in public with one he was
doing, anyway. Would he?
Maybe she was the girl’s
mom. But then, who was
the girl? And the guy?
And Why Do I Care?
I get a Coke and Kendra goes
for diet. No surprise. I spring
for a big tub of popcorn.
“Butter?” Kendra shakes
her head, but when she isn’t
paying attention, I ask for
it anyway. Hey, I’m buying.
Kendra keeps looking toward
the corridor Conner disappeared
into. Hoping he’ll materialize.
The attendant points us
down the opposite hallway.
Kendra goes first. I watch
her walk, all spindly like
an aspen sapling wobbling
in the wind. She is model
pretty. And death-camp thin.
Don’t guess she’d appreciate
me telling her that. None
of my business anyway.
The previews have already
started by the time we get
inside. We find our seats
in the semi-dark, stumbling
up the stairs to the very back,
tripping over purses and feet.
Scary Movie 666 is pretty
much like all the other
Scary Movies, except with
more devil stuff. Entertaining
enough, for crap. Kendra,
who wanted to see this
dumb movie, might be
staring at the screen, but
she doesn’t react to the funny
parts, doesn’t jump when
she should. And she hasn’t
touched the popcorn. Glad
I got butter. And I’m also
glad this isn’t a real date.
We Sit Watching
The credits roll. People filter
past us, down the stairs, out
the doors. And still we sit
here. The popcorn bucket
is less than half full, thanks
completely to me. “You sure
you don’t want a little? Hate
for good popcorn to go to
waste.” Not that it was really
that good. Kind of stale, in fact.
Kendra shakes her head. No
thanks. I’m not really hungry.
Anyway, we’re supposed to
have a family dinner tonight.
That usually means lots of carbs.
I can’t help myself. “You could
probably use a few carbs. But
I know what you mean. Aunt
Mo is big on the pasta, and
I’m a protein kind of guy.”
She lets the carbs remark go
on by. You look great. Beefed
up a lot. Which reminds me,
do you know anything about
Clen? She’s talking Clenbuterol.
“Uh. It’s a steroid, right? Why
would I know anything about
that, other than the stuff I’ve
read about people using it for
weight loss? You’re not thinking
about using it, right? Because
if you lost any more weight,
you’d flat not even be here.
Jesus, Kendra.” I’m not sure
her body could handle Clen.
She ignores everything I just
said. It would help me gain
muscle, though, right? Then
maybe I could eat more
without putting on poundage.
Point Taken
I tell her I’ll look into it for
her. I’ve got to visit Chad
for a refill myself. I probably
should take some time off,
but what the hell? I need
something to get my bat hot
again. One more cycle and
I can lay off for a while.
When the lights come up,
we get to our feet. Kendra
moves about like a tortoise.
I bet a little food could
help her walk faster.
But when we start down
the hall, she keeps looking
around, and I realize she’s
being deliberately slow,
hoping for another glimpse
of Conner. Damn, she’s got
it bad for him. Stupid girl.
Andre
A Glimpse
Of greatness should inspire
the desire to attain greatness
too. So why, then, do
I
mostly feel intimidated
by my father, whose success
I covet? Is it because I
am afraid
to attempt, and fail?
Or do I somehow find
comfort in failure?
To
face a competitor and lose
is expected sometimes.
No shame. But if I
take
a shot at a personal best
and come up short, it means
maybe I’m delusional to take
a chance
on myself.
Breakfast This Morning
Was unusual. Dad, Mom, and me, all
at the same table.
It was orchestrated, the two of them
double-teaming me. You graduate in nine
weeks, said Mom. What
course have you decided to embark upon?
Okay, just semantically, the sentence
irritated me. “Are you talking
‘course,’ as in course of study, or ‘course,’
as in a river’s course, or the course of my life?”
I wasn’t trying to be
snotty. Well, not really snotty. But go figure,
she took it that way. And Dad was already
mad at me for refusing
to plan the trip to California to look at schools.
I do not understand your attitude, he said.
Don’t you realize your
entire future is at stake? Stupid questions
don’t really demand answers. I didn’t
say anything, which
made every inch of skin above his too-
tight collar turn the color of a boiled
lobster. Are you being
deliberately obnoxious? That made
me laugh. “Not deliberately, Dad. I can’t
help it. I was born
this way. I think it must be genetic.”
Mom scowled. I figured I probably
shouldn’t mention
the web of facial lines that created.
Would you please be serious? she said.
Have you even thought
about what you’ll do after graduation?
“Of course I’ve thought about it. How
could I not? Dad’s been
on me for months. I told him what I want
to do, but he says art won’t pay the bills.
In fact, he thinks it
makes me gay.…” Mom flinched.
“Okay, I’m not gay. And to tell you the truth,
design is a compromise.
I…” I had said too much. I backpedaled
quickly. “Gramps always said if you do what
you love, the money will
follow. Worked for him. It will work for me.
I don’t want to spend the rest of my life doing
something that makes me
miserable. Not even if it means drowning
in money.” Suddenly it got very difficult
to choke down my
soggy cereal. “Look. I promise I’ll be okay,
no matter what. Cheer up. Maybe I’m just a late
bloomer, and there’s a mercenary
lurking somewhere deep inside me aft
er all.”
It Wasn’t That Funny
But it did make both of them smile long
enough for me to
escape. What I didn’t tell them, and have
no idea how I will, is that I’m thinking about
taking a semester or two off
school. There’s a theater conservatory
I might look into. Or maybe I’ll get a job,
an apartment. Chill
for a year or so, until I figure out exactly
what it is I want to do. Become. God,
the harder they push me
to “become” something, the more I want to
dig in my heels and just be whatever it is
I am. And what I am right
now is once again running late. I’ve got tickets
for the ballet tonight. Thought I’d surprise
Jenna. I told her to dress
up. Hope she listened. And I hope she’s ready.
She Isn’t, Of Course
I call her as I pull into the driveway.
More and more, I try to
avoid relating to either one of her parents.
“Hey. Ready to go? You wore a nice
dress, right?” I hear
muffled voices in the near background.
I’ll be out in a minute, she huffs. Then,
to the muffled voices,
Can I please go now? Andre is waiting
for me! Garbled responses. I promise.
I don’t know… Wait…
And to me, What time will I be home?
The performance starts at eight. Two hours
makes ten o’clock. “Around
eleven, I guess.” Suddenly they care?
It is another several minutes before she exits
the house, teetering down
the walk in some extremely tall—and hot—heels.
She shimmies into the car, pushes down
into the cush leather.
God. Unbelievable. Let’s go, before Patrick
changes his mind and makes me stay home.
I back out of the driveway,
noticing the length of her almost nonexistent
skirt. “Wow. Short dress.” Hope her top
is covered better. Can’t tell
because of her jacket, but my guess is, no.
I’m afraid she’ll draw more attention than
the ballerinas. That’s my girl.
I’m almost used to it. “So, what’s going on?”
She pulls a familiar flask from her pocket.
Takes a long drink. I love
peppermint schnapps. Her voice is husky,
slow. Want some? I decline, and she takes
a drink for me. For some
asinine reason, Patrick decided he needed
to play Daddy tonight. He called a family
meeting. First, he accused
Kendra and me of stealing Mom’s Xanax.
Then he said there are new house rules
about going out, and
how they want to know who we’re going
with, where we’re going, and when we’ll
be home. I bet he starts
checking out our rooms and stuff too.
Considering she’s sitting here, sucking down
alcohol, maybe he’s got
a point. “Did you take your mom’s Xanax?”
Maybe a couple, she admits. Just to get me
through the wedding
stuff. Who knew Mom’d actually keep track?
The Girl Has No Shame
It’s one of her better qualities. But it also
makes me worry about
her. And us. “Xanax is expensive. Why
wouldn’t she keep track? But the bigger
question is, did you take one
tonight? Xanax and schnapps don’t mix well.”
How would you know? I kind of like
the way they mix.
She laughs. In fact, they mix perfectly.
This is going to be an interesting evening.
“Jenna, please be careful.
People die every day from drug interactions.…”
She flips. Don’t worry about me! I am
completely in control.
Anyway, why do you care what I do?
“Because I love you, goddamn it. You’re
supposed to worry
about people you love. Don’t you get it?”
She Does Not Respond
For a long while. Finally she says, I don’t
believe in love. Not sure
it really exists, but even if it does for some
people, it won’t for me. She is serious.
Then she lightens up.
But, hey, if you think you love me, cool.
My turn not to know what to say. I exit
the freeway, thread
through a maze of side streets, park a few
blocks away from the theater. We get out
of the car, and I go around,
take Jenna into my arms. “I do love you.
Not always sure why. But you are unique.
Exceptional, in so many
ways. Why do you think love will never
come to you? It already has.” I kiss her,
as sweetly as I know how,
hoping she will believe love has found her.
Finally She Wiggles Free
No acknowledgment. No reciprocal
declaration. Just,
Okay. Where are we going, anyway?
It’s so Jenna, I can’t even get mad.
“The San Francisco Ballet
is in town. Ready to soak up some culture?”
The ballet? Are you kidding? Her inflection
gives away nothing. Surprise?
Disgust? Nothing ventured, nothing gained,
I guess. She takes my arm, struts toward
the theater, drawing
the usual stares from passersby, and a catcall
from some derelict-looking guy. Luckily,
we don’t have to walk
all that far. But then, when we get inside
and she takes off her jacket, my worst
fears are confirmed.
Her V-necked top hides nothing. She pulls
every eye, and not just the guys’. Our seats
are in the balcony, front row.
Great view. Jenna actually seems excited
to be here. It’s a special performance
of The Little Mermaid.
I figured the story would be familiar
enough to make the dance enjoyable
for Jenna. But, not quite
forty minutes into the program, I look
over to find Jenna asleep. Xanax and
alcohol. A knockout
combination. She rouses when the lights
come up for intermission. Guess I dozed
off. Sorry. But this stuff
is just so boring. You don’t like it, do you?
Why did I expect anything different?
“Actually, I don’t like it.
I love it. Sorry you don’t feel the same way.”
Cara
Did I Expect
To
learn something new,
walking the same old
avenues? Did I believe I’d
find
surprises under the pillow
my head rests on every
night—an extension of
myself?
Change doesn’t come
without invitation.
You won’t discover it
in
routine. And you won’t
create an all-new and
better you if you wait for
someone else
to give you permission.
Transformation begins—
and ends—inside of you.
Transformation
Isn’t easy when most of the people
in your life think you’re already
perfect, and want you to stay just
how they see you. Try to begin
a new phase, you’d better expect
push-back. Try to create a whole
new you, your friend list will shrink
considerably. I don’t have any friends
left at all, and that’s before anyone
knows about Dani and me. I’m so
happy that school is almost over.
Once it is, I’ll be free of the pressure
to be someone other than who I am.
Not sure how I’ll come out to my
parents, or if that’s what I should
even do. Is there a proper time to tell
your relatives that you’re a lesbian?
Easier to let them guess than to
stand up on a soapbox, loudly
confess that, hey, guys just don’t do it
for me. At least Dad has Conner
to carry on the Sykes family name.
Thank God that was not legitimately
up to me. And speaking of God,
hope he’s okay with me being here
at worship on Easter Sunday. One
thing good about Lutherans—most
of them don’t ostracize gay people.
Gay. Lesbian. Words. That did not
apply to me until recently. Or did
they? Do you have to admit you’re
a lesbian before you are one? Dani
says no. I can’t think about her now.
Here. In church. Can I? God, I think
I love her. Is that wrong? Or is that me,
only a footnote to your master plan?
Easter
Is a mad celebration. Imagine
if the story is true. Resurrection.
The ultimate transformation. Son
of man, risen in glory to take his place
at the right hand of God. Okay, that’s
the preached-from-the-pulpit version.
But in the historical context, it’s even
better. Some guy—a street person
with a resonant message—in turn
wows crowds, then somehow angers
them enough to want him dead.
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