harmless? Daddy?)
Maybe they were just having
an innocent conversation.
(Innocent? Daddy?)
Maybe Daddy was just trying to
be helpful with some legal advice.
(Helpful? Daddy?)
Maybe he was just trying to offer
a selfless act of kindness.
(Selfless? Daddy?)
And just why am I offering
him such an easy out?
(Easy? You?)
Am I overly generous,
or just totally ignorant?
(Ignorant? You?)
Am I being loyal, or am
I, in fact, a little jealous?
(Enough said.)
Whatever Daddy Did
With Hannah wiped him out. Okay,
that and his usual Wild Turkey dinner,
plus OxyContin dessert. He’s snoozing
in front of the TV set, and the TV is off.
Kinda creepy, but oh so very Daddy.