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How Big Is Big?

Like summer fling big?

Soul mate big?

Getting-married-moving-to-Paris-growing-old-together big?

Big enough to wrap its arms around me?

Bigger than a kiss?

How big is big?

Can it quiet Queen Vanilla?

Reverse the dying process?

Heighten the hues of paint on a canvas?

How big is big?

Can it eliminate anger? Bond father to daughter?

Cure cancer?

Is big more powerful than a political promise?

Greater than gossip with Gavin?

Huger than Angie Hippo?

Can it wipe out a conservation of mass with a wave of its wand?

How big is big?

And when it hits my heart,

will it explode?

How big

is

big?

Sunday Morning when
I Come Home from April's

Dad's

suited up

pacing in the living room

planning his position

practicing his speech.

Miguel's

following along

revising, rewording,

researching who said what when

and how to rephrase it.

Melanie's

in PJs and mismatched socks

scratching the peanut butter

in her hair.

Jane's

uptight

rushing into the den

grabbing papers, rubbing her neck

cursing as she throws

couch cushions on the floor.

Jane:
sm
Where'd I put that damn necklace?

I

take Jane's usual superior tone.

Me:
sm
Mothers shouldn't use such language.

My disapproval of Jane fills me with memories of Mom.

At least mine didn't
.

I

whisper while

covering Melanie's ears

en route to the bathroom

to clean her hair.

Melanie:
sm
What's a primercy?

Me:
sm
Primary.

I tell her it's a silly day where adults

wave things in the air

dress in costumes and pretend

they're so important.

Vote Henderson!

Me:
sm
It's like Disneyworld for grown-ups.

Only, there's no Mickey.

Jane peeks her head in.

Her perfectly lined lips

smudged ever so slightly.

Me:
sm
I'm cleaning Melanie's filthy hair.

My inflection suggests Jane should be ashamed.

She doesn't seem to notice

her mothering skills

taking a backseat to my father's big day

as they

try to persuade more chumps to

Vote Henderson!

while their daughter marches

around the house—

mismatched socks,

messy face,

matted hair.

I don't mind watching Melanie.

It beats going out on the campaign trail.

Me and Melanie, we

might just be

two peas

in the same political pod.

Miguel reminds Dad that it's time,

he's prompt like that.

Dad kisses our foreheads.

Dad:
sm
Wish me luck.

Melanie: Luck!

Melanie stares at me after they leave.

Does she know her mom's alive

and
mine's not?

Fade to Nothing—Jane

She

fades like the shade of gray

into the night

only, it's day.

What can you possibly give me?

She

wades like the waters of Lake Michigan

into my room

uninvited.

Why are you here?

She

preys like the panthers of the Serengeti

over my dad in

Mom's absence.

Who do you think you are?

She

plays like the perfect mother of Melanie

not me

in Mom's house.

When will you leave?

She

remains nothing

to me.

With Melanie

Push me!

We swing.

Lift me!

We teeter-totter.

Hold me!

We slide.

I support Melanie on the monkey bars.

Only yesterday, I was Melanie and Mom was me:

sm
swinging
sm
sliding
sm
supporting

I love my sister, still, she's

a constant reminder that Dad has moved on:

sm
another marriage
sm
another child
sm
another woman

Making Mom a memory of
sm
another time.

I tell Melanie about Mom.

How my mom
breaking
looked
.

How my mom
breaking
moved
.

Her graceful
breaking
sway
.

Her dancer's
breaking
stance
.

How we played
breaking
hopscotch
.

How we burnt
breaking
kettle corn.

How we collected
breaking
seashells
.

Painting each one a color of the rainbow.

Our lucky stash.

Melanie

thinks the stories are funny, inspiring.

Melanie

decides we should collect rocks

and paint each one a color of the rainbow.

Just like Mom and I used to do.

Melanie:
sm
Me and you.

Me:
sm
Just us two.

Rocks

Across the park,

we scour the grass for rocks—

flat ones

white ones

round ones

smooth ones

big ones

tiny ones

lopsided ones

ones that past the test,

we put in our pockets.

In the park,

a guy's propped up—

smoking

drinking

grimy

yellow

eyes aglow

strung-out

one 40 oz. bottle,

he puts in his pocket.

Guy:
sm
Hey!

Must get Melanie.

Guy:
sm
Hey! You, girl.

Must get out of here.

Guy:
sm
Sam!

He knows my name?

I freeze, feeling like I might throw up breakfast.

I study his glassy eyes, skinny body:

The guy talking to X when we met for coffee.

The guy who took off the minute I arrived.

Why is he …

sm
out here

strung out

friends with X?

I do not know

but I grab Melanie

and we go.

Missy

A kitten follows us home

meowing like Little Orphan Annie.

Meow
.

Born on the streets

incapable mother

tossed from one alley to the next.

Meow. Meow.

Life of despair and hardship

all alone.

Meow.

Who can refuse such a sad story?

We watch it

cry and pace

sit in the middle of the sidewalk

watching us

watching it.

Melanie:
sm
Think it's a girl?

I shrug.

Melanie:
sm
I want her to be a girl.

We decide it's a girl.

Melanie names her Missy.

Melanie:
sm
So Mommy has a Missy.

Her rationale makes me smile.

I place milk on the back porch.

Melanie:
sm
Nighty-night, Missy.

She says,

holding Angie Hippo.

Phases

Missy moves in

Dad's campaign moves forward

X moves around Hex

sm
waiting tables
sm
taking orders
sm
pouring coffee.

I never ask about the guy in the park

Maybe I overacted

I watch X's

sm
long arms
sm
flouncy hair
sm
winks.

He knows all kinds of people

coming and going at Hex

interesting in their own way

sm
scruffy students
sm
aging hipsters
sm
young

businessmen.

Visiting X invigorates me

his friends make me feel less ordinary

inspiring

sm
new thoughts
sm
new ideas
sm
new paintings.

No longer drawing pale girls and soft hues

I choose

sm
darker images
sm
edgier colors
sm
bolder strokes.

I'm like April and her Goth phase

only, I don't want to come out of this phase

sm
today
sm
tomorrow
sm
ever.

Rockets

I bring X

banana candies from a corner store

mini handmade paintings

giant grins.

He hands me

a lyric he heard from his roommate

drawing he found

poem copied from one of the French masters.

Most times,

I wait for his shift to end.

He walks me home.

When we walk, we fall

into a rhythm

like the first time we passed his car.

Today,

he points to the Oldsmobile's rocket emblem.

I remember his initial flirty touch.

When I blush—

sm
pink

burgundy

crimson

He puts his palms against my cheeks to

cool them

feel them

and my heart takes off

like a rocket to Mars.

First Kiss

On the sidewalk, my arms go limp. My neck tingles from his touch. The little hairs stand at the nape of my neck. The leaves rattle in the trees. My heart rattles in my chest. Fingers weave through hair. Thoughts run through head. Tingles surge through body.

He wraps me

close

closer

closest to him yet.

Something big is on its way …

He leans down

close

closer

closest to my face.

Something big is on its way to my soul.

His lips move, forming words. I'm unsure what they say. I cannot hear with the ringing in my ears. And the pounding in my chest. And the quickening of my breath. Wondering how this will happen. What it will feel like. Where do we go from here? That's when they meet.

His lips are velvety, plump,

mahogany
sm
cherry
sm
scarlet
sm
vermillion
sm
maroon
sm
cardinal

red

like a stroke across my painting

red

like a fireball in the heart of a warzone

red

like fingernails fresh from polish

red

like the molten hot center of the Earth.

Soft
sm
gentle
sm
warm
sm
long
sm
rapturous
sm
dizzying.

I breathe in through my heart and out my eyes. Until I can't breathe, kiss, feel, think, stand, see. Taking my hand. Walking me home. Reaching my front door. Holding his hands against my cheeks. Rubbing nose-on-nose with mine. We Eskimo kiss goodbye.

Something big has landed in my soul.

X:
sm
Call me after you finish your homework.

I nod, knowing full well

I'm spending the evening

not thinking of homework

only

his lips

the sugary softness

his eyes

the chocolaty warmth

his hair

the citrusy scent.

No, not doing homework,

but I pretend to comply.

My happy lie.

Spaceship Cake

his smile, slanted,

a lopsided spacecraft

tilting time to one side

leaving me askew as

charm oozes out the cracks.

his eyes, dark,

orbital sugar-coated cones

spinning their mad power

slicing into me as

light, fluffy love seeps out the circles.

it's a double whammy

a one-two punch

an ambrosial spell

—a reverse—

like the earth orbiting the moon

stirred together and

baked

in a space-time continuum

unspoiled

weightless

call Nestlé!

alert NASA!

his buttercream lips hover

over my heart

and stars

and Mars

and moons

and galaxies

could melt into his kiss

just like

I have.

When I Visit His Apartment, Pt. I

I walk in

behind him.

The room sings

of zines and books

broken piano keys

alibis and secrets

bottles rest on Bukowski

like a side table

made of
Pulp
.

Wine corks nestle beside laptops

Velvet Underground
propped against a ten-speed

a fern stares out the window.

Guitars—electric and acoustic

hang out.

There's a banjo.

A banjo?

X steps over a box, picks up a ukulele

strums it.

X:
sm
Sam, oh, Sam. Sweet, sweet Sam

Like a tune from a

Grammy-winning ditty, it's music

to my ears.

At last, I've found

a song

a boy

a place

I can sing along to

cuddle up beside

rest.

After we move the Wii and coffeepot,

sit side by side

on the couch

missing a cushion

we glide together, giddy, gulping up

laissez-faire.

Me:
sm
So this is what it's like inside.

X:
sm
Yep.

Our eyes sparkle into each other

hovering above

the dirty dishes piled up in the kitchen

across the room

the one

big room.

X:
sm
This is it.

He grins

and I can hardly believe he means the apartment.