Perfect (36 page)

are “lesbian enough.” Dani thought

it was funny.
Come on. Don’t take

it seriously. They’re just jealous
.

Easier to call you a fake than to try

and wear jeans as well as you do
.

Anyway, if you need validation, I think

you’re a total lez. You don’t need

to look like a boy to prove it. Now

let’s discuss what you
do
need to do

to prove it
. We were in her car

and it had started to snow by then.

We drove to a far corner of the Rancho

San Rafael parking lot, and as dime-

size flakes turned to quarter-size,

curtaining the glass, Dani showed me

what it takes to make love to a girl.

It Is Yielding

Flesh, lush and tender as June

peaches. It is giving, gracious,

respectful. And though I lacked

experience, Dani was forgiving,

taught me what I asked to know,

left me to discover what I could.

Her kisses were typhoon, wind,

rain and lightning, storming into

open windows. She blanketed me

with velvet skin, pillowed me with

exotic perfume, lifted me onto a cloud

just one breath away from heaven.

I couldn’t say no. Didn’t say stop.

I wanted more. Wanted to go on

forever, even after the first burst of rain.

Even then, I begged for downpour.

Afterward

Iced April air touching our heated

skin and lifting, steam, I shattered

beneath the weight of identity.

Shards of uncertainty scattered,

dissipated with each frosty exhale.

Tears too long held inside dropped,

crystals encasing half-truths. Secrets.

Candor would not be denied, and

I told her everything—how I had kept

my virginity until I needed to be sure.

How I teased Sean. Challenged him,

even, only to change my mind. How I

pleaded with him to stop, the end result.

I thought she would chastise me,

say I deserved what I got. Instead

anger billowed up in her eyes.

Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. Goddamn

him to hell. Guys like that deserve

a noncommutable sentence of

castration. But why didn’t you tell?

I have to think about it. “The last

few months have been so hard,

with my brother and all. I didn’t

want more upheaval, you know?”

You mean external upheaval
.

But what about the craziness inside?

Promise, no matter what, you’ll

never shut yourself off from me
.

And what’s going on with your

brother?
I had never mentioned

Conner to her either. The subject

just hadn’t ever come up. It has now.

Despite only spilling to one person

before, I told Dani everything about

my twin and why he ended up where

he did. Well, she asked for it. I even

proposed my guilt. “I knew he was

messing around with his teacher.

If I would have told, maybe… he…”

Confessing that encouraged a new

round of tears. By then maybe, just

maybe, I was feeling sorry for

myself. But then again, why? Hadn’t

Dani just allowed me to put to one side

the people in my life who I don’t have

the power to save? Which brings me

back to church. Back to Pastor’s words.

I’m not a savior. And even he, who so

many believe was the Savior, was strung

up to die. Maybe it’s time to save myself.

On my left, my mother continues to pray

only for herself. On my right, Dad is still

impossible to read. How do I confess

to either this momentous revelation?

All the strength I felt just moments ago,

every iota of elation, deflates. I am zero.

They Don’t Have To Know

Right now. Or maybe ever. Pretty sure

Mom couldn’t care less if I marry.

And if I have kids, it will make her old.

Not the way to impress her friend flock.

I drop my head for the benediction—

the final prayer that says we can go

home. When I lift it again, I notice

Dad has turned to stare at someone

sitting in the foyer, Easter Sunday

overflow. It’s Conner. Escaped from

Aspen Springs, hungry for communion?

No, he’s flanked by some burly bruiser

and a cute, dark-haired guy who

looks very at ease here. More so than

Conner, who looks close to panic,

especially as Dad nears the door.

Mom hangs back, her motive

unclear. Is it out of respect for

Conner’s space? Or is it because

of fear? If so, what is she afraid of?

Not Sure, In Fact

Who looks more afraid, Conner

or Mom. The sanctuary empties,

and everyone crowds the food table.

I see Dad shake Conner’s hand, say

something that makes Conner nod.

If I can make my way through

the meadow of people, I should

probably say something too. Not

that I know exactly what. “You look

great, for a crazy person?” Maybe

not. I turn to Mom, who hangs back

behind me. “Aren’t you going to say hi?”

She straightens, draws herself up as

tall as she can, elevates her chin,

lifts her nose into the lily-scented

air.
I suppose it is expected of me
.

Expectations. Again. Wonder who

she’ll be more disappointed in—

her suicidal, no-longer-perfect son.

Or his twin, the not-quite-out lesbian.

Kendra

Disappointment

Can do a couple of things.

It can drop you into a giant

sucking sinkhole of

depression,

a place you have to fight

to climb out of. Or it

can trigger an epic

mania

to overcome the odds

and transform failure

into success. Say you

swing

as high as the chains will

take you because you seek

the thrill of flight, and on the

up-

kick, you lose your seat.

Injury is likely. But if you

worry about falling

down,

and never chance “up,”

the sky will remain

forever out of reach.

Reaching For The Sky

Is not such a hard thing to do, not

when everyone around you keeps

promising you have what it takes

to touch it someday. I’ve always believed

I can. But I’ve known for a long time

that it’s a long way up to that patch of blue,

and sometimes it takes extraordinary

measures to reach the stratosphere. Today

I’m going for broke. Mom drives me to

the hospital.
Are you nervous, honey?

“Uh, let’s see. She’s going to make an

incision in that flap that divides my nostrils.

Then she’s going to pull my nose skin

up between my eyes, exposing the bone

and cartilage. Two hours restructuring

those, and hopefully when she returns the skin

to its normal position, all will be well.

What could go wrong, right?” I watched

an animation of the entire procedure.

It should have made me feel more secure

about everything. Instead I almost puked.

God, I hope she doesn’t have a problem

reattaching my skin. I almost went and

read horror stories about rhinoplasty.

Decided that wasn’t such a great idea,

considering I am not going to change

my mind. So I just swallowed megadoses

of vitamins C and E, which should help

the swelling and bruising. Asked (as opposed

to Jenna’s “borrowing” method) Mom for one

of her Xanax so I could sleep last night.

No food or water after midnight. (No problem.)

And here we are, pulling into a parking

space, headed toward a surgical suite and

my skin-peeled-from-my-face adventure.

Am I nervous? Not at all! Just hope I don’t

actually haul off and vomit all over

myself. That might turn the old doc off.

Okay, then. Here we go. How exciting!

Yeah, that’s one way of putting it.

Through the big glass doors, into

the elevator, and up six floors. My legs

are a little shaky, but whether that’s from

nerves or lack of food, I can’t say for sure.

I didn’t eat anything at all yesterday.

It’s getting easier. Practice makes perfect.

I Don’t Have To Wait Long

A nurse comes to get me, hands Mom

some papers to sign. “See you on the other

side.” I follow the chubby nurse,

wondering how a health-care professional

could let herself go like that. Doesn’t

she know it’s unhealthy to be overweight?

Oh well. She’s nice enough.
Put these on.

You can change in there. And you can

leave your panties on, if it makes you more

comfortable.
Under a hospital gown, lacking

anything that resembles a back? The panties

will definitely remain on. Everything else

comes off. The gown is actually designer,

by hospital standards. Blue and pink swirls,

instead of the usual white. The hairnet

and booties are white, however. Nondesigner.

When I come out of the bathroom, Dr.

Kane is waiting.
How are you feeling?

Do you have any questions for me?

When I say no, she points to a wheel-

chair.
Your chariot awaits. We’ll take

you down to the OR and introduce