Kendra
Out
One word.
A single syllable.
Three letters.
Two vowels.
One thin consonant.
Weighted
with meaning.
Out.
Exposed.
All secrets revealed.
Absolutely nothing
left
concealed.
Out.
Inside out.
Terrified
to
show your face.
Out.
Chained to truth.
Swim. Or
drown.
Blown Away
By a series of text messages passed
around through the ether today. Shocked.
I’ve known Cara since grade school.
Cheered with her. Performed with her.
Sat elbow to elbow, shared locker room
showers, did hair and makeup together.
And I never, ever got the feeling that
she was gay. When did she get that way?
She doesn’t look like a dyke. Well,
except in those pictures, which leave no
room for guessing. No wonder Sean
was mad at her. Furious is a better word,
and he had a right to be. But wow.
What an awful way to get revenge.
Don’t think I’ll be going out with him
anymore. Breaking up is at your own risk.
Cara’s Reputation
Is pretty much trashed. I mean, most
people at school are fairly tolerant
toward the GLBTQ crowd. But you
don’t vote for them for class presidents
or homecoming princesses. (Let alone
crowning one of them queen.) Don’t ask
me why not. It’s just not done. But
even worse than knowing Cara is one,
is seeing all the dirty details like that.
If any one of us ever wondered what
lesbians do, we’ve got the picture
now. Literally. If I was her, I couldn’t
show my face at school again. Oh my
God. Maybe she’ll have to homeschool
or something so she can graduate.
And I bet she won’t be going to prom.
Then Again, Neither Will I
A couple of guys asked, but since
I don’t even like either one of them,
I’d feel, like, fake if I said okay. God.
When did I get so … mature? Old.
That’s how I feel. Tired. No energy,
despite the pills Xavier keeps giving me.
Maybe I should eat a little more. But
I’m really not hungry. Food is still my enemy.
Especially now, representing skinny
teens everywhere. Especially now, when
I have to keep Gilles happy. He likes
the way I look. Especially naked. At first,
I hated being with him. Hated how
that made me feel about myself. But now
it’s not so bad. Ten minutes, tops.
Usually, more like five. Five minutes
of feeling like a Fourth Street hooker,
my body used and abused in more ways
than I ever knew a body could be used,
in exchange for everything I’ve ever
wanted—a runway career. Designer
clothes. And eventually, lots of money.
Haven’t seen any money yet, and
I haven’t walked a runway. But it’s coming.
Gilles says so. Xavier keeps saying so
too. And once my career takes off, I won’t
ever have sick, disgusting sex with
someone like Gilles again. For now,
I’ll deal with it. Go hungry for it.
Run miles and miles for it. Take pills
that help me accomplish it. But I won’t
go to prom. I’m not a kid anymore.
Jenna, On The Other Hand
Is going to prom. I’ve never seen her
quite this excited at playing dress-up.
God, I love my dress. Don’t you love
my dress? Took me hours to find it,
and I had to keep trying stuff on, and
you know how much I hate shopping….
“Slow down, girl, or you’re going
to hyperventilate. Let me see how
it looks on.” She changes into a short,
strapless sapphire blue number, with
a gathered bodice cut so low she just
might come popping out. “Uh, wow.
Yeah, that’s an amazing dress. It’s a little
tight up top, but we could let it out some….”
It could be a little longer, too, but I know
she’ll fight me on that. One battle at a time.
And anyway, I have to admit her legs
look great, even if they are size nine/ten.
“You did good. Andre will love you
in this dress. How are you … what?
I’m not going with Andre. He has
some dance thing that night.
Bobby Duvall is taking me. Andre
doesn’t know. Don’t tell him, okay?
She can’t be serious. “Bobby Duvall
is a creep, Jenna. And what if Andre
does find out? You don’t want
to break up with him, do you?”
Not really. But I don’t know if
I want to be tied down, either.
“But … he really loves you.”
I would have done anything to make
Conner love me like that. Anything.
“You wouldn’t throw that away for
someone like Bobby, would you?
Real love shouldn’t be disposable.”
I’m too young for real love. Anyway,
of course it’s disposable. Look at Mom.
She trashed twenty years of real love.
Or maybe she was faking it all along.
A gasp in the doorway jerks us
both around. Mom is standing there,
close to tears. Angry tears. How dare
you talk about me like that! How dare
you judge me! I loved your father more
than anything on this earth, except you.
Jenna shakes her head. Oh, really?
Why did you leave him, then?
Mom Draws Farther
Into the room. She is trembling as she
sits on my bed. Look. I tried to keep
most of this from you because I didn’t
want to damage your relationship
with your father. The truth is, he was
sleeping with Shiloh while we were
still together. His drinking was out of
hand, and things were sliding downhill
before I ever met Patrick. You have
to remember the fighting….
I do. Yelling and screaming in
the middle of the night. The muffled
sound of Mom crying. “You should
have told us. We thought … you …”
I know. I should have. I wanted to
protect you, but that was a mistake.
Jenna looks ready to cry too. So I was
right about this wedding. It’s bullshit.
No, says Mom. It’s for the best. Your
father hasn’t exactly quit drinking, but
he’s doing better, because of Shiloh.
Look. Do you know why I push you so
hard to reach for your dreams? Because
I don’t want you to ever have to rely on
someone else to take care of you. I stayed
with your dad long after it was clear that
he didn’t love me anymore, mostly to keep
a roof over our heads. Patrick was
an unexpected gift. I married him righ
t
away so I knew we’d be okay. Safe.
Provided for. And loved. He does love us,
even if it doesn’t always seem that way.
I Have No Clue What To Say
Neither, it seems, does Jenna. Mom
saves us trying to figure it out. She gets
up off the bed. Starts toward the door.
Pauses. Turns, says to Jenna, You look
beautiful, by the way. But your skirt
is a little too short. She leaves us in
stunned silence. Finally Jenna says,
Unzip me, okay? She shimmies out of
the dress. I have pills that would help
her fit into it better, but don’t mention it.
We are both quiet as she changes
back into sweats, hangs the dress
on a satin-covered hanger,
carefully, as if it might fall to pieces.
Fall To Pieces
Like her. Like me. Like how we thought
of our family, until just a minute ago.
I break the silence. “The skirt is a little
too short. Good thing you’ve got legs
that can wear it. But I still think it’s
wrong that you’re going with Bobby.”
I’m only going with him so I can go.
I know he’s kind of a creep. And I know
it would hurt Andre if he found out.
And I know he loves me. But I’m not
good enough for him. I don’t get why
he loves me, but even if I did, I wouldn’t
let myself love him back because love
is like summer. It only lasts so long.
Only so long. Then it’s gone, fallen
to pieces. Fallen like autumn leaves.
Sean
Pieces
That’s all that’s left of
my carefully created dreams.
Shards. Slivers. Splinters,
driven into what remains of
my heart.
What’s really bad is,
it doesn’t hurt anymore.
At least, when I was still
in pain, I knew
my brain
was working. No one lived
inside my head but me.
But now I have a roommate
in there, and I really
don’t
like the guy. He talks way
too much. And the words
that keep coming out
of my mouth don’t
belong to me.
Growing Things
Are trying very hard to make
a spring appearance. It isspring
now, though sometimes it’s hard
to tell in northern Nevada. Still
a lot of snow on the mountain.
If I were playing pro ball, I’d
be off in Arizona or Southern
California or someplace really
warm, working toward new
goals. New records. New.
As it is, I’m here, where it’s still
relatively cool, playing regular
season games, working toward
the Nevada state championship
at the end of the month. May.
Championships. Prom. Senior
week. And then, graduation.
Not so excited about any of it
anymore. My baseball record
doesn’t really matter, unless you
count mattering to my ego. Prom?
Kendra turned me down, so I’m
taking Aubree. Don’t have a clue
why I’m going at all. It will only
remind me that I should be there
with Cara. My neck prickles.
If I had hackles, they’d be
rising. I’ve got to stop thinking
about her, or risk blowing up
again. Risk doing something
stupid. Something mean.
Something the bitch damn
well deserved. Talk about
revenge, baby. Brilliant move.
She never saw it coming.
You leave me alone, fucker.
Chad says you’re not here,
that you’re all in my head.
But he’s never heard you
blabbing at me. Go away.
That Guy
The one now living behind
my eyes, keeps trying to tell
me what to do, and it’s getting
really annoying. I did what he
said—posted those pics of
Cara and her girlfriend. He said
they’d go viral, and boy, did
they! People clear across
the country, and probably
around the world, have had
the chance to gawk at Cara’s
pussy. I see her at school,
and I’m pretty sure she
knows. If looks could kill,
I’d be skinned and left for
the bone pickers. But she
hasn’t said a word. Of course,
what is there, really, to say?
She can’t even prove that you’re
the one who posted them.
I Hope The Guy Behind My Eyes
Doesn’t talk all the way through
prom tonight. It’s late this year,
rescheduled from an early April
weekend with too much snow
coming down. Duvall and I hired
a limo (with a lot of help from
his parents and Uncle Jeff).
Might as well do it right.
Aubree is wearing purple,
so I got a lavender tux. Hope
it doesn’t make me look gay.
Gay. Hmm. Wonder if that
bitch is coming with Blue Hair.
Of course she’s coming with
Blue Hair. Just not to prom.
Shut up, asshole! Oh my
God! Does she come? And
just when did she know
she wanted to come with
girls? And was it my fault?
Think I’d Better Lift
A little before it’s time to “shit,
shower, and shave,” as my dad
used to say. Damn, I wish he
was here. Remembering him
opens a big sinkhole in me.
Why does everyone important
have to desert me? I’m almost
to the basement door when
the doorbell rings. I look out
the peephole. It’s a uniform.
“Aunt Mo,” I yell. “You’d better
come here. It’s a cop.” I don’t
wait for her to open the door.
“Can I help you?” Aunt Mo’s
footsteps approach quickly,
and I’m glad she’s here when
the big deputy says, I’m looking
for Sean O’Connell. Is that you?
My head sort of bobs, and he
goes on. I need to ask you some
questions. Do you want to
let me in? He looks at Aunt
Mo, who pulls the door the rest
of the way open, allowing
him to step through. Damn,
the man is tall. He makes me
feel like a dwarf. “Uh, did I,
like, do something? Jaywalk?
Run a red light? What?” Does
he know about the steroids?
Do you mind if I ask the
questions? Do you know
a girl named Cara Sykes?
“Uh, yeah. We used to go out.”
But now she’s a lesbian and …
Oh, shit. This can’t be about that.
And do you know anything
about posting pornographic
photos of her on the Internet?
Before I Can Answer
Aunt Mo puts the brakes on.
Excuse me, but is Sean in some
/>
sort of trouble? Sean, do you
have any idea what Deputy …
uh … Rossiter is talking about?
The guy obviously knows
something. Lying would
be stupid. I’ll try avoidance.
“I did see some pictures of
her. They were pretty bad.”
Rumor has it that you took
them. Which would mean
criminal trespass. And Ms.
Sykes is alleging stalking.
Does that sound accurate?
Guy Behind My Eyes: Deny!
“Well, no, I … not exactly.”
GBME: That is not denial.
“I wouldn’t call it stalking.”
GBME: I think we’re in trouble.
Being Eighteen
Has a lot of advantages.
You can vote. You can
go where you want. Do
what you want without
a parent or guardian’s approval.
One major disadvantage:
If you’re arrested, you go
straight to jail. Do not stop
at juvenile hall. Do not take
a parent or guardian with you.
The good deputy reminded
me that I have the right to
an attorney and to keep
my big mouth shut. GBME
agreed. So did Aunt Mo.
I’ll call Jeff and we’ll get
you an attorney. Don’t worry.
We’ll have you out of there
before you know it.She didn’t
even ask about the pictures.
GBME: Ha! Maybe she’s
already seen them.
“No way. Don’t be ridiculous.”
GBME: You never know.
Deputy Rossiter: Who in the hell
are you talking to back there?
“No one. Sorry. Just processing.”
GBME: Maybe Aunt Mo is a lezbo
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