Audacious, page 8
We rush away.
EMERGENCY ROOM
Mom’s going to live
That’s all I can remember
About the ER.
CLEANING SUPPLIES
Kayli is discharged
Four hours later.
Puffy’s mother,
Who asks me to call her Rachel,
Comes back to drive us home.
Kayli feels much better
They’ve juiced her up with steroids
So she’s wide awake
Flip you for cleanup
Heads you choose, tails you lose.
I get heads, and choose the bathroom
Kayli takes the dinner table gratefully.
Mop and bucket
Gloves and bleach
I survey the damage
Sponging, wiping
Squeezing pink-tinged water
After everything looks like nothing
Happened in here
I sit down on the toilet lid
And reach over and lock the door
I decide I like this little room
It’s quiet and there are no windows
I could be anywhere
Or anyone.
KAYLI THROUGH THE BATHROOM DOOR
Are you coming out?
Ever?
Great Christmas huh?
This is totally beyond Britney
What a family.
LOCUM SOCIAL WORKER
How we got through the next day
I’ll never know
But on the morning of the twenty-seventh
A social worker shows up.
She’s flustered and anxious
And frequently checks the file
Asking Dad to leave the room
And speaks to me alone.
Where is your mother today? she asks
I tell her and she scribbles some notes
How do you feel about that?
I shrug, and don’t tell her
I feel terrified
And helpless
And guilty
And angry.
And also, I realize, bewildered.
I ask her why she’s come
She glances at her file
Because of the pornographic photo.
It’s art, I say, not pornography
I was thinking she was here
Because of Mom
Apparently not.
Why did you take the photograph, Ella?
I barely recognize the failed name
It’s Raphaelle, I say
Causing her to check her file
But she hardly misses a beat
Do you want to be someone else?
Yeah, I’d like to be you
You’re obviously a great success.
A second goes past
Before I realize I’ve said this out loud
Finally she clears her throat and says
Do you feel like a failure?
And so our awkward little dance continues.
I think I might fail art, I say
Getting my teacher fired, getting arrested
Not my best work.
Was all that intentional?
No.
You took the photograph by accident?
No.
But it’s not a dance is it?
It’s a hunt, and I’m the prey
You had some idea of the outcome?
I guess so, not Ms. Sagal getting fired.
But you knew you’d be in trouble
Yes. I suppose.
You knew it was wrong?
No. Weird. Not wrong.
Do people get into trouble for being weird?
I do, obviously.
Why do you want to be weird?
I shrug again and don’t say another word.
Although of course I know the answer.
WEIRD
Because if I’m weird
And ostracized and friendless
It’s not personal.
FALLOUT
Later the lawyer calls
And says the social worker
Told the prosecutor
That I know right from wrong
Which is news to me
Because I thought
Staying true to your artistic vision
Was right.
But I guess I was wrong.
chapter eleven
SNOWFLAKES
IN CASE ANYONE IS WONDERING
By the way
Mom has checked in
It’s a “private clinic”
She’s going to stay
Because she’s so thin
And very sick.
PHONE CALL
I heard what happened
Did you try to call?
There’s no reception at my uncle’s
I’m so sorry
I should have been there for you
Are you okay?
His voice is like ambrosia
It fills me up
And before I can stop it
Tears are pouring down my face
It’s just so good to hear your voice
I say, trying not to sob.
Me too
I wish I could come over
But
Well
I’m hiding in the downstairs bathroom
Just to make this call.
This is the worst Christmas ever, I say
That’s why I don’t celebrate it
He says, and I laugh.
That’s the sound I love
I’m going to sneak out and see you
I promise.
Come over anytime, I say
I’m never leaving the house again.
I’ll leave the mudroom door unlocked
You can come right up to my room.
Then I just listen to him breathe
Before he says: see you soon.
REPORT CARDS
In the midst of it all
Two letters arrive
End-of-term report cards.
Mine is ironic
Decent grades
Glowing comments
Especially in Art.
Ella has a real gift in art,
Her technique is excellent
Her vision is confident and meaningful.
Well done.
And yet, here I am, under arrest.
Kayli’s on the other hand
The perfect normal daughter
Looks like this:
Math: F
Kayli is not grasping the basic concepts
French: F
Kayli has not completed any assignments
History: F
Kayli rarely hands in work or participates
English: F
It’s obvious that Kayli has not done the readings
Biology: F
Kayli has not passed any of the quizzes
Dad studies the reports for a few minutes
Then goes into his den and closes the door.
NEW YEAR’S EVE
Kayli is grounded
And I’m on self-imposed house arrest
But Dad’s going to the clinic
To be with Mom.
They’re having a little New Year’s thing.
Before he goes
We have
“The talk”
I have to say
I’m disappointed
I thought we’d be happy here
New house
New city
A new beginning
But instead we’re falling apart
Something has to be done
But I don’t know what it is
And I need you girls
To help me figure it out
Because clearly something is not working.
Then he straightens his tie and leaves.
Kayli turns to me and says
He noticed.
MIDNIGHT: PART TWO
Popcorn
And a movie
Kayli falls asleep
On the couch
Boredom
And cheap champagne
I tuck a blanket around her
And go up the narrow stairs to bed
Midnight
And fireworks crackle
In the distance
The mudroom door clicks open
Footsteps
And the stairs creak
I sit up, listening
Samir appears in the shadows
Silence
And snowflakes in his hair
He shrugs off his coat
And lies down next to me
DESIRE
We kiss
And more
His hands are soft and warm
And strong.
Gripping my thighs
Through flannel pajamas.
We still haven’t spoken a word
Since he arrived.
But he has taken off his sweater
I caress his bare arms
And slide my hands inside his T-shirt.
His muscular body is unexpected
Dangerously sexy.
And soon
We are both breathless
With desire.
DECISION
I have condoms, he whispers
I note the optimistic plural
And lean back
To look into his eyes
Do you want to?
He asks, twisting a strand of hair
Around his thumb.
Yes. No. Do you?
Yes. No. Yes.
I’ve never done it before. Have you?
Yes. I mean, no!
Yes or no?
He’s smiling
No. I’ve never done it.
So…
I’m in enough trouble already.
Is it okay if we wait?
No. I mean, yes. Of course.
I’ve waited sixteen years
I can wait a little longer.
Do you want to stay? Do you want to leave?
Yes. I mean no. What?
We giggle in the dark
Tired and happy
And fall asleep
Like spoons in a drawer.
WAFFLES
This far North, deep in winter
Dawn arrives late
Accompanied by the smell of waffles.
Samir is still curled around my back
Asleep, his breath on my neck
I open my eyes
In the doorway blinking
Stands my father, in a flowered apron
Breakfast, he says.
Samir and I
Appear in the kitchen
Five minutes later.
Bacon? says Dad.
Just a waffle, thanks, says Samir
I don’t eat bacon
Dad serves a waffle
Are you vegetarian? he asks
Muslim, sir, says Samir
Dad freezes over the juicer
Good, he finally says. I hope that means
You respect my daughter’s virtue.
Dad! I say, and Kayli dissolves into giggles
But Samir is earnest
Of course, he says.
VIRTUE
It’s an old-fashioned word
That means “asset” or “value”
Like that’s all a young woman
Is worth.
Maybe it came to mean
What it means
Because people couldn’t bring themselves
To say “vir-gin-i-ty.”
Samir is contrite
When he heads out into the cold
I feel bad about bringing condoms
Your father is right.
I can take care of my own virtue, thanks
I say, I don’t need my father’s help,
Or yours for that matter.
Though it’s nice that we agree.
He kisses me
And clomps off to the bus stop
Leaving deep footprints
In the new snow.
BAD-NEWS DAY
I expect a lecture
But instead I get
The four worst words
I have bad news
Dad delivers them gently
But has the sense to preface them with
Mom’s okay but
I have bad news
Charlotte Connelly died last night
Who?
I say.
She froze in the park
Drunk I suppose
Who can blame her
It was New Year’s Eve after all.
Then I realize
I never knew her name.
The Phantom is dead.
Picture the scene:
The red socks
The gaping eye hole
The smell of whiskey
I can’t help smiling
When I think of Father Martinez
Identifying her
And finding
The Koran
Clutched in her cold dead hand.
She got the last laugh
Audacious until the very end.
FINAL REST
Mom cries when we tell her
Dad said that she would
She’s with Jesus our Lord now
Mom says, God is good.
When I tell Samir about it
He feels basically the same
But he says, Allhu Akbar
Same God, different name.
PARADISE LOST
And yet looking for
The Phantom in paradise
I still see darkness.
The French get it right
They have one word to mean both
Heaven and sky too.
The Phantom’s last breath
Rose up in the winter wind
And made the sky home.
chapter twelve
BLACK INK
PLEA BARGAIN
Mom’s suit, bought on sale
Almost fits me
But My Lawyer makes me change
You need to look young, she says
Inscrutably, but not cheap
Nothing sexy
I settle on the purple Levi’s
With a pink T-shirt and gray hoodie.
It has a duck on the pocket
Perfect, My Lawyer says
You look about twelve.
And mentally challenged.
Funny.
That’s exactly how I feel.
I put on the mismatched shoes.
The prosecutor
An assistant of David’s dad
Has a proposal
A lesser charge
Contributing to the delinquency of a minor
A fine and probation
My Lawyer thinks I should accept.
And if I don’t? I ask
You could do time, she says.
And leaves me
To talk to
My dad.
IN MY OWN DEFENSE
No because
I haven’t done anything wrong
No because
I am a minor myself
No because
It was David who posted the photo
No because
It’s my body to do with what I like
No because
The photo isn’t pornographic
No because
Ms. Sagal liked it
No because
Samir liked it
No because
It’s the best and most true thing
I’ve ever done
I’m sorry Dad
But no.
THE REALITY OF SINGLE PARENTHOOD
I look up Ms. Sagal on 411.com
I know she lives near the school
Because she walks to work
She’s not hard to find
Even though I didn’t know
Her first name is Veronica
2874, Suite 12
Gray apartments by the strip mall
I think for a moment
This must be the wrong place
But then I see the hand-built ramp
Into the ground-floor patio
She’s surprised to see me
Behind her, Marika is watching Nova
Something about the Hubble telescope
Ms. Sagal invites me in
And pours tea
In mismatched cups.
The lumpy sofa, the vague smell of damp
The books and art things crammed on shelves
And medical-looking machines
Bottles of pills on the counter
It all coalesces into something:
Ms. Sagal can’t help me.
Marika’s school must cost a fortune
Not to mention her therapy and drugs
And there’s no Dad to help out
And Ms. Sagal is just a teacher
Not a plumber, after all
Oh my god, what have I done?
NEGOTIATION
Can you make them
Give Ms. Sagal her job back?
I ask My Lawyer.
It’s the school’s decision
The court can pressure them of course
But in exchange for what?
JUSTICE
I want to scream
But instead I say
If I accept the plea bargain
And do whatever community service they want
And pay the fine
Will they give her back her job
Because her daughter is disabled
And she needs the money?
I can’t guarantee that
Says My Lawyer
They are two separate issues
So I could accept their offer
And Ms. Sagal, who is innocent,
Could still lose everything?
How is that fair?
How is any of this fair?
Says My Lawyer.
PURGING : PART ONE
When I get home
I throw up in my new bathroom
Which is ironic
Because Mom comes back today.
She’s put on weight
And looks much better
And hugs us girls
Like she will never let us go.
We follow her
As she moves through the house
Throwing away secrets
And bulimic’s accoutrements
Toothbrushes, Ziploc bags
Laxatives and diuretics
Stashes of candy bars
She lets Kayli eat one; I decline.
It’s a new start, says Mom
Hauling the load out to the trash
Kayli grins and cheers
But I have heard this before.
Maybe she doesn’t remember
The two previous times we did this
