the school bus for an hour ride home.
But when I opened the door,
I heard voices in the kitchen—
one voice, actually. Mama’s.
You can’t hurt me
now, not anymore.
Why couldn’t you
just leave me alone?
It’s cold here,
very cold. Will it
be like this forever?
I didn’t want her to know
I was there, not while she
was talking to air, but it
was eighty degrees in Grandma’s
house. And why was she there,
anyway? I tiptoed toward
the kitchen, peeked around
the doorjamb. Saw her lying
on the floor, an empty pill
bottle near her quiet form.
I walked over, looked down
into her unfocused eyes, saw
something resembling peace.
I should have called 911.
Instead, I backed slowly
away, exited
out the front
door.
Conner
Dr. B Is Psychic?
Or have I given more
away than I can recall?
I lose my smile. “How did
you know? What did I say?”
You didn’t say a thing.
But Emily Sanders did.
You tried to kill yourself.
What did you think she’d do?
I never thought that she’d
confess, open herself
to the authorities,
the school board, the press.
I’m not surprised you didn’t
know. We keep things rather
insular here. But I just
couldn’t see us making
progress unless you found
out. Since it’s all in the
open out there, I hope
you’ll talk about it in here.
I shrug. “Do you want
details? The way she cries
when I kiss her, or how she
never fails to orgasm?
Or maybe you’d like to hear
how sunlight dances, bronze
upon her hair, how she begs me
to pull her hair, to excite her.”
Details, yes. But not like
those. I want to know how
you felt after, and why you
chose a woman twice your age.
She Set Herself Up
“You mean someone like you,
with experience, someone
beautiful and willing? Do
you think it’s a myth that guys
my age want to learn how
to please a woman? Sex
with a high school girl is like
screwing a deep freeze.”
I’m not sure you could
label me “willing,” Conner.
But I can’t say that I’m
unable to understand
an attraction to someone
older. It’s true that I
had a relationship with
a teacher, first as a shoulder
to cry on when my life
went totally crazy. Caring
turned to passion, but we
never meant for that to happen.
“It was the exact opposite
for me. At first all I
wanted was sex with her,
but soon I wanted more.
More sex, yes, in unusual
places, and all different kinds.
But that wasn’t all. I wanted
her to fill the empty spaces
left by a father who never
once praised me, ‘friends’ who
used me, an ice princess mom
who raised me with glass kisses.”
I Can’t Believe
She got me to say all that,
pried open my lips for such
truth to spill out. Dr. Boston
has managed a total eclipse
of Conner the Silent.
Flushed, I chance a glimpse
of her eyes, find sympathy
in their gray, fluid trance.
Define ‘glass kisses,’ Conner.
I want … um … I don’t understand
what you mean. Nervous hands
defy her nonchalant tone.
Conner the Silent shrugs, gives
way to Conner the Eclipsed.
“Smooth. Cold. Flawless. Tasteless.
Glass. Agate. Sugarless sorbet.”
She mulls that for a second,
shakes her head, frees blond
feathers. Glass and agate are hard.
Not so sorbet. Please explain.
My turn to think, to try
and unravel my own riddle.
Every inch of me feels weighted,
like I’m treading gravel.
“My mother is the hardest
woman ever—cool, perfect.
She’d be a diamond, except
you’ll never melt one of those.
Sometimes, rarely, influenced
by full moon or emptiness,
she’ll rain a single kiss,
monsoon on desert, melting
glass.”
Tony
I Want to Jump Up
Leap across the room,
grab my pa by the neck
and choke him until
he owns up—confesses
why he can’t stand
the thought of me.
Okay, that’s not such
a great idea, so I shove
it back into my dream
cabinet, the one I dare
open only when I sleep.
Lots of bad ideas in there.
Tony? reminds Dr. Bellows.
Don’t you have anything
else to say? Your father
has come all this way
to try and make some sort
of amends. Can you do that?
The guy is pissing me
off. Both of them are,
in fact. I tell myself to stay
in control, but it won’t
be easy. “It’s only twenty
miles from here to Tahoe.
Some people drive
that far every day. It’s
been eight effing years,
Pa. Don’t you own a car?
Or a telephone? What
the fuck is your problem?
Do you know how
many nights I lay in bed,
wondering what I’d
done to deserve your
silence? What had I said?
What did I ever do, but love you?”
A New Problem Pops Up
One I never expected.
I can’t remember, not
even once in my
miserable life, crying.
Not when Pa first
walked out the door.
Not when the judge
sent me away to live in
a nest of juvenile delinquent
hornets. Not even the day
I sprinkled Phillip’s ashes
over his secret Truckee
River fishing hole.
So that damn eight-pound
rainbow who
keeps giving me the slip
will never forget me
completely, he requested.
Okay, I almost cried
that day, tears welling
up black, like thunderheads
boiling up over the Sierra.
But they never slipped
down my cheeks, not
like they’re doing right
now. This is totally insane.
All because of this strange
guy, perched across from me,
this completely strange guy I’ve
never really known as my father.
So how can he make me
cry? Why should he even
want to try? “Why now, Pa?
Why come back into my
life now? Are you hoping
to become someone’s beneficiary?”
Until I Said It
The thought hadn’t crossed
my mind. But now that it has,
I want an answer. “Well?”
How can you say such a thing.
Anthony? No, I don’t want one.
I want to make you mine.
“You think I want your
money? I’ve lived just
fine without it up to now.”
Just fine? I know how you
live, son. I know where you’ve
been, what you’ve done.
That can’t be true, can it?
Has an invisible eye
been looking my way?
I can forgive you for all
of it, Anthony. The drugs.
The men. Even the … thing.
Now the tears really
make me mad, chinks
in my invincible armor.
That’s a hard thing to
forgive someone for …
to forgive a son for.
Screw it. Tears or no,
he’s got it coming now.
“You forgive me? I
didn’t turn my back
on you, didn’t leave
you under Ma’s thumb.
You knew what she had
become, what kind of life
that meant for me. Where were
you, Pa, when I went
hungry? Where were you,
Pa, when that bastard …
never mind.”
Vanessa
Prozac Can’t Help
Lift me out of the place
I’m in now. Thinking
about my mother always
drops me here, abandons
me clear below mania
into a field of solid blue.
Maybe I should confess
my condition, request a lithium
fix. The Prozac has lately
left me tossing and turning
well into the night.
Then, despite its antidepressant
buzz, I’m tired from staying awake.
Sleepy by day; wound
up at night, brain
fighting my body’s need
for REM refreshment.
I suppose I could ask
for sleeping pills, but they’d
drop me way down into the blue,
maybe so deep I could
never crawl back up.
Or I could own up, ask for lith,
but once I start, I can never stop.
And it has side effects, too—
lethargy, weight gain,
massive diarrhea.
(Thirty extra pounds,
despite chronic runs?)
Something else can help,
the thing I crave
more than clarity.
Self-medication—of the most
critical, physical type.
I should wait until after
dinner. Can’t go
to the table like Hansel
and Gretel, trailing crumbs
of red. Besides, waiting,
anticipating, can be the best part.
The Dinner Crowd
Seems quite subdued,
the usual chatter strained,
as if no one really wants
to discuss their visit
from home—or lack of one.
Only Stanley seems his usual
obnoxious self—poking
and pushing and asking
the questions no one
wants to answer:
So how did it go?
Any cool news?
Anyone die?
What’s your sister look like?
God, he’s such a clod.
I go for my plate—fried
chicken, corn, and mashed
potatoes. They definitely
wanted to impress any
parent who might inquire
about tonight’s meal, which
is definitely the best I’ve had
since I’ve been here—just
enough salt, for once.
As I turn toward the girls’
tables, Tony comes through
the door. I try to catch
his eye, but he keeps both
of them fixed on the floor.
Stanley calls,
Hey, dude. How did it go?
Any cool news?
Hey, man …
what’s up with your eyes?
Tony glances up, and even
from here I can see
the problem with his eyes—
they’re red, swollen,
and that can mean only
one thing, something well
beyond the realm
of Stanley’s business.
Tony’s Fists Clench
As he turns toward
the offensive lout.
Shut the hell up,
you fat fuck.
I’m sick of you
and your whining shit.
You’d think Stanley
would get the message,
but the idiot dares,
I’m whining? Looks
like you’re the one
doing the whining today.
Suddenly the room
moves—guys push
away from their tables,
expecting (hoping for?) a fight.
Girls jump up, move
in for a close-up
view of the action.
Tony is ready to deliver.
I’ve never seen anyone
so intent on bestowing
a blow or two—or anyone
quite as deserving as
Stanley, who finally
finds some semblance
of brains and says,
Hey man, just kidding.
Besides, if you hit me,
it’s back to isolation.
Tony grabs Stanley by
the cheeks, pinches them
pickled beet red.
I don’t give two fucks about
isolation, or you. Screw
with me again, you’re
dead.
Conner
I Melted Dr. Boston
All those pretty words
worked, just like I wanted
them to. Who knew a poet
lurked inside my brain?
I understand better now,
said Dr. B. Thank you,
Conner, for opening up
instead of playing it cool.
But I did play it cool, and in
the end, she rewarded me
with Level One. I can’t
pretend it wasn’t my goal.
So I’m on my way to
the dining room, where I’ll
sit with hungry lunatics,
all of whom will turn to stare
at the new guy. Paranoid?
No more than I need to be.
Trust is just a five-letter word,
one that comes before “not.”
Still, I’ve got to make Dr. B
believe I trust her completely,
that I, Conner Aaron Sykes,
wear my heart on my sleeve.
Don’t you feel better with
all of that out in the open?
she asked. Sharing your feelings
is no small accomplishment.
Despite her corny way
of putting it, I do feel
somehow relieved, like I’m
cutting teeth on psychoanalysis.
I Just Hope
They don’t bite one of the hands
that feed them. Speaking of food,
a decent smell drifts toward me,
arousing at least one basic need.
I step through the dining room
&nbs
p; door and stumble upon
an interesting scene—a guy
threatening to polish the floor
with a dude three times his
size. Everyone’s watching
them, but, as I predicted,
all eyes now rotate toward me.
Catcalls quiet, as if everyone
mistakes me for a member of
the goon squad—where are they,
with the stakes anted this high?
The smaller guy pushes off
the fat dude’s face. Don’t forget
what I said, Stanley, and that
includes messing with my friends.
He and I need to become
friends. I trail him toward
the serving line as an eerie
silence descends on the room.
A pretty girl—familiar—
with Hershey bar eyes and auburn
hair inserts herself between us.
She and tough guy trade hellos.
He had it coming, Tony.
Are you okay? Shall I
assume the outcome of your
visiting day was like mine?
That Explains a Lot
A visit from home could push
me straight over the edge too—
Tony mumbles something
about his father, fills his plate.
The girl reaches out, covertly
caresses his shoulder, gentle
and warm as September wind.
Tony presses into her touch.
Inexplicably, jealousy
pierces my chest. To be touched
in such a way! I could
easily become obsessed
with this girl. She returns
to her seat, but not before
gifting me with her smile.
Gift? I remember her now—
she’s the one I saw earlier,
in the hall. Hi. I’m Vanessa,
Impulse Page 7
