Freakboy (10 page)

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Authors: Kristin Elizabeth Clark

BOOK: Freakboy
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I can tell she's being careful—

                         “but it would be a mistake to

                           exclude everyone else.”

She does that serious-Mom

look-you-right-

in-the-eye thing.

                            “There's so much more

                            to life than having a boyfriend—

                            and you need your friends, too.”

“Are you saying

I can't bring Brendan?”

                            “I'm just saying you

                            should think about

                            what's really important,

                            what has lasting value.”

“I'm inviting Brendan.”

                            She shakes her head, exasperated.

                            “Do what you want.”

She gives up so easily.

“Perfect,” I say.

I always win.

And Speaking of Perfection

I've discovered

it's not in friendship

it's not in good grades

it's not in a well-thrown pot

it's not in a flawlessly wrestled match.

Perfection is the warm feeling

in the deep of my stomach

when his eyes meet mine,

and the memory

of what we did last night

vibrates between us.

The way he touched my face

              kissed my eyelids

                          stroked my hair

                                      caressed my hip

                                                  murmured love.

The way our bodies melded

and there was no telling

where one ended

and the other began.

                          Perfection is

                          the two of us

                          together.

No lecture can change that.

(Angel)

“Phewie, That Stinks!”

Denai opens the living room window,

lettin' out the smell of acrylic.

Gennifer's doing my fills.

Handy to have a roommate

in cosmetology school.

Haven't let her touch my hair yet

but nails are fair game.

                  “So is Liberty allowed

                  to come back?”

                  Gennifer asks.

“If she apologizes to

the other kids at the center, yeah,”

I tell her.

Gennifer sets a little fan

to blow on my right hand,

goes to work on my left.

                  “That all she has to do?”

“It's a lot when you

think about it,” I say.

Liberty got caught

stealing from Willows

and Lordy, I'm mad with her—

and sorry for her

at the same time.

It was a blue envelope

like the one showed up last week.

Twenty-five bucks, anonymous donater.

Feels good to know

there's beautiful people out there

balancing the ugly.

          I pointed that out to

          Jason and Daniella,

          'cause, of all the kids,

          they were the most

          shook up by the broken window.

Mailman brought in the mail

and I put the envelope

on the side desk for Dr. Martina

but by the time she came in

it was gone      daddy          gone.

I asked around—Daniella

said she saw Liberty take it.

Dr. M took kids

into her office

one    by      one.

Told me later Liberty

broke down, cried, confessed

and now she has to apologize

to “the community”

if she wants to come back.

I don't know how Liberty

knew there was money inside

but I know what she wanted it for.

Hormones

cost money

they mean

the difference

between

coarse hair,

man-bodies

and

smooth skin,

girl-curves.

The girls I know

who take 'em illegally

can't count

on a steady supply

of this remedy

that reveals

their true

selves

and they live

with the fear

of running out.

Me, too, once upon a time.

Roger Was Man of the House

and he let us know it

soon as he moved in.

I'd been living on her

couch a couple months

doing what I could

but Tía Rosa was grateful

having another “adult” there

helping with bills, kids.

He worked under the table—

construction for a

septic tank company

and she didn't seem to care

he smelled bad, like sweat

and dirt and cigarette smoke

didn't care he was rude

never said please or thank you

like she made sure me and my cousins did

didn't care he said

I'd have to dress like a guy

if I wanted to live there.

          “It just makes him uncomfortable,

          
mijo
,” she told me. She wouldn't

          call me
mija
anymore either.

So I did what any

self-respecting girl would do.

Carried my clothes in a bag,

changed when I left the house.

I didn't like it but all shoulda been fine.

                                Of course it wasn't.

The last straw came

when Rosa was at work.

Roger in the bathroom doorway

beefy arms folded, laughing

to watch me scrabble around looking for

the medicine I hid under the sink.

           “I flushed it all.”

And, Girl,

I wanted to kill him.

Didn't know how

I was going to get money

for more or whether

Lupe, with her pills

and injectables from Tijuana,

was even around.

           “Didn't look like

           no aspirin to me.”

Before I could stand

he was across the bathroom

grabbing me, pulling

my arm up

behind my back.

I thought I'd pass out.

                    “And if I ever find out

                    you touched your cousins,

                    I'll kill you, pervert.”

He slammed me

against the tub

then left.

Fire blazed up my shoulder, neck,

but that wasn't

the worst feeling.

I leaned into the peeling wall,

wondered how long I had till the

hormones in my system would wear off—

and added

Roger to the list            of people I hate.

I left that night

when everyone

was sleeping

but first I emptied his wallet

(only time I took anything

didn't belong to me).

Oh—and I called the DMV

to narc on him

for his unregistered car.

Guess you could say

I sometimes have a problem

with lettin' things go.

(Vanessa)

Sunday Afternoon

We go to the ballet.

(I promise bowling afterward

to make up for his having

to do a chick thing.)

At Weiss Performing Arts Center

the red velvet curtain

sweeps open to a

Christmas scene.

Onstage, children

dance and fight.

We slouch,

bored for most of it

until the Sugar Plum Fairy

comes out.

Brendan, suddenly

NOT bored,

                          leans

                                        forward.

We're only

five rows away.

Is she that sexy?

Looooong legs

blond hair

nothing like

chestnut-brown me.

I'm not the jealous type

            (don't want to be anyway)

but he's practically drooling.

I want to yank off

that stupid costume

wrestle with her

see how long

she lasts on the mat.

The next hour

seems like five,

hard seat

tense neck.

When it's finally over

I drag Brendan from the theater.

He's glassy eyed;

I'm pissed.

“What'd you think?” I ask.

                          He pauses, suddenly cautious.

                          “Ballet's not my thing.”

“What about the Sugar Plum Fairy?”

I hate how accusing it sounds.

Hate my shrill tone.

Never let them see you jealous
.

Grand-maman's advice out the window.

                                           “What do you mean?”

“You couldn't stop staring.”

                                      “I was watching the show.”

“Don't give me that!”

                              “What are you so mad about?”

“You liked her!”

He freezes,

knowing exactly who

I'm talking about.

Then he smiles.

                                                               “Jealous?”

I'm mortified.

                                        “She has nothing on you.”

He kisses me

and I should feel reassured, right?

But it's a distant kiss

like his mind

and his lips

are disconnected.

(BRENDAN)

Crisis Averted.

But peace not restored.

Trans after all?

A bow-curved mouth

with lipstick I could taste;

that Sugar Plum Fairy was hot.

I think about brushing thick

blond hair into a bun.

Moving spinning leaping,

body light, spirit free

no extra flesh

between
her
thighs.

I jiggle my foot.

Do I want to do her?

Or do I want to be her?

Drum my fingers.

Quiet my freaky brain.

Bowling

is safer, kind of.

Get    our    shoes,

step to lane six.

The ball has heft,

it's substantial,

a heavy thing.

Solid and you

can count

on it to

do what

it's supposed

to do. No whining

that it would rather be

a football or a hockey puck.

Fingers slick, I hurl it hard, my

s h o u l d e r  s t r e t c h e s  o u t.

This solid, this strong, this unchanging

ball goes wild into the next lane. And it

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