he emailed me
the log-in information,
I’m all signed up
that they will receive notifications
when I log in,
hand in work,
log out.
They’ll be keeping watch.
Then
Mom says the first words
she’s spoken to me
since expulsion Tuesday:
“We’ve set up a drop-cam.
We’ll be able to see you.
No TV.”
The door closes,
only Holly waves goodbye.
I give the finger
to the drop-cam.
It flashes red at me.
CYBER SPACE
Before I log in,
I text Ellery,
ask her if going to school online
makes me a robot.
She writes back
again,
she feels so bad.
She’s apologized so many times.
I tell her again it wasn’t her fault.
Quote my dad,
“We are our choices.”
And I made my own.
Then
I type in my username,
think up a password.
It comes to me quickly:
Inn0vAtiVeARts
FLYING THROUGH
Cyber school begins
and I speed through geometry.
All of it easier than I expected.
The other students must be behind too.
Log off, eat lunch.
Plug into chemistry.
Two whole units behind where we were
at Ketchum.
Still not simple,
but easier too, comparatively.
I soar—
in the middle of chem, though,
an email pops up on my phone.
Flight halted.
Fiona.
Is she angry that I stopped coming to class?
Does she wonder what happened?
My own questions unnerve me.
I make sure to balance
all of the equations
before I
rest my wings,
check her words.
RISKS
Fiona says:
Mom called
asking to be refunded
for the second half
of the class.
Fiona assumes:
that she never knew
I was enrolled.
She says I’m very talented—
it’s a shame
I couldn’t be honest
but it seems like a complicated situation.
Fiona hopes:
I will get to take photography
in the future,
she would like to be able
to teach me
again.
I think:
of all the risks I took
to bring Fiona into my life.
I take:
my phone into the bathroom
where the drop-cam can’t spy on me
and
thank her.
FASTER/SLOWER
When they get home
from work,
Dad & Mom & I
go over
my schoolwork
chores
books I need from the library.
We make a plan for tomorrow.
Friday,
Mom’s day off.
When I wake up,
log in,
I see Mom’s not
sleeping
or cleaning
or running errands
like usual.
Today she is
hovering
over me
telling me to
do a problem faster/slower/better.
I tell her
I need to go to the library
for those books.
This time it’s not a lie.
With her tired eyes
she says fine,
be back
in an hour or less.
Tells me she’ll be timing me.
After this expulsion, any thread of trust—VANISHED.
WINGS
After the library,
books under my arm,
I don’t wander
don’t stop anywhere.
I make it home
before my time is up.
The bird engraved on our brownstone
lifts his wing,
his own thumbs-up
at my return.
INTERLACED
Unlock the front door,
hang my key on the rack,
just like Mom always says to do.
I notice hers isn’t there.
But her voice is.
Trembling, loud.
I step in, softly.
“How can you say that, David?
I’ve been trying to protect her—
she doesn’t know. Never will.”
I stand frozen,
rooted in place.
Startled now
by Dad,
angry, loud
back:
“She can feel it, Cynthia.
She’s smart. She can feel it.”
What does Holly feel?
I wonder.
What does Mom think she doesn’t know?
From the corner of my eye,
I see Mom’s key on the floor,
golden, shining up at me.
“Just because she wasn’t planned . . .
just because I didn’t initially want her—
that I even thought of giving her away—
it doesn’t mean
I don’t love her now.
I don’t know how you could even say something like that.”
And in that moment
I know
Mom’s not talking about Holly.
VOICES FALL
I grip my library books tighter.
Just because she wasn’t planned.
I was the one
who grew inside her.
Just because I didn’t initially want her—
We were once
a part of each other.
Thought of giving her away—
Mom’s words
ring loudly in my head
on a loop.
Everything buzzes,
dims.
What was Mom trying to protect me from?
Voices fall.
Muffled, crying.
I throw down my books.
Kick Mom’s key under the table,
grab mine off the hook.
Slam the door.
Leave the way I came.
ALTERED
Digital photography
easily distorts reality.
With one click
an image is altered,
disguising the truth:
I was no marvelous surprise.
No happy accident.
No missing link.
Now I know the truth.
No more
filters.
I am really, and truly, alone.
ESCAPE
I have
to get far away from here.
Wonder: Who might be willing to go with me?
I text Silas:
Wanna escape?
He texts
back
quickly
Always.
I don’t wait to ma
ke a plan
to pick a time and meeting place
just go downtown
directly to his school.
Surprise Silas.
Pick him up,
he’ll take me
away.
Boston?
Chicago?
Just the two of us
arm in arm
in another city’s streets.
Another city’s park.
Can hardly wait.
FLUORESCENCE
Scurry underground,
stuff myself into a crowded row of seats,
holiday tourists cramping an already-crowded space,
fluorescent lights glare at us,
everyone
squashed in
trying to breathe
in this city
of broken dreams.
Out of the subway,
I scurry back up
into the light,
my phone pings.
Notice my battery’s low.
Ignore a text from Dad
asking where I am,
then a more frantic voice-mail message.
Follow the crowd.
Walk on.
JUXTAPOSITION
Park myself on a stoop
wait for Silas
to get out of school.
Take a photo of a pigeon’s beak
pecking some old gum.
Remember Fiona’s words on juxtaposition:
How two different things
brought into the same frame
can work to emphasize their similarities
and their differences.
Like me and Holly.
Her, adopted.
Me, unwanted.
I force the tears to stop,
spot
Silas’s faded Icee-blue hair.
My heart soars
but
his arm is around
some other girl—
and I know
without getting any closer
it’s the girl from the picture.
BEFORE THE LIGHT SHIFTS
Before I cross the street,
before the light shifts,
I can’t help but watch—
as they stop walking
and
kiss.
The whole street turns black and white.
Except them.
In full color, kissing.
ABERRATIONS
Walk up to Silas, tap him on the back.
His image splits in two.
He motions for me to go away.
A chromatic aberration.
His lips are locked, his back is turned
he doesn’t know it’s me.
A random person on the stairs says: “Damn, girl looks pissed.”
A lens defect. The colors don’t bend as they should.
Silas turns, meets my eyes.
“Hey! What are you doing here?”
Aberrations can be decreased by avoiding high-
contrast conditions.
The girl wipes her mouth. Keeps hold of his hand.
Purple rings float above her.
“Is this her?” she says like she knows who I am.
Blue rings float above him.
He reaches his other hand to me.
Silas comes back into focus.
SNAP & SCATTER
I take his arm and twist it.
Nearby branches snap from trees
crack
fall
scatter.
He says
“Hey, stop, that hurts.”
I say
“Hey, good”
before
I
let
go.
HISTORY IS ALL
“I thought we were exclusive—”
“We are . . . she’s . . . it’s—
we have history is all—”
History
is all?
As if history doesn’t mean everything?
And suddenly I realize
we were never really together,
he never wanted an escape.
That was a lie.
A dream.
We were never going to be like
Ellery & Taryn
Holly & Stefano.
I don’t know what else to say
so I just leave
before he can see
the tears floating in my eyes.
How stupid I’ve been
again.
I start walking
and the city erupts
into a forest fire.
PERIPHERY
I half expect
Silas
to chase after
me
to at least call my name
tell me there’s been a misunderstanding.
But—
no one comes
no one calls my name.
Flames flash
flicker
die.
Only soot remains.
If I misinterpreted
why
my mom
never treated me
the way she treated Holly,
if I misinterpreted
how
much Silas liked me,
how can I trust my
own interpretation
of anything?
FOUNTAIN ANGEL
I walk for hours
all the way back uptown
until I find myself
in the park.
Bethesda Fountain.
Built in 1873,
soon after Seneca Village was destroyed.
In fifth grade,
when Mom declared my creativity
a “liability”
room “too messy”
homework “too outside the box,”
Dad would take me here.
He called the statue a healing angel,
said if I ran my fingers through the water,
I’d get stronger, prove to Mom
I could do better.
Now,
fingertips in the angel’s water,
I realize that
no matter what
I never had a chance.
DIZZY
My whole life
Dad has been trying to prove to her
they didn’t make a mistake:
having me
keeping me.
Questions
like
Why didn’t she want to have a child naturally?
Why did she only want to adopt Holly?
dizzy me.
My stomach rumbles.
I buy a pretzel, take one bite
throw the rest
to the pigeons.
EXCAVATION
I walk on
through the park
past twentysomethings talking about a movie,
a homeless woman pushing a cart,
a dog walker with five barking dogs
to Tanner’s Spring.
Kneel.
Stick my hand into
the cold leaves and grass.
Where there once was a village
there is now a park.
Maybe it’s time for another excavation.
My own.
And then—
when I look up—
I see her.
INTERSECTION
She
doesn’t say anything
(at first).
(two tunnels running parallel).
We both reach out
(converge).
GENEROSITY
“They’re freaking out—
think you overheard something?”
“I overheard Mom. She—
Mom never wanted me—
she even considered giving me up.”
A long pause.
Then Holly says that must’ve felt terrible to overhear.
She looks around,
like she might find something else to say.
Scrunches her eyes together then opens them.
Says, “I’m not going to make excuses for them,
but I know they’re really sorry.”
When I don’t say anything, she goes on.
“Linc, I know you’re upset, but they want you
to come home . . .
I do too.”
Says she knows it isn’t always easy
being her sister.
It isn’t always easy
being mine.
I know, I say.
“But you’re my sister
no matter what,
you’re my family.”
My heart inflates, refills
the slightest bit.
OVERFLOWING
We sit for a while.
Holly asks me if I want to
hear something
that will take my mind off
everything else.
“Yes. Please.”
She takes a deep breath.
“I’m applying to a summer program in Ghana.”
The wind picks up.
She thinks Mom & Dad will be mad,
won’t let her go.
Won’t understand.
I tell her I can relate.
Then, deep breath, “one for one,”
I tell her about IAA.
And as we share our secrets,
an African American villager
and an Irish one
come together
at this rushing stream
to gather buckets of water.
SOMETIMES
It’s cold,
but we stay outside a little longer,
sit on a bench.
I ask Holly
how she knew where to find me.
She said she walked
all the Seneca Village blocks
then remembered
how we used to play by the stream.
The Way the Light Bends Page 15
