The Trouble with Emily Dickinson

by Lyndsey D'Arcangelo

“Wow, you have tiny ears.”

  “What?”

  “Your ears. They’re tiny. And cute.”

  “Yeah,” Kendal said. “They’re small. So what?”

  “Nothing. I—I just noticed. That’s all.” JJ instantly wished that she could censor her thoughts before they spilled out of her mouth without her consent. “Uh, about your friends—is it possible that maybe you just haven’t let them in? You know, let them in to get to know the real you?”

  “So it’s my fault?” Kendal’s hand smacked her own chest. “Is that what you are saying?”

  “I’m not pointing fingers,” said JJ quickly. “All I’m saying is that friendships involve at least two people, right? And each person has to give a little in order to get a little. If you don’t let them see the real you, how are they supposed to get to know the real you?”

  Kendal halted her rant. She hadn’t thought of it that way.

  “It’s just an outside opinion, of course,” said JJ.

  “I get what you’re saying. I think I’m just frustrated with everything in my life now. Before it all made sense, but somewhere along the way I’ve changed and suddenly nothing makes any sense to me anymore.”

  “Trust me, I know the feeling.”

  “You do?”

  “Of course I do. Before I accepted the fact that I was gay, everything in my life seemed simple. I had boyfriends and everything made sense. And then suddenly it all began to change. I wasn’t happy with anything anymore and I couldn’t understand why. Things that I once enjoyed became boring to me or unimportant.” JJ looked down at her empty hands and then at Kendal. “But once I figured out the root of it, things began to fall into place again. Now I know that this is who I am and who I’m happy being. Things in my life make sense again.”

  “That must have been hard, holding something like that inside without telling anyone. My problem is that I don’t even know the root of why things have changed for me.”

  “Well, I don’t think it’s because you are gay,” JJ said with a smirk.

  Kendal laughed. “No, I don’t think so either.” Though lately she wasn’t so sure.

  “Maybe you are just changing as a person. It doesn’t have to be anything specific. Could be as simple as your outlook on life or what has become important to you now, as opposed to when you were a freshman. I think that when we get to college, we’ll do a lot of soul-searching and find out who we really are. You’re just getting a head start.”

  “I feel like I can really talk to you,” Kendal said suddenly. “Sorry for going off like that. I know you’re my tutor, and not my counselor.”

  JJ felt her face grow hot, and she knew she was blushing. She stared ahead, avoiding Kendal’s eyes.

  “I’m glad. It’s, uh, important to feel comfortable with your tutor.”

  Kendal repositioned her chair at the table and moved closer to JJ. “Okay. I feel better. And I think I can actually concentrate on studying.” She unzipped her backpack and took out a purple folder and a couple of books. “So, back to poetry. Let’s do this one first.”

  She opened one of her book to a page marked with a yellow sticky note, and then slid the volume over to JJ.

  JJ regained her composure and looked down at the page.

  “A Letter to Daphnis,” she read. “Anne Finch was a talented woman.”

  “I’m sure she was. I think I prefer Dickinson, though.”

  “How come?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe because I finally understand her poetry now, and I don’t want to move on to other authors.” Kendal forced a laugh. “Stick to what you know, right?”

  “I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit,” JJ reassured her, easing into a smile, admiring the dips along the edge of Kendal’s lips and how they were most visible whenever Kendal seemed self-conscious.

  “What?” Kendal asked, nervously brushing a strand of hair from face.

  “Nothing,” said JJ.

  They read the poem together as JJ pointed out a few key lines to help Kendal make sense of the poem as a whole.

  “Finch was a true feminist, though she didn’t want that to override the fact that she was still deeply in love and could be in love, while still maintaining her sense of self. In this poem, she expresses how, though it is difficult, one can still find a happy medium between being both a devoted lover and an opinionated woman at the same time.”

  “That must have been hard back then,” Kendal said. “In those days most women gave up their dreams and ambitions to be housewives.”

  JJ’s head bobbed in agreement, “Exactly. And in this poem, Finch makes it clear to her lover that she has no such plan in mind. She writes, ‘Judge not my passion, but my want of skill. Many love well, but express it ill.’ See, she wants him to know that though she is driven, and, like you said, has her own dreams, but at the same time, that doesn’t mean she can’t love him with all that she has. In fact, she loves him more fully than some women who have no ambition at all.”

  “Wow,” said Kendal. “That’s pretty intense.”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  Kendal flinched. “I hope I didn’t sound like a ditsy cheerleader just then.”

  “You didn’t at all. Just don’t start saying totally every other sentence.”

  Kendal flipped back her hair. “This poem is like, totally awesome.”

  JJ nudged her shoulder, “Cute.”

  “You’re not at all what I thought you were,” said Kendal.

  “What did you think?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t know what to expect.”

  “I understand,” said JJ. “When I found out I was tutoring you, I didn’t know what to expect either. All I knew was that you were popular and last year’s homecoming queen.”

  “And that I was probably just like all the other cheerleaders.”

  “Maybe at first,” said JJ. “But you’re not. You’re different.”

  “Different, how?”

  JJ shrugged. “You just are.”

  They continued to regard one another, until JJ’s knee once again began to shake involuntarily. “I’ll be right back,” she said, standing up quickly.

  As she pushed her chair back from the table, she accidentally knocked over her bag, which had been resting on the floor. Her journal spilled out, and she tripped over it.

  “Whoops,” JJ said, feeling nervous and clumsy. She plucked up the journal and set it on the table before she walked away.

  Kendal eyeballed the journal. It looked pretty beat up, the edges frayed and the binding worn. She could feel her famous liquid curiosity pumping through her veins.

  Just one quick peek, she thought. Then she’d set it right back down. She reached for the journal, and flipped it open close to the middle. Her eyes quickly scanned the words scribbled across the page. It appeared to be a poem titled First Kiss.

  She sneaked a peek to make sure JJ wasn’t anywhere in sight before she began to read with reckless abandon.

  Darkness looms

  I cannot see

  I feel your breath upon my skin

  Sparking a nervous warmth

  I reach for you

  Sliding my palm across your cheek

  So softly, afraid you’ll break

  Whispers reach my insides

  Pulling them into knots

  My flesh trembles

  With each caress

  Until your lips find mine

  Timid at first touch

  Growing hungry with each kiss

  My mind races

  No clear thoughts, just dizziness

  Into you I slowly melt

  The images were so vivid, so real, that Kendal could feel the tingle on her skin, just as if she were the person in the poem. She had to read it again. She was about halfway through when she felt someone leaning over her. She quickly set the book down onto the table, and then shook her head apologetically.

  “I’m sorry. Your journal was just lying there, and I was wondering if it
was poetry or something. I swear I wouldn’t have read it if I’d known it was personal or—“

  She stopped talking as soon as she looked up. Kyan Stevens, who she now thought of as Kyan the couch monster, was standing next to her chair, looming over her like some creepy, ominous shadow. Kendal could feel his supposedly innocent brown eyes examining her thoroughly from head to toe.

  “Hey,” he said with an overconfident grin. “Christine said you were here.”

  “Christine? Really?” Kendal cursed her roommate under her breath. “Did she mention I had a tutoring session?”

  “No. She just said you were in the library pretending to study.”

  Kyan wasn’t carrying a backpack, so Kendal knew he had no intention of actually studying himself. He was there specifically to hit on her. How wonderful?

  “Well, I’m not pretending. I’m actually studying.” Kendal shuffled a few loose papers in front of her and started to write something down, hoping he would take the hint and leave. He didn’t.

  “Listen,” Kyan said smoothly. “You’ve probably heard that the team is having our legendary invite-only party next Friday night.”

  “Um, no. I haven’t heard anything at all.”

  “Really? Everyone’s talking about it.”

  “Nope. Haven’t heard a thing.”

  Kendal was lying, of course, because it was all any of her friends could talk about lately. Everyone was texting about who was going to get invited, and who was going to be left out. Last year, Christine almost had a nervous breakdown when she realized that she hadn’t been invited. A day before the party she’d tracked Jason down, hooked up with him, and the next day he dumped his original invite to invite Christine instead. She and Jason had been dating ever since. Back then Kendal had been impressed by Christine’s persistence. Now, she found it pathetic.

  “Each member of the soccer team invites a girl to come to the party,” Kyan continued. “It’s exclusive.”

  “I know what it is,” said Kendal. “I was there last year.”

  “Oh.”

  Kendal could tell that she was throwing a huge rock in Kyan’s pond of smoothness. It was as if he wasn’t used to handling a few ripples.

  “Well, anyway,” he pressed on. “I came here because I wanted to let you know that I want you to be my invite.”

  My, he puts it so nicely, Kendal thought. “I’m honored,” she said instead. “Really I am, but I have this thing next Friday that I can’t miss.”

  “I’m sure you can get out of it,” said Kyan. He put his hands on the table and leaned in. “You’d miss a really, really fun time with yours truly.”

  JJ approached the table at that moment. Her face was still damp, because she’d splashed water on it before realizing that the bathroom was out of paper towels. So she’d tried to stick her face under the blow dryer. That got extremely hot very fast, so now her moist face was a nice shade of pinkish-red. She sat down without glancing at either Kendal or Kyan.

  Kendal watched as Kyan studied JJ carefully before he resumed his failing attempt to ask her out. “I promised JJ I’d be at the poetry slam contest at The Spot next Friday,” she blurted, reaching over to pinch JJ’s leg.

  “Right!” JJ jumped. “Right, next Friday. I made her promise to go with me.”

  Kyan considered their story. “Maybe another night then,” he mumbled finally and walked away.

  “What was that about? And what poetry contest?” JJ asked, rubbing her leg where Kendal had pinched her.

  “Next Friday,” Kendal exclaimed. “I sort of forgot about it until now. It’s at that coffee shop you like, The Spot. I think you should enter.”

  “You’ve never even read my stuff,” JJ reminded her.

  Kendal bit her lip. “That’s not entirely true.” She tapped JJ’s journal with the tip of her pen. “I only read a little bit. It was just sitting there and I took the opportunity to read it. I’m sorry.”

  JJ quietly realized that any humiliation she’d expected to feel if anyone ever laid eyes on her writing, simply was not there. Instead, she felt delighted that Kendal had wanted to dip into that side of her.

  “I read the one about someone’s first kiss.” Kendal shifted curiously in her seat. “Was that—about another woman?”

  “Yes,” said JJ. “It was my first kiss, just as I described it.” She swallowed hard. “Can I ask what you thought about it?”

  Kendal’s eyes lit up. “It was incredible.”

  JJ swallowed again as Kendal leaned in so close that JJ could feel the warmth of her breath. “I’d like to read some more. If you’ll let me.”

  For some reason it was hard for JJ to share her poetry with other people, but not because poetry was personal. It was hard because she was afraid of what people would think. She was afraid of their reaction, of what they might say. And she was even more afraid of what Kendal would think, of what she might say.

  “So, is there something going on with him?” JJ asked, eager to change the subject. She heard a tinge of jealously in her voice, and hoped Kendal hadn’t picked up on it.

  “Who? Kyan?” Kendal dismissed him with a simple wave of her hand. “He’s so full of himself. Suddenly, it seems I’m high on his ‘to date’ list.”

  “From what I hear, his ‘to date’ list is a lot shorter now than it was when he was a freshman.”

  “That’s because he hooks up with anything that walks. I don’t know what he’s thinking, though. I’m not going to fall all over him just because he happens to be the captain of the soccer team.”

  “It’s good to know that you have morals.”

  “Well, I’m one of the good girls,” said Kendal. “I was raised right.”

  “I guess so.”

  “So, about this poetry slam thingy. Are you going to do it?”

  JJ shook her head. “I go to open readings and poetry contests all of the time,” she explained. “They have one every Friday night. I just don’t participate.”

  “Why not?”

  JJ looked at Kendal momentarily, and then averted her eyes, embarrassed at what she was about to admit. “I have a fear of being on stage.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah, I’m serious. I wouldn’t joke about a thing like that. I used to play the saxophone when I was younger, maybe like ten or so—”

  “The saxophone?”

  “I’m explaining to you why I have stage fright,” said JJ impatiently. “See, we had this talent contest one year at school, and I thought I was the best saxophone player in the world. And when the contest came up, I got on stage and played the only song I knew. And during the whole thing, everybody in the audience started to laugh, because I kept playing the wrong notes and about halfway through the song, I froze.”

  JJ closed her eyes, remembering the harsh sound of the contemptuous laughter that circled through the auditorium around her. “I ran off stage so fast, I almost ran into the wall in the hallway. I’ve never been on another stage since.”

  “That is so sad,” Kendal said.

  “It basically scarred me for life.” JJ forced a laugh as she opened her eyes again. “Good thing I don’t plan on having a career in acting or anything.”

  Kendal hesitated then asked, “Don’t you think it’s time to confront that fear?”

  “I’m trying,” JJ said quietly. “But it’s different with this. Writing is my life. I never played the saxophone ever again after that day. And if something happened, if I got upset on stage, I might freak out and give up writing altogether.”

  “That would never happen.”

  “But it might. I can’t take that risk. Writing is my life.”

  “That’s the second time you’ve said that.”

  “Said what?”

  “That writing is your life.”

  “So?”

  “So, that alone should tell you how important it is to you, and that no matter what happens while you are up on stage, you’d never be able to give it up.” Kendal put her hand on JJ’s
shoulder. “You have a gift and you should be able to share it with other people.”

  “Come on,” JJ rolled her eyes. “You sound like my mother.”

  “Well?”

  “Well, what? I’m not going up on stage. I’m not ready.”

  “Okay,” Kendal said, releasing her hand from JJ’s shoulder. “I’m just saying that maybe we could work on it, you know. I mean, I’m interested in your poetry and you need to practice sharing it. So maybe you can practice with me.”

  “Maybe,” JJ said, desperately wanting to change the subject. She never thought she could have revealed something so personal to Kendal so easily. “It’s getting late. Are you going back to your dorm?”

  Kendal debated the question. “I suppose I should,” she said, without enthusiasm. She glanced at her cell phone and saw that Christine had sent her nearly a dozen texts since she’d arrived at the library. Kendal had a hunch they were about Kyan.

  Kendal shoved her phone into her purse and watched as JJ slid her poetry book into her backpack. She felt a pang of guilt erupt in her chest. “Hey—”

  JJ looked up.

  “Thanks for not getting mad at me for reading your poem. I want you to know that I really did like it and I meant everything I said.”

  “I’m glad.” JJ smiled. “You are the only person who’s ever read it besides me.”

  Their eyes locked for a moment and Kendal felt an electric sensation travel the length of her arms. She instantly looked away.

  They left the library and JJ offered to walk Kendal back to her dorm. As they reached the front of the building, JJ turned and asked one of the questions she’d been pondering along the way.

  “Were you serious about next Friday night?”

  “Serious about what?” Kendal asked, though she knew exactly what JJ meant. “You participating in the poetry contest?”

  “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.” JJ paused and then plunged forward. “Would you still like to go, though? I mean, go with me? There are some great poets around here, and some of the writing is amazing. It might help you with class and—”

  “I’d like that,” said Kendal. “I’d like that a lot.”

  JJ took a deep breath. “Cool,” she said, then instantly winced. “That sounded really dumb, didn’t it?”