by Dante Medema
As quickly as winter came
sneaking in
with a slow morning frost,
then all at once,
snow—
I wake up, and it’s gone,
vanished.
Mom doesn’t understand
I don’t care about her chores.
I can’t wash away the email
in my in-box
that spells out a story
she doesn’t want me to hear.
I can’t wash away
the remnants of last night’s
salmon eggs benedict
Dad made for dinner
while listening to NPR podcasts.
I can’t wash away the guilt
of imagining a world
where the man who raised me
didn’t exist.
Where the man who didn’t
was my world,
and instead of plays
he gave me concerts.
Dad doesn’t know
that within the walls of my in-box
is an email
from a man
he’s never heard of.
A man who is
also
my father.
Why should I care about dishes
when winter is gone
and so is my ignorance?
To go back to days
when the snow kept away
the dirt and gravel beneath.
I want winter back.
Sana-Friend ♥
Sana: I know things are weird for you right now.
But what are you doing this weekend?
Me: Wallowing.
Trying to decide how to ask my mom if I’m the product of an affair.
Sana: Wait. Wut?
I thought you were adopted?
Me: Me too.
It’s complicated.
Sana: Oh Delia.
I don’t know what to say.
Me: Me either.
So what are you doing this weekend?
Did you want to work on the written portion of your project?
Sana: Hell no!
So I feel kind of weird saying this now.
Me: What?
Sana: I heard back from UAA.
Which is in Anchorage, I know, but at least I have that safety net.
I’m officially going to college!
Me: Why would you feel weird saying that?!
That’s awesome!
Sana: I know!
Interested in a distraction to get your mind off that dumpster fire?
Me: Yes. Dumpster fire is a perfect way to describe what has become my life.
Sana: I’m going to a party to celebrate my being a college student and all.
Fletcher Wilson is having a bonfire.
It’s gonna be liiiiiiit.
Me: . . .
Sana: A girl can try.
So how’re you going to ask your mom about all this?
Me: No idea. I tried to talk to Bea about it.
Kinda.
Sana: I can only imagine how well that went over with Queen Bea.
What did you say?
Me: I didn’t get to say much before she was telling me . . .
What was it?
I’m “just going through a senior year crisis of self.”
Sana: Sounds like her.
Me: And as soon as she said, “We are all individuals trying to get our needs met,” I stopped talking to her.
Sana: College does not look good on her.
Me: Life doesn’t look good on her.
Sana: Yeah.
She’s always had a sour vibe.
I say you rip off the band-aid.
Sit your mom down.
Hold her hand.
Say “I’ve got something to tell you.”
Me: “Hey, I know you boned a guy named Jack Bisset roughly eighteen years ago.”
Sana: I think that sums it up.
Me: Why is thinking about these conversations so much easier than actually having them? Crap.
I gotta go.
Dinner.
It’s the way Dad lingers behind Mom.
Playful, she’s making herself a plate
while he’s dancing a finger along her side.
And she giggles
in that way girls do
when they flirt with boys.
I wonder if Mom flirted with Dad
back when she slept with Jack.
Or if she couldn’t sleep at night because
she was scared of getting caught.
Did she cry when the snow went away
because she knew there was nothing
to cover the earth anymore?
Or did she smile at Dad
and touch his arm
and kiss him more
so he wouldn’t wonder?
If I try hard enough,
and hold my breath,
maybe I can forget I’m
at dinner with my family.
Maybe I can go outside.
Away from here,
and them.
Stare long enough at the sky
and beg the clouds to form
baby snowflakes
so maybe winter
can last
a little
bit
longer.
Mom knocks on my door
the way she did when I was little.
“Hey, the dishes . . .”
I tell her I don’t want to do them
and she stares.
Silent.
Like she’s waiting for me to
laugh,
say I’m kidding,
or apologize
because I didn’t vacuum either.
I don’t.
Because I’m tired of holding
her secret.
I want to be free
like an eagle
and spread
my arms
when I share my poems.
“Well, remember to pick up Iris
after school tomorrow,”
before she eases the door closed.
I wanted her to fight.
To say, “Young lady,
what has gotten into you?”
Then I could tell her everything.
Show her the emails.
Scream.
But she doesn’t.
And I’m afraid
it’s because she also knows
or at least suspects
our winter is over.
Kodiak Jones
Me: Another hard question.
Kodiak: Go for it.
Me: Last year,
after everything.
Did you ever wish you could go back in time?
Erase.
Start over?
Kodiak: Probably not.
At the very least
I learned from my mistakes.
Me: No part of you wonders what could have been done differently?
Are you serious?
Kodiak: I’ve had a lot of time to think about it.
Like even when we were “happy” and in love.
We weren’t right for each other.
Liv was too wild,
and I had a hard time keeping up.
And by the time everything went down—
it was like I felt I had to make it work.
We were having a kid together.
We had a plan and everything.
Me: I can’t even imagine.
Kodiak: Yep. We were picking out names.
Talking about how we were going to tell our parents.
Even looking into getting an apartment.
Me: That sounds terrifying.
Kodiak: Don’t get me wrong. What happened felt awful.
I never want to relive that pain.
But at least I’m not where I was a year ago.
Does that make sense?
Me: Not the way I think I want it to.
Kodiak: Backwa
rd is never forward. Going back is just going back to a bad thing.
And now things are okay.
I’m all lined up for UAA in the fall.
Maybe going away for school after I get my GPA up.
It’s a whole different future now.
What’s going on?
What do you want to erase?
Me: Everything.
GeneQuest
Genetic Family Conversations
To: Cordelia Koenig (online)
From: Jack Bisset (online)
Hey.
I haven’t heard back from you, and I realize how vague my last email sounded.
I’m hoping for a chance to explain myself. First, I want you to know that I loved your mother. Really loved her. Even though I knew she was married and knew what we were doing was wrong, I thought she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever met. It’s the kind of love that crept out of nowhere and left me blind when she told me we couldn’t see each other anymore. I thought that someday she was going to leave her husband and we were going to be together. It’s probably an awful thing to say, considering I’m guessing that’s the guy who raised you. Maybe I’m bitter. I found out about you the week before I left Tundra Cove for Seattle, and it damn near killed me knowing I’d never meet you.
She came over, told me she was pregnant, and made it clear that she didn’t want me involved.
I didn’t want that.
I wanted a chance to be your dad.
For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I hope you’ve had a good life. I hope your parents are happy and everything. I just wanted a chance to tell you my side of things.
Jack
I can’t do this.
His unfiltered words
spread through my chest,
making it hot
like asphalt in summer
too hot to touch.
Knowing too much,
the little details.
Where he lives,
what he wanted,
and that he
loved
my mother.
That he knew about me.
He wanted me,
and ached the same way
I ache.
Wondering for years
which parts of me
were living out there
looking like him.
Wishing we’d gotten a chance
at a life together.
Did he dance fingers
up Mom’s side
at dinner?
And did he cry when
she told him
he couldn’t keep me
the way Kodiak did
when Liv told him
they couldn’t
keep their baby?
There is no going back after this.
There’s no way I can’t read this over
and over
and over
Forever.
Because I know at last
I’m not only a lie
but a product of
infidelity.
A sin.
A sob story.
A secret.
I am the thing people
whisper about.
So I make a choice.
Sana-Friend ♥
Sana: Are you out of class yet?
Me: Need a ride home?
Sana: I HEARD BACK FROM UNIVERSITY OF DENVER!
Me: I take it that your all caps indicated this was a positive experience?
Sana: FUCK YES it was!
I mean
There’s no possible way I can afford to go without a scholarship.
Like. Zero way.
But I like knowing that I at least got in.
Me: That’s amazing!
Let’s go celebrate!
Sana: Later?
I’m going to Maddy’s house to work on our projects.
Me: Oh cool.
Sana: You could probably come over too.
But I did see YOUR partner hanging out in the commons area.
Playing guitar.
Brooding and such.
Kodiak’s fingers press
down on guitar strings
with the same familiarity
he recites his poems.
Only this time,
when he sings
out into the commons,
the lyrics to the plucky
acoustic sound
of his guitar.
He sings his poems,
then mine.
Eyes closed,
chest open,
and my stomach
tumbles
each time
he sings
one of my
lines.
I can’t help
how I want to reach out
and brush my fingers
against his eyelashes.
I want to hide in the safe place
between his shoulder
and chest,
and never come back
to the hurting place
I’m in now.
To dot with my lips
every freckle
spread across his nose.
“The songs are beautiful,”
I say.
“Of course they are.”
He opens his eyes
and whispers to me,
our knees touching,
“You wrote them.”
Missed call from Mom- 3:32 pm
Missed call from Mom- 3:33 pm
Text from Mom- What are you doing?
Where are you?
Missed call from Dad- 3:40 pm
Text from Sana- You need to get a room.
But srsly you guys are totally cute.
Missed call from Mom- 3:44 pm
Text from Dad- Honey, are you okay?
Missed call from Mom- 3:45 pm
Missed call from Mom- 3:46 pm
Text from Mom- Cordelia. You’d better have a damn good reason for not picking up your sister.
His fingers
on mine.
We clutch the guitar together
“This is G.”
He slides my finger to the left
“And E. Like this.”
His breath
against my neck
makes my whole body
tingle.
Nervous
because we are so close
all I need
is to turn
ever so slightly
and our lips
might meet
and our hearts
might explode.
I start to turn,
and my cheek
brushes his.
His finger
tilts my chin
toward him
and we are about
to kiss
when his phone rings.
“It’s your mom.
I think she’s upset.”
Red.
Hot.
Anger.
Mom’s scream rang through the phone.
“I can’t believe you forgot her!
What were you doing?
Of course you were with him.”
I can’t say anything
because my words are lost
as if they’ve drifted
a thousand miles out
from my mind’s shore.
I want to be sorry,
but I’m not,
because my mom lied
the ultimate lie.
My heart hurts,
aching more today
than yesterday.
And the only thing that
has made me feel good
since I found out
is the feeling
of Kodiak’s
cheek
against mine.
Sana-Friend ♥
Sana: Dude.
Your mom called my phone.
Like a lot.
Me: I figured.
Sana: WTF happened?
/>
Her voicemail sounded PISSED.
Me: I forgot Iris at practice.
Sana: Oh shit.
No wonder she’s pissed.
And you were with Kodiak
Me: We were doing senior project stuff.
Sana: Is that code for wiener and vagine stuff?
I saw you guys.
Damn girl.
This isn’t just a crush anymore is it?
Me: I don’t know.
Sana: Be careful.
You’re gonna end up pregnant like Liv.
Have to transfer to a school in Anchorage.
That’s a long drive Cordelia.
Me: Well, that was called for.
Sana: . . .
Wow.
Okay.
Sorry.
I didn’t realize it was such a sensitive subject for you.
Me: It’s a fucking sensitive subject for everyone.
She had an abortion, Sana.
Sana: Whoa.
Yeah.
I get that it’s a big fucking deal.
But it’s us.
Me: I know. Sorry.
It’s just been a long day.
And my mom is pissed.
And Iris was so mad she wouldn’t look at me the whole way home.
Just stared out the window.
Sana: Uh. Yeah.
That sucks.
It’ll blow over though. Right?
Me: Gotta go.
Mom’s coming.
“What were you thinking?”
Mom hisses.
“I don’t know.”
I don’t know anything anymore.
“You left her all alone.”
I know.
“What if something happened?
And what are you thinking,
being around
that boy?”
I tell Mom that boy isn’t all bad.
She should know,
it’s her friend’s son,
after all.
We’ve spent time together.
She watched him grow up,
from a boy
into that boy.
Mom clutches my doorknob,
pulling it behind her
and leaning down,
quiet at first
like the threat of her voice
is so heavy
it can’t be anything
but whispered.
“Boys like that
will eat you up
and spit you out
before you ever
know what happened.
“Boys like that will
hurt you in ways
you never knew you
could hurt.
“Boys like Kodiak
have a history,
you know.
He’s like . . .”
“Who, Mom?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“Who?!”
“He’s like . . .”
His name
feels like Voldemort
