Love and Leftovers (21 page)

missed it for the world.

And that he read that one

twice.

Rebellion

“Let’s go,” he says.

“The next bus is coming.”

I nod in the direction

of a bus stopped at a light.

“We can take that.”

“Not to school,” he explains.

A thrill shoots though me

as we join hands

and

take

    off

          running

              toward

                  downtown.

Three Choices

Crying and running gave me the hiccups

so I am a snotty hiccupping mess

when Linus sits me on a couch in a coffee shop.

He hands me a napkin

and says, “I’ll be right back.”

But eight a.m. is coffee rush hour

and the line snakes from the counter to the door.

Alone in the crowd,

I smooth my fingers over my notebook’s cover,

over the lopsided loops of wire that hold it together,

over the ballpoint-pen ripples on the inside pages.

Slowly, it sinks in.

That Linus read my notebook.

Like an annoying little brother.

Or a parent convinced their child

is having sex or smoking pot.

My primitive monkey brain

wants to hit him upside the head,

shout at the top of my lungs,

“You had no right!”

My logical analytical brain

reasons that reading a notebook

isn’t nearly as bad as

kissing J.D. without my shirt on.

My infatuated insistent heart

and my kiss-happy lips

want me to run up behind Linus,

put my arms around his waist,

and squeeze.

So I do.

Over Coffee and a Cranberry Scone

“Does this mean you forgive me?” I ask.

“Yeah,” Linus says, leaning closer.

“How come?”

“Because I understand how you felt.”

“Yeah, thanks to reading my diary.”

“Sorry.”

“But aren’t you and Emily an item?”

“Em thinks I’m a saint.”

“Linus, you
are
a saint.”

“That’s just it, I’m not,” he says.

“Every time I see Em,

I want to hold her tight.

But she freezes like

a cardboard cutout of Marilyn Monroe

every time I try.”

“That’s sad,” I say. “Poor Em.”

“So I think I understand,

how you felt, a million miles away

without someone to hug you.”

Calculated

“It wasn’t easy, forgiving you, I mean,” Linus says.

“I guess I never got a chance to tell you

how angry I felt—

how betrayed.

I couldn’t quite believe

you chose to be honest

after so many months of deceit.

I tried to calculate

when you might have fallen

away from me

and for J.D.

I tried to calculate

the duration of your lies,

figuring that

the longer you lied,

the worse I’d punish you—

the more my lyrics’ whip would sting.

But after I did it,

after you swore at me

and ran from the auditorium,

it occurred to me—

I no longer wanted to hurt you.

I wanted you back.”

Wishing Well

After coffee and breakfast have warmed us up

we head out into the blue-gray morning,

lit by strings of leftover Christmas lights.

Linus puts his arm around me

as we cross the street.

He directs my steps to the frosted-over fountain—

the water resembling a blue raspberry slushy.

From his pocket, Linus pulls two pennies—

handing me one. Warm in my palm.

Together we toss

our pennies in,

wishing, maybe,

for the very same thing.

“My Life Has Been a Hurricane”

I tell Linus as we wait for the light on Front to change.

“Not only did I let it whoosh me

from one side of the country to another,

I let it sweep away my conscience,

turning me into a tropical storm, too.

I darted here and there

without a care in the world—

hurting people, messing up their lives.

All the while, I blamed it on the hurricane,

not myself.

I thought it was your fault

because you didn’t touch me.

I thought it was Dad’s fault

because he wrecked our family.

I thought it was Mom’s fault

because she slept all day.

I thought it was Katie’s fault

because she chose the Leftovers over me.

I couldn’t see through the wind and rain and tears.

I couldn’t see you loved me

because I was in New Hampshire

and you were here.

I couldn’t see that Dad was all alone

in his marriage without anyone to talk to.

I couldn’t see that Mom needed meds

just to set her earth back on its axis.

I couldn’t see that I was a horrible best friend

who demanded unconditional love in return.

I had become the hurricane,

leaving broken hearts,

disappointed parents,

and torn friendships

in my wake.”

Skipping School Never Sounded So Good

In Julia Davis Park,

Linus sings to me from the band-shell stage,

using his fist like a microphone,

my heart thump-thumping the beat:

I want to tell you just one thing

You closed me out, I want back in

Give me a chance, give me a spin

Don’t turn your back, don’t walk away

It’ll just take a minute to say

I think about you every day

I love you, girl, I’m not gay

I didn’t love you right, let me try again

You said you wanted real passion

I can give it to you, darlin’

Don’t turn your back, don’t walk away

It’ll just take a minute to say

I think about you every day

I love you, girl, I’m not gay

Take me back, make me sing

I can give it to you, darlin’

I can give it to you, darlin’

I’m his adoring crowd of one,

who giggles uncontrollably

then smothers his little-boy face with kisses.

Skipping Stones

Linus races me to the riverbank,

and I win.

“You’re in good shape,” he says, gasping.

“It’s just a bad habit I picked up,” I tell him.

“I can run three miles.”

Linus says, “That’s cool,”

picking up a flat, gray stone and whipping it

so it skips           across           the water’s           surface.

“Running helped me deal with things . . .”

I tell him, letting my voice trail off

like the           stones           plunk,           plunk,           plunking.

“And I just wrote Dr. Seuss breakup songs,

but           you           know           about           those.”

Tunnel of Love

At the playground,

we play hide-and-seek,

ducking under too-small gazebos

slip-sliding on icy metal platforms

leaping handrails           to get away

chasing each other up slides and down again

while static electricity stands our hair on end.

I tag his sneaker.

(As if I couldn’t see those telltale All Stars

sticking out from the end of the red tunnel.)

Rather than scooting out and chasing after me,

he curls one finger in my direction,

calling me closer.

On all fours,

I crawl over him

in slow motion

until my hands are planted at his shoulders,

my knees at his hips.

He smiles up at me, in a toying boyish way

and then pulls me into a head-to-toe embrace.

My body presses against his—

jeans, keys, pockets, parkas

all in between—

yet not there at all.

In the Library!

“I’m frozen,” Linus whispers.

Together we decide the library

would be a warm place to hide.

We sneak up the stairs

and tiptoe deep into the stacks.

Lub dub
|
lub dub

I take his guitar-calloused hands

and cozy them under my sweater

against my beating heart.

Lub dub
|
lub dub

His fingers spread

to span the geography of my body,

ice cubes melting

against moist sweat.

Lub dub
|
lub dub

“I can feel your heartbeat.”

“I can hear it,” I say.

“Yeah?”

“It’s been talking about you.”

“What does it say?”

“Love dub | love dub.”

At Zeppole

We only have $4.62 between us,

so we share a bowl of soup

and a plate of all-you-can-eat bread.

Linus says he can’t miss that history test seventh period,

and although he claims he isn’t a saint,

he isn’t about to mess up his A average.

At the office,

I explain that my alarm clock never went off

and I missed the bus, but Linus has his
license and keys to his brother’s car.

And if she didn’t mind,

the secretary could call my dad’s boyfriend,

Danny, and he’d explain everything

even though he couldn’t write me a note,

being that he isn’t my legal guardian or anything.

Somehow that

gets us back into school.

In Both of My Classes

my teachers sound like

the one in the
Peanuts
cartoons,

talking gibberish.

Because all I can hear

all afternoon

is my heartbeat

thumping out its new mantra

Love dub
|
love dub