Heartbeat
Page 3
Mom says she has a surprise
for me and Dad and Grandpa
and she makes us close our eyes
as she rummages in her purse
and then she says
Open!
She is holding what appears to be
a black-and-white photograph
of grayish stones on a deep black background.
Grandpa peers at the picture.
I think your camera needs fixing
he says.
My father is excited.
Is that—? Oh, man!
He inspects it, squints,
turns it upside down.
But where—? What—?
And then I remember that today
my mother was to have an ultrasound
and this must be a picture of the baby.
I snatch the photo from my father
and turn it this way and that
and my mother is laughing
and finally she says
Here, like this
and she turns the photograph
and traces the stones
This is the head
and this is the chest
and this is an arm
and this is a foot—
My father and Grandpa and I stare.
I wonder what they are thinking.
I am horrified.
It looks like a little skeleton head
and it does not look at all cute
and I am feeling so sorry for us
that we are going to have such a
frightening-looking baby.4
But my mother explains that we are
seeing the bones of the head
like an X-ray
and the shape of the head will change
and of course there is flesh on it
and the midwife said
that the heart and all the organs
were present and accounted for
and the baby looked perfect
in every way
which was some relief to my father
and Grandpa and me
and I surely hope the midwife is right.
My mother said that during the ultrasound
she could see
the arms moving
as if the baby were waving at her
and she said that the next appointment
was on a Saturday so that Dad and I
can go and hear the heartbeat—
the heartbeat!
A tear slipped down Grandpa’s cheek.
Oh, you can come, too, Dad!
my mother said.
If you’re up to it—
Grandpa nodded
as two more tears rolled down
his cheek.
Mom patted Grandpa’s hand
and told me and my father that maybe
we should stop calling the baby
the alien baby
because it can hear
and we should
call it something nicer
so it will not get its
feelings hurt.
AN APPLE A DAY
Twice a week at school
we have art class with Miss Freely
in a room I’d like to live in
with its wide drawing tables
and easels
and paint-spattered floor
and smocks to cover your clothes
and drawers of paper
and pencils
and paints.
Yesterday Miss Freely said
we were going to draw apples.
Apples? Kaylee said.
Ordinary apples?
Miss Freely said
No apple is ordinary.
You’ll see.
She let each of us choose an apple
from a basket:
mine was yellow with green freckles
on one side
and an orange blush on the other side.
Miss Freely asked us to study the apple.
Study the apple? Kaylee said.
Yes, Miss Freely said.
Study it as long as you want—
then draw one apple.
Only one? Kaylee said.
Only one today
Miss Freely said.
Take the apple home with you.
Draw this same apple each day.
Every day? Kaylee said.
Every single day?
Yes, Miss Freely said.
For how long? Kaylee asked.
For one hundred days, Miss Freely said.
One hundred days?
Draw one hundred pictures
of the same old apple? Kaylee asked.
Kaylee turned to me and said
That’s an awful lot of drawings
of one apple.
It did seem like a lot.
I wondered if we would get tired
of drawing apples apples apples.
Miss Freely said
You can draw other things, too,
as usual
as long as you also draw an apple
each day.
Even days we don’t have art class?
Kaylee asked.
Yes, Miss Freely said.
I think you will discover some interesting things.
I think you will discover the un-ordinary-ness
of an apple.
I couldn’t wait to draw my first apple
and I knew exactly what I would draw it with:
colored pencils
and I knew exactly which paper I would use:
the smooth, white, thick paper
that lets the pencils glide over it.
Kaylee finished drawing her apple
in three minutes
and then she turned to drawing
what she really wanted to draw
which was a hat with feathers.
I studied my apple a long time.
It would be hard to get roundness
on the paper
so I looked in the books
on shading and perspective
to see how real artists
made round things look round
on the flat paper.
Miss Freely moved around the room
as she does
pausing to study each person’s work
and answer questions and
offer suggestions like
I wonder what would happen if you
tried a different color there?
When she came to me she said
I do so like your line
which is something she has often
said to me
You have a distinct line
but I do not know exactly
what she means
because some of my lines
are straight and some are curved
and I do not see how my lines
are different from other people’s lines.
Everyone else finished an apple drawing in class
but I only got the outline done
so Miss Freely let me take
four colored pencils home with me5
and everyone got to take their apples
and while I was running that afternoon
I thought about the apple
and thought about it
and thought about it
and when I got home
I drew apple number one.
It looked like an apple
which is the best I can say
for it.
It seemed a bit stiff
too much like a drawing of an apple
with none of the feeling of an apple.
HEARTBEAT
I expect to hear alien baby’s
heartbeat
sound like mine
thump-THUMP, thump-THUMP
and as the midwife
lowers the Doppler
(which resembles a microphone)
to my mother’s abdomen
my father and I stare
/>
hard
as if staring will help us listen
and then—!
we hear a rushing sound
a-whoosh-a-whoosh-a-whoosh
very fast
as if the alien baby
must be running hard
a-whoosh-a-whoosh-a-whoosh-a-whoosh
the sound of a real heart
a baby heart
beating beating beating
a-whoosh-a-whoosh-a-whoosh
as our little baby rushes on
and I feel as if
this is my team
my mother and father and me
and the baby
a-whoosh-a-whoosh-a-whoosh
and Grandpa, too,
who wasn’t feeling well enough
to join us, and who is at home
lying in his bed.
THE COACH
Today the girls’ track team coach
stops me after lunch.
Max tells me you’re quite a good runner
she says.
I don’t know what to say to her.
You ought to try out for the track team
she says.
No, thank you.
She studies me and says
We need some good runners.
No, thank you.
She looks annoyed with me
but I can see that she is trying
not to show it.
She says
It’s a lot of fun.
Why do people not listen when you say no?
Why do they think you are too stupid
or too young
to understand?
Why do they think you are too shy
to reply?
Why do they keep badgering you
until you will say yes?
I’m sorry, I say, I just don’t want to.
She smiles her best smile and says
Why don’t you just come out to practice
one day and see what it’s like?
I want to punch her
but of course I will not punch her
because that is not a very civilized response.
I want to tell her that I’ve seen the practices
and nothing about them is appealing.
Everyone does the same warm-ups
the same sprints
the same cool-downs.
No one gets to run her heart out
no one runs barefoot
no one smiles.
No one can let her head go free.
And someone must win
and someone must lose
and always the winner looks proud
and the loser looks forlorn
and I can’t understand why they all
would spoil
such a good thing
as running
but I know the coach will not leave me alone
until I say something that lets her win
and so I say
Okay, maybe I’ll come watch.
But I don’t mean it.
THE KICK
After dinner my mother eases herself
onto the sofa
and props up her feet.
Oh!
she says suddenly.
Oh! Oh!
Her eyes open so wide
and her mouth, too,
like a big round O.
Come here, Annie
she whispers
and so I sit beside her
as she places my hand
on her abdomen.
There!
A tiny nudge
a lump pushing against my hand
a soft thump
and then—there!
Another and another!
I pull my hand away.
The baby! my mother says.
That’s the baby!
I put my hand back and wait
until—there! Thump!
And all evening all I can think about is
the thing
growing
and moving
inside my mother.
FLIP, FLIP, FLIP
I am in Grandpa’s room
looking through the photo albums
with him.
We see Grandpa when he was my age
sitting on a picnic table
tanned legs swinging
arms spread wide
as if he wants to wrap up
the whole world.
It is hard to see my grandpa
in that boy
in that smooth skin
those skinny legs
that dark hair.
Grandpa studies this photo
a long time
as if he, too, wonders
how that young boy
turned into an old grandpa.
He flips through the pages
pausing to examine a young Grandma—
his new wife—
sitting on a riverbank
face tilted up to the sun.
On through the pages we go
witnessing their lives
flip, flip, flip
fast-forwarding through
my mother as a child
flip, flip, flip
until there’s me
in Grandpa’s arms
newly born
and Grandma is there, too.
They are smiling at me
as if I am a miracle baby.
Flip, flip, flip
I grow up
Grandma is gone
Grandpa’s hair turns gray.
Flip, flip, flip.
PERSPECTIVE
Apples, apples, apples
thirty drawings of one apple.
The first ten looked pretty much alike
which was starting to bother me
and then one day when I was
out running
I glanced at budding branches overhead
and was thinking about spring
and the coming of new leaves
and how I usually see the undersides of leaves
and I would have to climb the trees
to see the leaves from the top
and I thought of my apple.
I could draw it from the top
looking down on it
and from underneath
looking up at it.
I could put it on its side!
And in the middle of thinking that
I hear
Hey, Annie!
Hey, Max!
And we run on round the bend
and past the birches6
and Max is running faster than usual
so I pick up my pace a little
down the hill
l-e-a-p-i-n-g over the creek
and I keep pace with him
up the hill
past the barn7
around the pasture
and Max is moving faster and faster
until we reach the red bench
where we stretch and flop
and Max checks his grandpa’s pocket watch
and looks displeased
and says
You must’ve slowed me down, Annie.
I want to punch him
but I don’t.
Instead I say
No, I think you slowed me down, Max.
He says, Huh! Fat chance.
And then he asks me
again again again
for the seven billionth time
if I am going to join the track team
and I tell him no
and he calls me a chicken
and I ask him why he thinks
not joining the team
makes me a chicken
and he says I am afraid
to lose
that I’m afraid
someone will be better
run faster
and I ask him why someone has to win
and someone has to lose
and why someone always has to
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run
faster
and he looks at me as if I have
sprouted fangs
and he shakes his head
and says
You just don’t get it, do you?
And I am thinking to myself
that he is the one
who does not get it
but already he is up and stretching
and he takes off running
and this time I let him go
ahead of me
faster faster faster
until he disappears round the bend
and I can go at my own pace
and let my head go free
and let the apples turn and roll
in my mind.
GRANDPA TALK
I am in Grandpa’s room
preparing to draw my forty-fifth apple.
It perches on the glass shelf on his wall
and I am sitting on the floor
beneath it
studying it from the bottom.
Grandpa is sifting through
my fat folder of apples.
What an awful lot of apples!
he says.
They’re making me hungry.
The apple on the glass shelf
does not look like an apple
from the bottom
and I don’t know how I will draw it