Dating Down (14 page)

A Dream of Sleep

it's cold tonight

will I be all right?

or freeze from fright

no friends in sight

it's dark in here

I sit and stare

Gauguin's art, aware

Melanie's teddy bear

it's time for bed

what's in my head?

I gave up Ted

chose lies instead

it's rather late

who did I date?

didn't appreciate

must clean that slate

it's over now

I'll manage, how?

if friends allow

my humbled bow

sleep heavenly

sleep fatherly

sleep

I want to

sleep lovingly

sleep peacefully

sleep

deep

sleep

weep

sleep

please

keep

me in my

sleep

Summer's End

A week goes by without talking to Dad.

I don't have to go to rallies

I don't have to listen to people chant

For the people, not payoffs!

He doesn't push or lecture,

just ignores me, too busy

taking Jane places.

Where are they always going?

It's a mysterious side of Dad.

His new form of parenting—

Ignore your child and she'll change.

Ever since the latest gossip

with Dad's opponent came to light

—my scandal trumped by his—

I should feel free to

enjoy the waning days of summer

sm
roam
sm
explore
sm
shop

sm
think
sm
create
sm
relax
sm
chill
sm
enjoy

but I don't.

I'm trapped in my head

held hostage by my anger.

I paint
sm
red
sm
orange

yellow

streaks across canvas

sm
messy disorganized

real

sm
understandable

angry

sm
lonely

paintings of my thoughts.

I feel deserted, betrayed,

and since I've got nowhere to go

no boyfriend
sm
no rallies

I spend most of my time in my bedroom

pretending senior year

will remake me

here at summer's end.

News

Melanie visits me while I paint.

I've become her full-time nanny

as Jane and Dad traipse around town.

Melanie holds Missy.

Says she's not a baby, but Missy is.

Ironically, I know how she feels,

tell her she's a big girl.

She relaxes.

Melanie:
sm
Daddy's taking Mommy to the doctor again.

I peer over my canvas

pause

rewind

replay.

They hadn't said
where
they were going or
why
.

They hadn't said
when
they'd be back.

Me:
sm
What do you mean?

Melanie:
sm
Mommy's sick.

Me:
sm
No, she's not.

Melanie:
sm
Yes, she's sick.

Her words stick, thick like they're stuck,

puffy and infected on Melanie's tongue.

She stares down at Missy, missing

my inquisitive look.

You're confusing your mom with mine
.

Your life is perfect. Your mom is fine
.

I think this, but seeing her

sm
face
sm
clenched hands
sm
squeeze Missy

I ache for her.

Remembering how Mom

sm
consumed
sm
confused
sm
completely capsized

me with worry.

I stroke her hair, try to slow her little-girl tears.

More than a dirty face that needs to be cleaned,

or a meddling sister I want to avoid,

she's a little girl, little sister,

scared and lonely.

Is Jane really sick?

Thinking back on the Sunday breakfast,

pancakes and crying,

Janie avoiding my question about driving herself,

her doctor's appointment,

her constant headaches,

Dad blowing up—

it's all starting to sink in.

Maybe the pearls aren't so perfect.

We snuggle like sisters.

Melanie:
sm
Is Mommy going to die?

Die?

People like Jane don't die.

People like Mom shouldn't die.

Then, people like me and Melanie

have to live—stuck.

I ask Melanie why she thinks this.

Tells me Jane

has headaches

getting her head “looked at”

a big machine

throwing up a lot.

I listen

hold Melanie,

we fall asleep like this

paint drying on canvas

tears drying on face

Missy returning to curl up

between our legs.

Stereotyping Jane

and the headaches

and the pain

and the plain way she looks

and the way she makes me insane—

rubbing her temples as if

I'm so vain

and how simply she

replaced Mom like a

repairman swaps out a windowpane

and her name

Mrs. Henderson, not just

Jane

and the bland way she

walks

talks

speaks

eats her chow mein

and now I think that

everything I thought

and yep, I thought about it

a lot

and now, I think that

everything I thought

might not be quite

the same.

Mistakes and Identities

I tuck Melanie into her bed

kiss her forehead.

She mistakes me for Jane,

calls me Mommy

knocking the breath out of me.

Amazed at what it feels like

from the other side

I pretend to be

a mom,

her mom.

I play along so she'll sleep,

but I'm far from

picture perfect

poised

larger than life

in a portrait on Dad's wall.

I'm far from Jane

controlled
sm
contained

I'm far from Jane

prim
sm
plain.

I'm so unlike her, but

do I hate her?

I wish I could take it back,

I hate you

knowing now how it feels

to be kissed by Melanie and

loved like a mom.

Maybe my heart isn't quite so hard.

I pad back to my room

and paint two girls

holding hands

hopping happily along

carrying two stones

together.

The Next Morning

I wake up early

practicing for senior year starting next week

and make brewberry pancakes.

Things feel hopeful

better

not sick or somber

like a summer filled

with drugs and parties

shaking hands

alienating friends

hoping to win an election,

losing X.

Melanie bounces into the kitchen.

Dad finds his way in with the paper.

Jane …

I smile at Dad for the first time

in what feels like all summer.

Me:
sm
More syrup?

I offer, meaning

I'm sorry for … everything
.

Dad:
sm
Sure.

Dad says, meaning

I know. I am too.

Melanie cleans her plate

Dad finishes his paper

Jane …

I can be the bigger person,

head upstairs with some juice

my truce.

The wooden stairs creak

under my feet

my heart pounding,

should I knock

or apologize

or turn around

and toss the juice

leaving things how they are?

Cracking her bedroom door,

She's on the phone.

Jane:
sm
I'll be fine …

don't want to be a burden

like his first wife.

I remember

Mom's face, sick, sad, and swollen

I remember

her headscarf crooked, stained with puke

I remember

Jane's perfect smile pasted on the campaign trail,

and I wonder

if I bring her this juice do I want this truce?

She's not my mom.

She can take over the house, but she can't

take over my heart

take Mom's place.

I take the juice

and toss it

down

the

drain.

Girls in Malls, Boys in Malls

This is a day of sorries—

Dad

April

Gavin

Miguel

myself

minus Jane.

I clear away the formal apologies

with my two best friends, then

I clear my head at the mall.

Finally getting out of the house.

I learn April's new style for senior year is

no longer Goth or gray

blonde or blood red

but bookish

stepping out of the dressing room in a pink Oxford,

collar up.

I would laugh, but I can't piss off my friends

so quickly after making amends.

After fifteen texts

ten tardy minutes,

I learn Gavin's new style for senior year is

study-chic

sporting boat shoes

and argyle sweaters.

Guess I didn't get the fashion memo.

I learn April

dumped Ralph for good

Deserved to be treated better.

I learn Gavin

stopped leaving messages

even more messages

for George.

They're just friends now.

Both my friends

strong

standing tall

say they can
sm
find better
sm
do better
sm
be better.

Senior year.

One week away!

They're

excited, jazzed, thrilled, electric!

I'm still

crummy, blah, broken, amiss.

They go into advice mode

April and Gavin:
sm
Go see Lady Elba.

Girl, you got to snap out of it.

What about Ted?

Nothing says,
I'm over it
like a hot

new outfit.

This is our year, our time.

This is your last shot.

Shot at what?

Becoming the senator's daughter?

Finding love?

Not dying alone?

I try not to be a buzz kill,

pretend the old Sam's back in action,

buy a few cute shirts, a new pair of jeans,

some argyle socks, even though I don't feel it.

Then leaving the mall,

we pass by a coffee shop.

The beans remind me of better times.

A sticker in the window says one single word—

LOVE.

Love

One word

with a picture of a goddess.

Maybe it will work if I buy it?

I comply, pretend the goddess is really

the High Priestess.

Me.

Gavin and April look at each other when

I'm paying, eyes judging,

saying nothing.

It will be my power mark.

My strength.
sm
My freedom.

My
something big
.

LOVE.

I am the High Priestess, reminded that

it's not perfect

LOVE.

But it's all around, waiting for me to take it

back.

Sam I Am

I am greater than a shoe size.

I am more interesting than a label.

I am deeper than an opinion.

I am more than a politician's daughter.

I am smarter than a test score.

I am more valuable than diamond earrings.

I am larger than a fashion trend.

I am stronger than a drug.

I am a cut above

priority mail

my own masterpiece

executive platinum

finer than bone china

blue ribbon worthy

senior level

VIP

leading lady material

I am all that and a sister-daughter-friend bag of chips …

… and

I am ready to love.

First Day of Senior Year

I make breakfast for Melanie

while Dad tends to Jane,

walking and rubbing

pacing and squinting.

I wonder

Does Melanie see her pain?

At school, my locker's next to Gavin,

so I get to witness

The Drama of George
.

It replaces

The Problem with Ralph
.

I wonder

Will Gavin take him back?

I'm back in school,

preparing for college

preparing Melanie's breakfast

preparing to move on

and X is … ?

It's just one more thing that separates us.

I wonder

Will I ever heal?

Even though I should focus on my

future
sm
friends
sm
family

All I can focus on is

What is he doing?

Is he still with Jessica?

Does he sing
Chesterfield Kings
in her ear?

Are they eating brunch at Leo's?

Is she scrunched up next to him in the booth?

Does he remember eating there with me?

Does he even remember me?

I'm left here

in the hall

trying to shake memories,

haunted.