Capricious

by Gabrielle Prendergast

  If God was meting judgment

  I wonder

  What would he have in store

  For me?

  BROKEN BOY: PART ONE

  He bounces a basketball

  His tie loosened

  Torn shirt untucked

  As mourners trail into his house

  He doesn’t shoot for the hoop

  Or respond to people

  Who try to say hello

  He bounces a basketball

  Like the beating of a heart

  One-handed, rhythmic

  One player short for one-on-one

  He doesn’t shoot for the hoop

  That effort would require

  Raising his head to see

  The front door open and close

  Like the beating of a heart

  He sees me and drops the ball

  As he disappears inside

  He doesn’t speak, lacking the will

  That effort would require.

  WHAT I DESERVE

  So you’re the shiksa

  An ancient woman says to me.

  Bubbe! someone says

  In a scandalized tone

  But the old lady is unchastened.

  I’m Ella, I say

  I’m a friend of David’s.

  A little more than a friend

  To hear him tell it

  Bubbe says with a sniff.

  Men hide from pain

  Like dying cats.

  See if you can get him

  To come out of his room.

  BROKEN BOY: PART TWO

  But I’m smart enough to know

  David won’t be in his room

  I find him on Michael’s bed

  Where we laid him that day

  Surrounded by towels

  And watched him

  Made hopeful by his promise

  Not knowing what it meant.

  That WAS the last time.

  He doesn’t look at me

  Just stares at the ceiling

  I heard you haven’t been talking

  I try a peace offering

  I guess I can’t blame you

  For not wanting to talk to me.

  And he doesn’t

  He just slides to one side

  Inviting me to lie next to him

  I move slowly

  Take off your shoes, he snaps

  I do and anticipate

  Him enumerating what else

  He wants me to take off

  Which I would do

  Right now I would peel

  Off layers until there was nothing

  Left of me but bones

  A grinning skull on the pillow

  Next to him.

  I won’t share you with Samir

  He says while I try to conceal

  The minor freak-out I’m having

  At the idea that this is even up

  For discussion.

  We broke up, I say

  For good this time?

  For good, for bad

  Forever.

  That’s over.

  DAVID SPEAKS HIS MIND

  I’m not a very assertive guy

  But I’m going to try

  This next year is going to be awful

  I can’t screw up grade twelve

  I want to get into a good school

  For architecture

  And I think it might be easier

  With someone to…like…

  Cheer me on.

  I know you’re probably

  Not the best person for that role

  But the amount of bullshit

  I would have to deal with

  To find someone else is not worth it.

  Wow, I don’t know what to say

  I’m overwhelmed by your offer

  It’s so romanti—

  Shut up.

  On any other day

  I’d be telling you

  I never want to see you again

  But I haven’t slept in days

  I’m exhausted, my throat

  Feels raw from sobbing

  Like a two-year-old

  And right now all I want

  To do is spoon you.

  I roll onto my side

  Obediently

  And he curls into my back

  My head tucked into his shoulder.

  If this is love

  He says into my hair

  It really sucks.

  MAYBE WE WILL MAKE IT

  Because I listen to him cry quietly

  For a few minutes before he moves back

  Rolling me over to face him and

  After I wipe away his tears he leans in and

  Whispers something very naughty in my ear.

  But later, he says

  In a few weeks maybe

  I’m too messed up right now

  I think I would break into a million pieces.

  Also, I don’t want to be that guy

  Who is always begging for it

  So if you don’t want to that’s fine

  But you should tell me now.

  I take a moment to process that

  It seems a little clinical

  Like washy wishy

  Soft and squishy David

  Has been replaced

  By a more officious twin.

  You won’t have to beg, I say.

  Then he lets me kiss him

  Like I’ve wanted to for months

  Nothing tentative this time

  About his lips and tongue

  He slides my thigh

  Over his hip and moves

  One hand over my breast

  Giving it an emphatic squeeze

  Like a promise

  His eyes close and that’s how

  Holding on to my boob

  Wrapped up in me

  He drifts off to sleep.

  As the day fades to night

  Bubbe appears

  A stout silhouette

  Against the hall light

  Humph, she says

  And closes the door.

  Chapter Eleven

  Infinite

  HIATUS

  David says

  We should have some time

  Apart

  He needs to work on forgiving me

  But right now

  He’s busy

  Forgiving Michael.

  You need to forgive me too, he says

  For what? I almost say

  But my throat burns

  Tied in a knot with the anger

  I still hold for him

  The night in jail

  The lawyer and

  Panic, how I

  Drowned in

  Panic

  That pours out of me

  As tears.

  See? I knew it, he says

  You wouldn’t behave like that

  Without a reason.

  We hold each other

  The words

  I’m so sorry

  Orbiting us and then

  We give each other space

  And time

  Which after all

  Are both

  Infinite.

  TEXTILE COLLAGE

  I shred old jeans

  A once-white towel

  Now gray

  A tattered pair of mittens

  And snip and glue

  Shaping, fluffing

  Until a coyote’s paw

  Pads quietly among

  The oppressive hands.

  A coyote’s paw

  Is for standing

  For grounding

  I wonder, if we walked

  On our hands

  As animals do

  Would the world feel more like

  Something that supports us

  Instead of something

  We have to hold up?

  BUSTED

  Raphaelle!

  Dad shouts up my stairs

  Along with my middle name

  AND last
name

  That’s how I know

  I’m in big trouble.

  I had an interesting conversation

  With one of my students

  He begins

  Oh shit, I think.

  And he yells at me

  For ten minutes

  About smoking pot

  With Kieran

  And Mom joins us

  And shares the news

  That she found

  A condom wrapper

  Under my bed

  And I’m about to get

  So grounded I’ll practically be

  Dead and buried.

  And Dad says

  Jesus Christ

  Did you sleep with Kieran?!

  And I say

  No, I did not sleep with Kieran

  It was Samir

  Only Samir

  But we broke up

  So you don’t have to worry

  About that anymore.

  But they both keep yelling

  Until even Kayli is telling them

  Stop it! Stop it!

  Can’t you see how upset she is?

  And everyone stops

  And sees.

  TEARS

  For my little meltdown

  I get:

  A hug from Kayli

  A glass of water from Dad

  And an interrogation from Mom.

  Was that a panic attack?

  I used to get them too

  All through high school.

  I would wake up

  Unable to breathe.

  Is it like that?

  Are you eating?

  You look thin

  Are you throwing up?

  Are you sleeping?

  Do you want to try pills again?

  And Dad

  Who prefers an unmedicated life

  Says, Maybe she could share a room

  With Kayli again

  She might sleep better.

  And when Kayli hears this

  Despite her earlier support

  She screams until

  She has an asthma attack

  I’ve got to give it to her

  She knows how to work a crowd.

  So Dad says

  My house, my rules

  Stop being so selfish

  Then Kayli says

  Can’t she just find another boy

  To keep her company?

  And Dad says

  Watch your mouth, young lady

  Which makes her go crazy

  Wheezing and screeching

  So even though I’m grounded

  And under observation

  I just walk out.

  I figure I’m seventeen

  That’s old enough

  To join the army

  Right?

  HEAT STROKE

  No sunscreen

  No sunglasses

  No hat

  Bare shoulders

  All I have

  Is a bus pass

  Phone

  Flip-flops

  And five bucks

  In the pocket of

  My overalls.

  I buy a Gatorade

  And park my butt

  Under a tree

  By the lake

  Thinking

  I should have

  Spent the whole

  Summer here

  Watching ducks.

  And I mean

  The WHOLE summer

  Day and night

  Twenty-four/seven.

  DEADLY SERIOUS

  As the air finally cools

  My phone beeps

  Samir:

  I need to talk to you

  Tonight

  Can you meet me?

  He gives an intersection

  When I reach it

  I realize it’s his mosque.

  Samir stands

  Rather formally dressed

  Between the columns.

  When I join him I see

  His parents and sister

  Standing nearby.

  Samir turns to look at them

  A beseeching look on his face

  His father’s eyes narrow

  And I begin to suspect

  Some kind of intervention.

  Look, I know this is—

  Samir begins

  But his father clears his throat

  Rather forcefully.

  And Samir snaps

  Something back in Arabic

  Obviously his father

  Is unmoved.

  Poor Samir

  He’s still very cute

  When he sulks.

  Until he sighs

  And says

  Raphaelle, will you marry me?

  COOL

  And it takes all my

  Self-control to breathe through the

  Urge to laugh out loud.

  PARENTS OF THE YEAR

  But it goes on

  Samir crosses his arms

  And looks anywhere but at me.

  You will have to convert

  Samir says

  But, well, will you?

  He recites tonelessly

  Like a bad actor

  Will-you-convert-to-Islam-and-marry-me?

  By now I have an idea

  Of what’s going on

  And I play along

  Because poor Samir

  Is as red as the setting sun.

  No, I say.

  I don’t think that’s a good idea.

  Samir turns to his family

  Happy?

  How do you feel?

  His mother says

  And Samir answers

  With a stream of Arabic

  That makes his sister hide her smile.

  In English, his father says.

  Embarrassed, Samir says

  Humiliated.

  And?

  And ashamed.

  I feel

  Ashamed.

  His father looks satisfied

  We’ll see you inside, he says.

  RELIEVED

  Would you have married me

  If I’d said yes?

  I suppose, Samir says to his feet.

  You shouldn’t feel ashamed

  We didn’t do anything wrong

  We were careful, mostly

  And we love each other

  We loved each other

  How can that be wrong?

  If you fall in love

  With another Muslim

  Or any pious man

  He might not want you

  Because you’re not a virgin.

  I’ll have to make sure

  That doesn’t happen then

  No more pious men for me

  Anyway, you’re not

  A virgin either.

  It doesn’t work that way

  He says, and I can almost taste

  His bitterness

  A Muslim girl only wants

  To be respected

  But now I’ll always want

  What you let me have.

  He turns his head away

  So fast I wonder

  For a moment

  If I’ve slapped him

  Or if he only expects me to

  For showing me a side of him

  He usually hides so well.

  That’s a revolting thing to say

  I tell him, measuring my voice

  Like strong medicine

  Don’t ever say that

  To me or to any girl

  Ever again

  For any reason.

  Samir falls silent

  Still as the marble columns

  And I’m tempted

  To stomp away

  End it with an exclamation mark

  But I can see that he is crying.

  Habibi, I say

  Gently.

  Don’t call me that, he says

  Wiping his eyes

  I don’t think you will ever be able

  To see th
e world as I do.

  I need to go pray.

  As he turns I call after him

  Samir!

  You should tell your parents

  About Ashraf’s wedding

  They have a right to know.

  He slips off his shoes at the door

  Without looking back

  And says, Maybe I will

  MYSTERIOUS WAYS: PART ONE

  The steps of the mosque

  Are cool stone

  And feel ancient

  As I sit and watch

  The dark curtain of night

  Rise around me.

  The chanting song from inside

  Washes over me

  Like clear water

  And I hear the end

  Of summer humming

  Somewhere too

  Just beyond my reach.

  MYSTERIOUS WAYS: PART TWO

  An old man sits down next to me

  Do you have questions about Islam?

  No, I say quickly

  I’m just resting.

  Rest is good, he says

  I guess he must be some kind of priest

  And he’s a good one

  Because his quiet company eats at me

  Until I can’t help but speak.

  What does Islam say about someone

  Who can’t seem to stop

  Doing stupid, thoughtless things?

  Who can’t stop thinking

  About stuff that scares her?

  Who keeps getting betrayed

  By people she should know

  Better than to trust?

  Who might be hurting herself

  Without even realizing?

  The man turns to me

  Islam would say

  That person is probably a teenager

  Then he gives me a cheeky smile

  Or perhaps you are possessed by Djinn

  Gin, I say. Like the drink?

  Djinn, he says

  Mischievous spirits.

  The English word is—

  I interrupt

  I know, I say

  The English word is Genie.

  I can’t help it

  I start to giggle.

  THE SIDEWALK LESS TRAVELED

  There are two ways back to my house

  I could skirt the park and cross the footbridge by

  The mansions with their water-sucking lawns

  Grab the express bus to the coffee shop

  And take a short walk up our street.

  Or I could board the winding bus

  And take a tour of familiar places

  School, the spot where Samir and I ate baklava

  And the ballpark where I howled at the moon

  What difference would it make?

  I choose the first way, the walk

  Will do me good, the fresh night air

  The quiet streets, excited crickets

  Though the other route, to be honest

  Probably involves as much walking.

  One day I might look back and wonder

  Why I took this way tonight of all nights