by K. A. Holt
Will that be too much
for her?
Am I asking too much
from her?
I’m home now
with Mom
on the couch
quiet.
She already said yes, I won’t let her say no.
I’ll go find Dad
and pull a yes out of his hairy throat.
I’m standing on his porch,
the sun just coming up.
Timothy was asleep when I left,
Mom in the shower.
I knock once
then take the key
from under the mat,
let myself in.
Dad?
He’s asleep so
I make myself toast.
I sit at the table.
When the coffeepot comes to life
it smells really good.
I make myself a cup.
Why not?
Levi?
Dad in his underpants
standing in the kitchen.
What are you doing here?
I’m going to Xaviers.
I’ve made up my mind.
And even with the scholarships
I need uniform money.
What’s left of tuition.
You said your new job
pays really well,
so you’ll have the money,
right?
I don’t understand
why you can’t help.
Is it because
you don’t want to?
He rubs his hand over his face
Are you drinking coffee?
Dad.
It’s your turn to be a man.
I stand.
I hand him the coffee.
I walk out the door.
Xaviers called.
Do I have any questions,
they want to know.
Anything they can do to help me out,
they want to know.
They need to know
my answer
by Friday.
That’s the one hundred percent
very last day.
It’s the last round, Levi.
Time to
knock
it
out.
He does not see
the envelope in front of him.
At least he doesn’t see it
right away.
He looks up slowly
sweating in the sun
on the porch
putting his book down
on the ground,
standing up
from the rocking chair.
Timothy’s hands,
they shake like leaves
in the breeze,
and we go inside,
find Mom.
Read it, he says,
I can’t do it.
And Mom takes the envelope,
rips it open,
swallows hard,
holds Timothy’s hand.
She says all these numbers
but I don’t know what they mean.
My ears are not doctor ears.
Timothy is in a chair now
at the kitchen table
his face buried in his hands
as he listens
his body still
until his hands, fists
move to his ears
when Mom is finished.
She kneels beside him,
and Timothy is crying.
He turns to sob harder
right into her shoulder.
He cries and cries
and I feel a lump in my own throat.
He tried
so hard,
he studied so hard
and now . . .
Mom lifts his head
puts her hands on his wet face.
You did it
she whispers.
Timothy,
this is the first day
so many lives
of so many babies
will be saved.
Dr. Timothy.
It’s really happening.
It makes me cry, too
just a little bit
to see him so . . .
happy.
I’ve never seen him like this.
I’ve had his journal
this whole time
trying to figure out
what to write
how to respond
after he told me I was smart
after he was so excited
for me to get in to Xaviers.
Now I know.
It’s late.
The doorbell rings.
Mom looks up from her book.
Who in the world?
I answer the door.
His shirt is wrinkled
so is the check
he puts in my hand.
You’re right
he says.
I need to be a man,
but Levi,
you have to understand . . .
I don’t have much.
It’s not like I have secret accounts
overflowing with cash.
I know, Dad.
I say.
You don’t.
But still,
you’ve gotten off so easy . . .
my whole life.
My chin quivers.
You left us
and somehow
Mom made it work.
She kept me alive,
Timothy too,
and you were gone,
a ghost,
and now you’re about
to ghost us again
when we need you.
I get it now.
I get why Timothy runs from you,
why Mom can’t look at you.
He doesn’t say anything,
just walks away.
The check’s in my hand,
and I can’t help but wonder
will I ever see him again?
Paperwork signed
dropped in the mail
done.
Xaviers is happening.
I don’t know what to think.
It’s really happening.
Time to tell Tam.
Get over here
Tam says
and she puts a hand
on each of my cheeks
her palms flat against my face.
What are you doing?
I ask,
my words flat,
squished,
like my cheeks.
It’s a face hug!
She laughs.
Because we aren’t allowed to real hug
in class.
Congratulations, Levi,
I’m going to miss you so much.
I’ll be home on weekends
my squished face says,
and I put my palms against her cheeks
so I can face hug Tam, too.
i want to see you, levi
before i go
i’m sorry, levi
i was a jerk
i will do better
Dad’s texts tonight.
Do I believe him
or not?
Are we cool?
Dad’s sitting on his front bumper
parked in front of the house.
His eyes look down
his face is soft
he looks like a kid.
Maybe that’s the problem.
Maybe Dad is the baby.
In all these years he’s never been a man.
I don’t know
I say
and
that’s the truth.
I can accept that
he says.
And hey, Levi?
Can you tell Timothy congrats?
I heard he passed his test.
Can I have a hug
before I go?
I give him a fake jab,
a fake right hook,
then I
grab
his face
with both my hands
and squeeze
like I’m trying to crack a nut
A face hug
I say.
That’s all you get
until you come back
so you better come back.
I will, Levi.
I will, son.
Packing is not fun
especially when you are only allowed
two boxes of things
and one trunk
of clothes.
Tam just throws
stuff in
not paying attention.
Her eyes are a little glazed
so I say
Hey.
And she says
Hey.
And I say
Come with me.
And she says
OK.
And we go to my tree.
We sit quietly
for a long, long time.
I saw you kiss Kate’s cheek
I say
to the wind.
Tam’s cheek
turns pink.
When?
At the mascot tryouts.
Just before she won.
You made her so happy
she just flew around the court.
Tam nods.
She makes me happy, too.
Her face turns,
her hair blows,
tangles in the leaves.
You make me happy, too, Levi,
just . . . in a different way.
But in my self, my guts, my heart . . .
There’s always room for two.
What else can I do?
I stick out my tongue
and say
Kate can have your heart,
I just need your winks.
And maybe one day
for you to teach me
how to poop in a hole.
And that’s that.
We hop out of my tree
and go home to finish packing.
And I know
even though
things are different . . .
Tam has my back.
I am not a lumberjack
I am not a cool kid
I am not a chess player
I disappointed a friend
I lied to Mom and Dad
I was mean to Kate
I was mean to Timothy
I felt really bad about it all
I am not a miracle
I am not invincible
BUT
I am smart
I am funny
I am Levi
and I am just so glad
that
I
am
me
The drive to Xaviers
goes fast.
Trees,
so many trees
flying by
out the window.
Mom is quiet,
Timothy, too,
and I wonder if their brains
are moving
as swirly fast
flying like butterflies
stinging like bees
so many thoughts
so many worries
so many wonders.
What will you do?
The words come out before
I can catch them.
Huh?
Mom is squinting again
into the sun.
What do you mean?
When I’m at Xaviers and
Timothy is at doctor school . . .
what will you do?
Mom.
What about money?
You’re not my giving tree, are you?
You’re not going to be a stump without me
are you?
Mom laughs so long
so hard
I think she might choke
then she says
Levi, sweet Levi
I am going to read so many books
and take long baths
and watch TV I want to watch
and eat sushi
and drink too much wine
and Mom just keeps going,
this whole long list.
It sounds like she’s been adding to it
for about a hundred years.
These same songs I still love,
the noise
the clash
the swirling beats.
But
But
they seem to mean
new things
now
as we drive away from home.
The same songs made new,
just like the same Levi, but new.
I take out an earbud
offer it to Timothy
and we listen together
head to head,
song after song,
the same music as always, and yet . . .
different now.
There is a lot of hugging
and Mom cries a lot
and Timothy cries a little.
I try to smile
my throat suddenly full,
a lump
a knot
pushing up
making water leak from my own eyes
and now all the questions
I didn’t want to ask
sparring
with my brain.
What will it be like
all by myself?
Who will make me
wash my hands?
What if I get sick?
What if my grades are bad?
What if I smash my head?
How will I make friends?
What if no one likes me?
What will I do then?
I take a puff.
Mom holds me tight.
Levi, Levi,
she whispers in my ear.
Levi.
Everything
everything
is going to be all right.
A box by my bed
has all my stuff
crammed inside
but right on top
I see a blue glint
and I know exactly
what it is.
I open it
find the first empty page
and there are his words:
I run my hands over the page
feel his words pressed into the paper
as I look out the window
a huge tree
right in front of me
blowing
in the breeze
and I say to myself
Hey, Xaviers, Levi is in the house,
and you know what?
I am going to
KNOCK
YOU
OUT
How will I impact the world?
With fast impulses
and dancing feet.
A living Levi
mastering every
strategy.
A man’s man
ladies’ man
man about town.
Causing knockout
after knockout,
winning round
after round.
K.A. HOLT has thrown a lot of punches, but not at any actual people (yet).
She is a mother of three, a lover of breakfast tacos, and a sucker for poetry of any kind.
Her most favorite thing in the world, other than embarrassing her kids, is to write books that may or may not embarrass imaginary kids.
Kari lives in Austin, Texas. She keeps a punching bag on her porch (in case of emergencies).
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