“No. Yes. JUST LISTEN!”
I lower my voice when heads turn
on either side of us.
I hold my steady gaze
speaking slowly, softly, clearly.
“I can’t explain it.
All I know is
things have changed.
I’ve changed.
I thought winning the contest
would be so awesome
and when you all texted me
about winning, I didn’t feel excited
or thrilled
or anything good. I felt
nothing but
bad.”
Juan leans his puzzled face toward me.
“Bad? What do you mean, bad?
I’m not sure I’m tracking.”
“Bad like a bad dream, maybe.
It’s been coming on for a while, Juan.
I’m not sure I can explain it.
It’s like competing to be the best musician,
competing to be the best at anything
seems so pointless now.
But especially the music…
what’s it all worth in the end?
It’s so selfish, all those hours
practicing, polishing, rehearsing,
It isn’t going to make a difference
in anybody’s life.”
“I get it. Your brothers are really weighing
on you, aren’t they?”
I fight to hold back the tears
and anger.
“Of course, Juan. How would they not?”
“I understand, Claire. I know that part
of your life has changed, but music’s
been your whole life,
your dream
forever.
How can you just dump it
when you’re at the top
of your game?
“That’s just it. Maybe it’s not my game.
Maybe it was the game my parents
picked out for me.
I don’t feel the music in me at all.
It feels dead.
My fingers feel dead,
like they are pounding pieces of ivory
that I can’t hear or feel.
I want to walk away from it all. I’m sorry
I ever entered the contest, and if I could
ditch the recital, the summer program,
the scholarship, all of it, I would.”
A look I can’t read passes over Juan’s face
as he pulls away from me,
sinking with a thud
against the back of the booth.
“Wow, Claire. You sound really
depressed.
That’s it. You are depressed.
But you just can’t,
I mean,
you can’t just bail.
You won, and well,
now you have to deal with it.”
“I’m not depressed, Juan.
Deal with it? What’s that supposed to mean?
Deal…with…it?
I need to go.”
“Deal with being a winner, Claire.
You’re the winner.”
I slide out of the booth,
awkward,
too hot
and dry-eyed.
GUILTY DAY
I’m twenty minutes
and a flood of tears late
and Mom lights into me.
Understandable,
but the circles under her eyes,
the household clutter, the marked
acting-out in a once-mellow Trent—
all feed the hurricane going on
inside my head.
“Come on, guys, this room’s a disaster.
Help me clean it up
now.”
I remember what they said at BDSRA
about keeping things “normal,”
having reasonable expectations
about everyday things
as long as possible,
that is.
What they didn’t mention
was how the healthy members
of the family are supposed
to keep things normal.
Trent grumbles.
“Don’t give me any lip,” I say, mock-seriously.
“Get it? Lip? Yucca, yucca, yucca.”
I ruffle his hair then wonder
if I just went too far,
like I did with Juan today,
but Trent laughs and I quickly ask,
“How is it today, buddy? Sore, I’ll bet.”
He tugs at the part of his lip
that isn’t in stitches for my inspection.
“Eew, gross,” I say dramatically
and Davy chimes in, too,
even though I know he can’t see it
that well.
Mom goes to bed soon after the boys.
I almost make it to my room
when Dad looks up from his papers.
“Things any better today, Claire?”
Better? How could they be any worse?
“I’m working on it, Dad. Maybe tomorrow?”
He nods, and I escape to my room,
not sure at all
how many tomorrows
it would take to make sense
out of life
right now.
Winter Part 2
be-CAUSE
The clock says I’d better get
to homework sometime soon
but I see Mia is still on FB
so I message her.
Desperate to unload.
Start from the beginning. Homework done.
My fingers fly. I start with BDSRA,
the intense emotions that saturated me
and Dad from the first lobby experience,
jammed with wheelchairs and strollers
and smiling, drooling children in all stages
of the disease;
to informational lectures on
genetics,
clinical trials,
family dynamics,
treatment plans;
to teen support groups,
meeting Wendy,
the corny art projects,
sharing feelings I didn’t know I had.
Awesome, but I thought this was
to be about Juan.
Ikr. Juan.
Man, I blew it today.
What I wanted to say to him
came out all wrong
or he took it the wrong way
and he just thinks I’m depressed
and…
Well spit it out Gf.
Don’t stop typing if you
insist on crying.
Su, My-yah, Me-yah. I think
I cried it out on the walk home.
I tell her how winning the contest
just doesn’t seem
important
anymore.
I tell her how I felt
when I stood in front of the memorial wall
and realized all those sick kids,
including Davy and Trent,
would never get the thrill of entering
or winning
any kind of contest
and the greatest contest they have going
is to win
another
day’s breath.
Then at Mrs. Shepherd’s…
Pete Seeger and his causes;
it’s like I’ve been handed a cause
and now I need to know what to do with it.
But I still don’t get how Juan figures…
It’s getting late, and there’s homework,
but I need Mia to get it.
Don’t want to spend another second
celebrating me.
Don’t want to be like Mrs. Shepherd.
Regret not celebrating brothers’ lives.
Want to start now. Ditch recital,
scholarship, summer camp.
I’m sure Juan came
in second.
Working up to telling him
I want to forfeit…
Plz tell me you didn’t do that…
NW. He got weird.
Accused me of being depressed.
Ranted about how I’m the winner
and I just need to DEAL WITH IT.
I left.
Dad sees my light.
Getting the bedtime harass.
Talk tomorrow.
NIGHT RIDE
wheelchairs flying through the lobby
and I can’t get out of mine they have
me strapped in and the line is long and
very hot and my name isn’t on the list
yet but someone said it should be but
Davy can’t get the wheelchair off the
ceiling and I’m afraid I will fall out
so Trent rescues us just in time for the
demonstration where they show us how
to make the wheelchair do the walking
for us when it is time to go up the hill
where the banner full of names of those
who have been accepted into the secret
club is blowing in the wind like a multi-
colored kite and suddenly the string
breaks and the kite flies away while I
watch Davy and Trent float up to find it.
LOST CAUSE
I corner Mom and Dad,
both in the kitchen at the same time
for breakfast.
“Any chance we can have a talk
tonight, after the boys are in bed?”
Dad winks and gives me a knowing nod
while Mom looks concerned.
“Nothing’s wrong.
I just need…want to talk to you both.
It’s all good, Mom, really,” I say,
flashing a smile full of confidence
I do not feel.
They agree.
Carlos honks.
Whew. Got the easy one out of the way.
But where do I begin with Juan?
Obviously not in the car
in front of Carlos.
First no one says anything
then Carlos mumbles a hesitant
“Hey, Claire”
as if he’s been forewarned
and then, barely audible,
without turning around
Juan utters a limp “Hey.”
Tara, why aren’t you here
when I need you?
Dead silence all the way to school.
I practically jump out
before Carlos stops,
hoping to get far enough ahead
in case the tears won’t wait
until the nearest bathroom.
HE’S A GUY
Mia grabs me two minutes before
first period bell.
“You look gruesome, dearie.
Before you tell me how you
didn’t sleep, want my take on Juan,
‘cause I DID sleep on it?”
“Do I have a choice?”
Mia doesn’t skip a beat.
“It all figures. The look he gave you.
The snarky response.
He’s a guy, for God’s sake.
A tremendously talented,
gorgeous hunk
with a big ego, and when he
heard you dissing the big win,
in spite of his noble intentions,
he let his all-too-human feelings out
and he had a jealous hissy fit, that’s all.
He had a big moment of
‘It should have been me after all.’
How could he not?
Listen, Dumbo. How could you
expect him to take it
any other way?”
I let her words sink in.
“So,
um,
any suggestions?”
“That’s simple. Just keep your prize.
Go through the motions
and then do what you need to do
to celebrate your brothers, as you say.”
“No way.”
“Why?”
“be-CAUSE.”
THE CONTEST CONTINUES
I slam the door on the nearest stall
and let loose with the tears.
How can I fix the mess with Juan
if he won’t speak to me?
Maybe Mia’s right about going ahead
with the whole thing.
What good is a good cause for my brothers
if everything else is messed-up?
Someone rushes in from the hall
finishing a conversation and popping gum.
I know immediately
who it is.
I flush the toilet, blow my nose,
brace myself, and make like I’m
in a rush.
“Claire! I was just sayin’ to Carlos
how awesome it is that you won,
pop, pop
and I know how you and Juan
worked so hard and all,
snap, pop
…girlfriend, you’ve been cryin’
haven’t you? And Juan looks
like death warmed over.
Like we were all worried this would
come between you two and now look,
it’s got you both upset.
Anything I can do to help?”
pop, snap
“No thanks. I’m afraid the contest
isn’t over yet.”
I head for the door.
Tara stops applying more lipstick
in mid-air and stares with her mouth open.
“What? But I thought…”
“Later, Tara. I’ll explain later.”
THE DISCONNECT
I have a few minutes
before the boys get home.
I sit down at the piano.
I find the opening notes of “The Kite,”
first time since the conference.
I search for the old connection—
the moment of release
between a soaring mental image
and my fingers,
and the smooth rippling of ivory keys
dancing at my command;
but
all I see in my mind is a swirling spiral of color
shooting off into a high wind
and the release of pressure
as the line snaps.
I stop playing.
This is what I was trying to explain to Juan.
The line between me and music
has snapped.
I look down.
I used to talk to these hands.
How can life change
so drastically
in just a few months?
MAKING WISHES
The doorbell rings.
Davy and Trent’s carpool moms
have taken to escorting them to the door
since both boys have tripped on the stairs
more than once.
I thank the driver and
give extra big bear hugs
to my brothers.
It feels good to be back
on after-school duty as I
guide my brothers
into the kitchen for a snack.
“I wish I could have gone
on a trip with Dad all alone,”
Davy says with his mouth full
of popcorn.
“Yeah? Well maybe you can sometime.
Where would you go if you could
go anywhere you wanted?”
Davy works on another mouthful
of popcorn but doesn’t take long
to answer.
“I’d go someplace with a gazillion
video games to choose from
and play all day and never stop
playing even for bedtime.”
He makes some familiar Nintendo sounds,
mimics using the control buttons,
/> and then breaks out laughing.
“I’d like to see that myself. What
about you, Trent?”
He has an instant answer.
“I’d like to see a Dallas Cowboys game
and meet Tony Romo. That would be so cool.”
He makes a few quarterback moves
and “pshew” sounds of a whizzing ball.
“Why am I not surprised at that one?”
Mental note: Add Make-a-Wish
Foundation to our conversation tonight.
PAINFUL EXPLANATION
Mom looks so exhausted
I think maybe we should skip
our talk. I wonder how long it will be
before she considers part-time teaching
or taking a leave of absence.
I take a cue from Dad,
who pours another cup of coffee
for both of them
and leads us all to the den.
Suddenly I’m nervous
on the spot,
feeling their stares boring into me
expectantly, so I let it just roll out.
“Mom, I did win the contest, but…”
Shock and confusion flash across her face.
“What? Honey, that’s fantastic! I knew you
would win all along.”
Coffee splashes out of her cup as
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