Dating Down (4 page)

Daddy's Girl Goes

Up in smoke

smashed small and

smothered smelling his pipe

his weathered hands his

worn watch and waiting eyes.

DADDY'S GIRL GOES

To the river

writhing wretched and

ready to catch a trout yank the line

pull out applause see his eyes

approving.

DADDY'S GIRL GOES

On his lap

taps his leg leaning

lanky and lurking up against

his chest keeping emotions close to

the vest.

DADDY'S GIRL GOES

Down to the ground

grown girl to glad woman where

whatever he says nothing

sounds safe so …

DADDY'S GIRL IS GONE.

The Girl

I paint flesh tones of a girl

asking something with her eyes

while her legs carry her away.

I stare at the girl

staring back at me.

What's on her mind?

What does she want?

What does she need?

I don't know.

I just paint.

I hear the cries of another girl

barreling into my room

while hugging her hippo.

Melanie stares at me

as she sways like a swing.

What's on her mind?

What does she want?

What does she need?

She wraps her slobbery fingers around my thigh,

points at my painting

nosy as ever.

Me:
sm
It's a girl.

I want to say
me
, but

I see her look

longing

lustful for the
me

to be
her.

Me:
sm
It's you.

Melanie smiles

sucks her fingers

buries her head in my leg

happy to be
her
.

Is learning to lie, part of

learning to love?

Sisters Seem

Sisters seem

the same

grown in the same

garden

under the same roof

watered and blooming

out of the same ground.

Sisters share

DNA

weeded out of the same

silt

tangled in the same family roots

both reaching up to the sky

to blossom in the sun

from different

sides

of the tilled

soil

iris and crocus

pollinated and cut

from the same cloth

fragrant
sm
fragile
sm
flora

only

not

the same

flower.

Coffee in Paradise

Indie coffee shops are like people,

no two are alike.

I meet X in a hot, new, halfway hidden

alcove.

Droopy trees

heavy with flora and leaves

hang over garden chairs.

Essence of java teases the air like forbidden fruit.

X, consumed in conversation,

pulls his hands out of his pockets

puts something in a stranger's hand

who hurries away.

My stomach flip-flops as I approach,

a testament to my excitement, I decide.

I say hello, wearing my

I'm trying really hard not to seem high school
look.

Particularly tough to pull off after

filling out forms and finishing finals

then losing my way.

I couldn't find this café,

until right before my eyes it appeared

from nowhere

like an apple in Eden.

X wears his usual flushed cheeks,

tousled hair.

He shoves bills in his wallet as

I slide into the booth

plop my bag

tuck my hair

fold my hands like a prayer.

I'm right where I want to be

today.

Flavors

X orders a tasting menu of coffees.

We sip …

SWEET:

X:
sm
Most girls like sugar.

Me:
sm
Maybe I'm not so sweet.

X smiles.

BITTER:

X:
sm
You're cute.

Not
hot
or
sexy
.

Cute.

Are college girls sexy

and high school girls just cute?

BOLD:

He points to a note pinned to my bag.

It says,

Feed Alex and send me that link for the shoes.

Me:
sm
That's from my friend Gavin.

I sip slowly.

X:
sm
Does Gavin always pin nonsensical notes to your bag?

Me:
sm
He thinks it's ironic to be my mom.

I swallow.

Me:
sm
He's my best friend, actually. He likes shoes.

And he's gay.

X:
sm
Who is Alex?

Me:
sm
My ivy. I forget to water him.

Carefully, I remove the
Vote Henderson!
sticker

slapped on the opposite side,

hide it in my pocket.

MILD:

He stretches arms across the wobbly table.

Fingers touching the back of my hand.

Grinning. Glancing.

That damn grin. Subtly, it melts me.

I take a sip of one—sweet, silky, smooth.

And another—earthy, citrus, bright.

So many flavors.

So many flavors I never knew …

Returning to Paris

Across from X

I envision the future,

sipping French Roast along the Seine.

Could we?

Visiting Versailles on his Vespa.

I'd paint in a pretty loft,

prize-worthy paintings

sold outside the Louvre.

Fluent in French.

Living joie de vivre.

Artists

photographers

bands

and X.

It's a great feeling—

living

sipping

floating

pretending

dreaming.

Dutch

We finish our fourth cup,

so jittery I can barely stand up

liquid insanity coursing through me

caffeine jitters

first-date nerves.

I tap my fingers on the table,

X's hand covers mine

replaces the tapping with an electric current

that shoots through my body.

One simple touch.

He suggests we go to Leo's for lunch

then reaches for his wallet.

The waiter flies to our table

quicker than a politician's promise.

I insist we go Dutch.

X:
sm
I can pay, you know.

He looks perturbed.

Does he think I think he can't pay?

Did I say the wrong thing?

I close my wallet

thinking of Gavin

and give up the Dutch.

Walking to Leo's

X's stride is long.

His lean limbs

lanky, look like weeping willows.

He plucks a geranium from a planter.

X:
sm
For you.

I close my eyes,

inhale.

A distinct, lemony-rose scent

rushes from my nose

to my heart

to my brain—

Mom's perfume.

The one she used to put on

before she went out,

before—

I compose myself as he flicks his hair.

X:
sm
Like morning sun, it wafts. Desire. In the air.

The smell of me. After touching you.

I breathe in the ecstasy of love true.

A lyric. From one of the guys he lives with.

This is quite possibly

a moment out of a movie,

not one I'm living.

He offers

a feeling

a thought

a random lyric

a flower.

Can it always feel this good?

With Ted, love was

help with homework

Slurpees from 7-eleven

a lukewarm letter jacket.

I sniff the geranium as we pass a tire shop.

Guys covered in grease watch.

When the traffic light turns red, we cross.

They are

waiting in cars

wanting to move on.

I am

walking on air

wanting time to stand still.

Leo's Lunchroom

One gentle scoot

into the booth

side by side

smile
sm
blush
sm
bump

two hips collide.

Like atom bombs

flatten countries,

my skin collides

with his kinetic energy

and lands

in a mushy clump of

happily
sm
ever
sm
after.

Take that, Antoine Lavoisier!

Another waiter

and an order later,

fed and full

soda
sm
soup
sm
sandwich

X holds his napkin

folds a beautiful bird

hands it to me.

X:
sm
Your first gift.

Me:
sm
First?

Will there be others?

One gentle scoot

into the root

of my

head
sm
hands
sm
heart.

What I Learn in Walking

After lunch,

X shows me a storefront window

stained with graffiti.

His dad's barbershop years ago—

broken barber chairs

torn seats

missing headrests

tipped over

brown squares on the wall where

mirrors hung

now gone

destroyed

ruined.

Me:
sm
What happened?

X: Cancer.

The Cancers

I thought I was the only one.

I tell him about Mom—
I was in grade school
.

And Jane—
My dad quickly remarried
.

He tells me about his dad—
Died when I was in junior high.

And his mom—
Financing my father's treatments drained us
.

My mom. His dad.

We do the math—

Our parents died within months of

each other.

We were strangers,

suffering

silently

at opposite ends of the city.

What I Learn in Sitting

A temporary ride with

permanent smiles.

Our bus trip to my house.

From this moment on, I will discover

sm
art

life

people

experiences

myself

whether or not my suffocating father approves.

X:
sm
Life's a mystery.

Me:
sm
Yes. A mystery.

And then I see how

sm
studying

obeying

pushing myself

trying to be

everything Dad wants from me is just silly.

The bus spits me out on my street.

It's the perfect afternoon

with secrets sealing my heart to his.

Kismet, our connection.

Before I've even made it up the stairs, a text.

Cutie
.

I gush.

Luckily, he can't see my face

sm
as red

pink

crimson

burgundy

as the canvas in my room.

Girls' Night

April wears all black

fingernails

lipstick

eyeliner

and hair

newly dyed

from its constant state of mousy brown.

The gods of Goth have taken her.

April:
sm
Just wanted to mix things up.

She's lying.

I smell a
Ralph
.

Me:
sm
You look good.

I'm lying.

I wait for the
Ralph
.

But I can't hold it in any longer,

blurting out—

I think I'm in love!

Change of Plans

Just like that

in the midst of crossing the street

and retrieving her bus card,

April stops

swings around

switches direction.

Change of plans!

With one whip of her arm,

Whoosh!

we're in a cab

heading toward my future.

Lady Elba, Pt. I

A red neon
open
sign shines

in a black window.

Dark, shady, Goth-esque.

A fortune teller leads us inside.

I feel crazy.

This is crazy.

She looks crazy.

Why are we here?

Has April gone crazy?

Pink tinted lenses

hair piled atop her head

like an uneven stack of plates.

This could topple any second
.

Lady Elba.

Her bony hand grabs mine I

follow
sm
stumble
sm
trip

my way into my future.

Lady Elba:
sm
Let's see what's going on …

She lays a hand over my heart.

Lady Elba:
sm
… in here.

What's going on
in here
is a mixed bag of tricks.

Will she pull out the right trick?

She sits,

doesn't speak.

Lady Elba?

I shake,

don't believe.

Does April?

Placing my
aura
in her
presence
,

sm
opens my palms

clasps my hands

so different from X's grasp.

In spite of myself, I'm curious.

Lady Elba

lays out the cards

she tsks and hmms

tsk tsk tsk

hmm

like a sprinkler

or a typewriter—then gasps.

April:
breaking
What?

We lean in.

A clock chimes.

Lady Elba:
sm
Something big …

She stares me down,

unnerving me with her crazy-lady look.

Lady Elba:
sm
Something big is …

Is … ?

Is … ?

Lady Elba:
sm
… on its way to your soul.

Her eyes sparkle.

Words whisper.

Lady Elba:
sm
Brace yourself, my dear.

The creeped-out side of me wrestles with the hopeful one.

April:
breaking
How romantic!

I doubt.

Although, I wonder …