by Melody Dodds
For Leo,
it meant doing what he wanted
when he wanted.
I’m pretty sure the army
is the opposite of that.
But…
he smiles
in the pictures he sends.
His emails
are funny.
For Rupert,
I guess
it would mean
getting out of bed.
Or maybe that’s
what he’ll do
once he gets happy
again.
For Isabella,
I think
it would mean
not having a sister
anymore.
For me,
it used to mean
having a sister.
It used to mean
reading
and talking
about what I read.
It used to mean
“pwning n00bs”
at video games with Alexis.
It used to mean
mixing music
in the basement.
But
HAPPY
has changed.
Now, it means
being
right here, right now.
Floating among the clouds
warm
safe
harmless
weightless.
It means
calm in the storm
that is my household
and my sister.
It means
not worrying,
just for a few hours,
about:
grades
Isabella
Rupert
Mom
Leo
Gramma.
Beating Sinist-Her1 at League of Legends.
Getting a dope mix everyone will love.
For a few hours
every day
I can
just
be.
Even though now
it takes three.
THROUGH THE WALLS
of Leo’s room,
when the girls think
I am gone,
like now,
I can hear them
carry on. Chitchatting
the way freshmen do.
Lately
they seem
to be arguing
a lot.
I hear the tone shift
from joking
to mad,
from silly
to
serious.
They fought
about Halloween
before,
whether or not
to go.
(They did.)
There was
some fuss
over the Harvest Dance
and Why do you like him, ewww!
(At least they won’t fight
over boys.)
But lately,
when they talk,
it’s like
they are driving
down opposite sides
of the same street:
Isabella says,
Wanna go play outside?
Mia says,
Look, have you seen this game?
Did you figure out
the math homework?
I finished our book for English.
It’s waaaay better
than that diary one.
Wanna watch Lewis Stands Up?
There’s like three new ones
you haven’t seen.
The Bloody
Christmas Stocking
opens Friday,
we should go.
Since when
are you
such a reader?
And I liked
the diary one.
Since when
do you
like horror movies?
And
by the way,
what’s with those pants?
And those boots?
And that T-shirt?
What are you,
trying to be
cool?
MIA PUSHES BACK
You should try it, too,
Mia tells Isabella.
I couldn’t even get you
to wear lip gloss,
Isabella says.
Now you’ve got
all this on.
I’m just trying
to…branch out.
You know
who you look like?
I don’t look
*like*
anybody.
I look like me.
And other people
like it.
And why
do you care?
I’m not standing here
telling you
you look basic.
That everybody
owns those same boots
and you should do
something
with your hair.
I like you
how you are.
Why can’t you
like me
the same?
I’m kind of proud of Mia.
And
I have the same question.
MOST MORNINGS
Alexis asks,
Where were you?
I texted…
I was mixing
till late.
Then
I fell asleep.
Sinist-Her1
was playing last night.
Alexis is talking about
an online gamer
we both play against.
Well, we both
used to
play against.
I haven’t played
a video game
in more than
a month
now.
She pwned me!
Alexis tells me.
I’m mad about it.
Did you do the homework?
English yes,
Chemistry no.
She raises an eyebrow.
You didn’t
do the
chemistry?
I snarl and cross my eyes.
Maybe I’m sick
of you
copying it.
I’m not copying.
I’m practicing
how to do it.
I’m learning.
Funny,
your learning
looks just like
my copying.
You want
me to starve!
No?
You want me
to fail,
and failing
leads to starving,
sure as
pot
leads to heroin.
I roll my eyes
so hard
they sprain.
Good thing
I’m not smoking
pot,
I say.
Which makes
me laugh
to myself.
But
I hand over
my
homework
anyway.
ONE MORNING
Chemistry no,
English no.
Alexis
looks at me
very carefully.
Are you,
like,
alright?
Homework
or
homeless,
Char.
Your pick.
I want
to tell her
I’m nowhere near
*alright*
actually!
That school
doesn’t
interest me.
That
*nothing*
interests me.
That
I feel
abandoned.
That I still
like reading
but I don’t like
/>
talking about
what I read
with anyone.
That Mrs. Schiller was…
not a friend exactly,
but
a mentor.
An adviser.
People
at the
high school
who have
these titles
don’t often
live up to them.
Mrs. Schiller
was
“just”
a librarian,
but to me
she
was
like
a counselor.
Then
she left
and didn’t even
say goodbye.
This makes me sad
every single day.
So sad that I almost
understand
why Rupert
can’t get
out of bed.
But I don’t
tell Alexis
these things.
Instead
I laugh
and say:
If I want
to be talked to
like this
I’ll text
my mother.
THIS MORNING
(Alexis takes
the chemistry
homework.)
I have news!
Trues?
I might be getting us a gig.
Gig?
DJing!
There’s this crowd
in Ellsworth
throwing these
lit parties
almost
every weekend.
Some of the kids
here
go to them.
Are we
going
to get paid?
She sing-chants
a Lekker lyric:
’Course I get paid,
what else would I do
this for?
Making money money money,
gonna even the score!
I’m a rrrrrich chick
hear me roar!
Wicked!
Yeah, so where are you
uploading all these
late-night mixes?
I need demos for the party people.
When?
Like, tonight.
Then, if they like it,
we have to go
to one of their parties.
Have to?
So they can
make sure
they like us.
Are we going to like them?
Alexis laughs.
But for real, though,
are we?
THANKSGIVING
Mom is at work.
Rupert is in bed.
Leo didn’t call from
the 7,000 miles
that he is away.
Alexis came over,
but she didn’t stay.
Isabella went to Mia’s.
At least one of us got fed.
MOST DETENTIONS
are,
if I’m honest,
chill.
I don’t
mind them.
We’re not
allowed
to talk,
so there are
no fights
in them.
I sit
in the chair
farthest
from the door
and do
my homework,
in this order:
math
social studies
chem
English.
If I didn’t
keep landing
in detention,
I probably
would be
failing school.
The only thing
I don’t like
is when I think
about how
I used to stay late
to talk to
the librarian.
And now
I’m staying late
because of
the librarian.
SOME DETENTIONS
Johnnie C.
is in there with me.
The chances
are
one in three.
We talk about
comedy
TV
movies
buoys
hunting
tourists.
He tells me about
cars
boats
lobsters.
I tell him about
DJing
gaming
pizza.
Until we get shushed.
THIS DETENTION
I don’t feel good
I’m cranky, angry,
gloomy, and blue.
My head hurts
and my nose is running.
My stomach hurts
and my skin feels funny.
I feel like I’m getting the flu.
So I do something
I never do,
at least
not in school.
Three pills
and I swallow,
wash them down
with bottled water.
Twenty minutes
and my head’s down.
’Cause I’m through
feeling sad or
feeling sick or
feeling anything
at all.
I’m sleepy, peaceful,
sunny, and calm.
I feel great.
THIS AFTERNOON
Mia is not in my sister’s room
when I get home.
Isabella’s anger burns
through her green eyes
and comes hissing
through her clenched teeth:
Mia is listening
to techno.
She used to
listen to alternative.
She’s wearing
tall Bean boots.
She used to
wear six-inch Bean boots
She’s wearing leggings.
She used to wear jeans.
She wants to watch
horror movies and play video games.
She used to want to watch
stand-up comedians and play outside.
She got an app for her phone
so that she can DJ!
She sounds pretty cool,
I say.
You’re stealing my friend!
I blink at her.
Try to blink away
her anger.
It only makes her
fiercer.
Even three pills
can’t make
a cloud
thick enough
to protect me
from her.
You’re stealing
my friend!
I really want her hollering
to end.
I hate you!
So what’s new?
I think, but don’t say.
I just stand there and take it.
If I were straight I might slap her,
but the Oxy keeps me passive.
Angry, awful Isabella.
Are you done?
She’s not…
ALSO
today is Mom’s birthday.
I’m sure you forgot.
We’re all going out to dinner.
I say,
I didn’t forget.
I even made her something.
So there.
But Isabella’s face says
she knows as well as I do,
this isn’t true.
GETTING READY
I try on:
two pairs of jeans
one pair of pants
one dress.
Char, hurry up. The reservation is for six.
Dinner with my mother
feels like a date.
> We never eat together,
she works too late.
Doubles at the mill
since Rupert’s layoff.
Never know when your mill
is the next to shut down.
Another pair of pants.
Three tops,
two sweaters, and
another dress.
Charlotte, I will leave you here!
They “laid him off”
rather than “let him go.”
Said they were cutting back
even though
everyone seems to agree
it was the RA stuff.
THE RA STUFF
Rheumatoid arthritis…
beat Rupert up.
His joints ached and swelled.
His body rebelled.
Slowed Rupert down.
He dropped wrenches and hammers.
His hands were so damaged
from the inside.
Ground him to a halt.
Hands curled into claws.
Knees and ankles, too.
Soon
all a lost cause.
Sent Rupert to bed.
He goes there instead
of
to work.
Rupert’s in bed when he used to be
making us dinner,
helping us with homework,
going to softball and soccer and school plays.
Being the Dad my mom married
to replace the Dad
she divorced.
This is a thing that breaks my heart.
Every single day.
STILL GETTING READY
The second dress
is okay I guess.
Just need
a sweater
to go
with it.
I know
which one
I want.
But
where
is it?
I think
Isabella’s
been throwing away
my clothes.
Or maybe
Mia’s
been stealing them.
Who knows?
This makes me laugh and laugh and laugh!
And then I find it,
hanging way
in the back
of my closet
where I used
to keep it
when my mom
first bought it
as a reward
for getting
into
AP English.
Char-lotte! Mav-is! Nah-var-oh!
It’s time to go.
ONE LAST THING
I want to function
but also enjoy,
just be.
Isabella is raging,
Rupert seems to be, too.
I already took three,
but I’m still feeling antsy…
one more should do.
And one in my pocket.
Just
in
case.
Rupert’s got a script
for Oxy,
also.
I wonder how many he’ll take
