by Edith Pattou
figuring out where I fit in.
Which tribe will take me in?
I’ll probably end up
an art geek
because of
the camera.
But the whole prospect,
of starting over
as new/old girl,
is terrifying.
Emma texted today, saying,
We’re on for Saturday night.
She even listed who’ll be there:
Her boyfriend, Brendan, who I never knew,
different middle school,
different crowd.
Chloe Carney.
Friend of Emma’s from middle school days,
when Emma and I began drifting apart.
Chloe’s boyfriend.
No name.
Felix, former best bud.
Which makes me happy.
Very happy.
Emma, Felix, and Max.
An elementary school trio.
Legendary.
“EMFAX” is what Dad dubbed us,
and it stuck.
When we were kids
everyone loved
Felix.
He was the only boy
invited to all the girls’ birthday parties.
Not because he was a girly guy,
not at all.
He was a big soccer nut.
But because he was just
so darn
cute.
Neither of us was
good at keeping in touch
after I moved
to Colorado,
but it’ll be great to see him.
I remember how he used to
bound up to everyone,
all high energy,
with that immediate
big grin.
Anyway, I guess Saturday night
will be a good first
toe in the water.
Hopefully I’ll still have all my toes
when the night’s
done.
FELIX
i flick the switch of the kitchen light. nothing. bulb must be busted. and i used the last bulb when i changed the one in mom’s reading lamp a few weeks ago. not that she reads anymore. most nights she falls asleep watching tv.
so it’s cheerios in the dark for dinner again. solo, naturally, since mom is asleep by now. but it’s not a bad routine. i’ve always been a cereal-for-dinner fan. didn’t expect it’d happen most nights like this, but it’s cool.
no clean bowls though and the milk smells off. that sucks. i wish mom didn’t have to work so hard. and that she was happy. the way she was happy when i was a kid.
she had a lot of energy then, which was a good thing since i was a real nutso, revved-up kid, because of the adhd. she was always game for running after me, always patient with the calls from school about the busted fish tank, missing gerbil, library books in the boys’ bathroom toilets. etc. not dad. he wasn’t patient. but mom didn’t believe in meds and said she’d hang in there with me. all the time. and she did.
until lately.
yeah, lately she’s pretty much checked out. but i understand. and i can cut her some slack, after all the slack she’s cut me.
tomorrow’s my last day at the library. community service for being busted for pot end of last year. best part was working in the kids’ section. tomorrow we’ll have a few stragglers, kids wanting prizes for the summer reading program, which ended a week ago. that nice librarian, mrs. sheridan, with hair so long she can sit on it, she’ll give them prizes anyway.
mrs. sheridan was around back when emma, max, and i did the summer reading program. that’s when i discovered the joey pigza books by jack gantos. i liked joey pigza because he was like me, only worse. i must’ve read the first one about twenty times. and good old mrs. sheridan counted each time as a separate book, so i’d get the prizes.
maybe tomorrow i’ll check out a joey pigza book. for old time’s sake.
weird that emma invited me to hang out with her and her friends saturday night. weird that it’ll be emma, max, and me together again. EMFAX. crazy. haven’t thought about EMFAX in a long time. stoked to see max though. takes me back, to when things were a whole lot simpler.
BRENDAN
Last weekend before the grind starts up again.
Down for some serious fun.
Why the hell does Emma have to drag along
this girl nobody knows on Saturday night?
She’d better not be a loser, or a buzzkill, I say.
Be nice, Emma says. My mom made me.
We can always ditch her, I say.
And Emma smiles,
so I know it’s cool.
Felix is okay,
long as he’s not too baked.
And Chloe’s all right,
always up for some fun.
But what’s the deal with this Anil guy?
It’s not like I’m a racist or anything.
Maybe it’s the brainiac thing.
Mr. National Merit Scholar.
He’s in all the AP classes;
he probably hangs with the geeks.
Seen him in the workout room.
Watching and looking around all the time.
Probably looking down on the rest of us.
Screw that.
Wish Chloe had stuck with Josh.
Even though he’s a dick, I get Josh.
CHLOE
“Senior Year”
I’m totally sick of scooping
ice cream at Bonnie’s Sweet Shop
My fingers—always sticky.
And Lou, the manager, always hitting on me.
But it still sucks that school
starts on Monday.
Mom keeps saying
I need a 2.9,
if I want to go to
Illinois State.
Who said I want to;
it’s her who’s always wanted me
to go there.
All because she went
to Illinois State,
best freaking four years of her life.
Downhill ever since,
if you ask me.
Poor mom:
single mom.
3 kids.
husband long gone.
(Would never want her life. Not. Ever.)
Lucky dad:
cute new younger wife.
black-haired, dimply baby girl.
big house in California.
(Who cares.)
Dad’s been gone
since I was in 6th grade.
Mom clawed her way
up in the real estate business.
Has her own company now,
and her plastic face
is on the back page
of our town newspaper
every week,
not to mention plastered
on benches all around town.
My smiley-face mom
holding an umbrella:
“I’m On Your Side,
Come Rain Or Come Shine”
Gag me.
At least there’s Anil now.
Good, real,
hot-bod Anil.
Maybe senior year
won’t be all bad.
FAITH
I love
riding
my bike
around town.
Today I
take Polly
because
she’s restless,
on edge.
I know
she is
because
so am I.
And the
reason
is that
Mom and Dad
have been
yelling at
each other
all morning.
About Emma,
of course.
Mom thinks
they should be
stricter,
but Dad says
no.
Emma should
have fun.
Brendan’s a good kid.
She’ll be off to college soon, needs to get used to her freedom.
I get
where Dad’s
coming from.
On the
other hand,
he’s wrong
about
Brendan.
Even in
middle school,
kids told
stories
about him,
crazy stuff
he’s done.
But he’s
a jock, and
good-looking,
so he gets
away with
everything.
Still, Emma
knows
how to
handle him,
the way
she knows
how to
handle
everything.
Although
one night
this summer
she came
home
upset.
Some
stupid prank
he pulled
that went
a little
too far.
Almost got us killed, she said.
But she
said it
angry,
not scared.
Emma doesn’t
get scared.
Not the way
most people
do.
One good thing
about Emma is
she always
tells me
the truth.
Any question
I ask.
She said
it’s because
I need to know
the way things
really are,
not the bullshit
you get from
parents
and teachers
and movies
and TV.
So she’s told
me all about
the sex
she’s had,
the drugs
she’s tried.
She says
I’m smart
like her
and won’t
get carried
away by
any of it.
I’m thinking
about Emma
and Brendan
again,
wondering
what he
did that
almost got
them killed,
when I
realize I’ve
come to
the front
gates of
Walnut Creek
Cemetery.
I slow down,
and Polly
slows, too.
Slanting rays
of the sun
send long
black stripes
along the
green cemetery
grass,
shadows
from the
grave markers
in their
straight rows.
I stop to look.
Rubbing
Polly’s ears
with one hand,
I shade
my eyes
with the
other, and
think about
Emma again.
And I
realize
that I
am
smart
like her.
Actually,
maybe
smarter.
Because
I would never
get involved
with a boy
like Brendan.
WALTER
Looking down from my window,
I watch Mother hunched over,
kneeling in her garden.
Working all the time on her roses.
She looks old, bent, confused sometimes.
Found a pile of dirty dishes
in the freezer yesterday.
But I’ll take care of her.
She always took care of me.
Watching over me, protecting me from bad guys.
Read to me every night. Cowboy stories.
My favorites, over and over.
Then I see a movement by the cemetery
down the block, and look over.
I get nervous when I see people there
because it’s either someone sad with flowers,
Or it’s one of the bad guys,
the people who pester us.
But this time I see that it’s just
a girl on a bike.
She’s got a dog with her, a large soft-looking dog,
and she’s petting it.
I can tell she loves her dog
and her dog loves her.
Even though she’s far away and I can’t see her face,
she looks nice,
like someone who could be a friend.
If I had friends.
Then I see her get back on her bike and
ride off, her dog running beside her.
Her ponytail flies out behind her, like that
tattered wind sock Mother put up a long time ago.
I’m feeling good, not lonely.
And then a car drives by, slowly.
I hear a muffled shout and a whistle,
and then Mother yelling back, angry.
I get angry, too. And I wish the bad guys
would just leave us alone.
If everyone would leave us alone,
except nice girls like that one with her dog,
we’d be okay.
Friday, August 27
POLICE CHIEF AUBREY DELAFIELD
Quiet day. Which is a good thing
since all hell’s gonna break loose,
starting tonight.
Weekend before school starts.
All those high school kids,
spoiled kids with too much time on their hands,
gotta blow off steam.
Some girl will end up in the ER
from too many shots of Jägermeister,
swearing to her parents it’s the first time she ever tried it.
And they’ll believe her,
God help ’em.
Some boys will go joyriding out on Highway 54
or drag racing down Central.
Worst was back in ’86,
before my time:
three seventeen-year-old boys dead,
Dad’s Jaguar wrapped around a century-old oak tree.
Me, I’ve been lucky,
knock wood.
Nobody’s died,
not on my watch.
Not yet.
Saturday, August 28, 6:00 p.m.
MAXIE
I try on about ten different combinations of
jeans and shirts,
skirts and tees,
which is so stupid,
because it really doesn’t matter
what I wear.
It’ll be lame compared to
Emma and
Chloe the gorgeous.
I put on some old jeans
and my lavender shirt,
the one I wore for the unofficial
good-bye–to–Colorado party
my best friend Mandy threw together
at the last minute.
Which was fantastic
and sad
and awkward,
all at once.
Dad is just back
from the grocery store.
He’s piled all the canvas tote bags
on the counter
and Mom is helping him
put groceries away
and I’m thinking this is a
cozy domestic scene,
tranquil even,
until Mom pulls out a six-pack
of amber
long-
necke
d
beer
bottles
with
orange
labels.
What’s this? she asks, frowning.
