Authors: Kelsey Sutton
My parents' tension
has turned to shouts
that echo through the night.
I stand on our lawn
throwing rocks at the stars,
hoping my aim is good
so that I can make a wish.
A wish that things
would change.
But if there's one thing I've learned
in this terrifying world
where everything is big
and I am so small
it's that stars don't fall on their own.
We must knock them
d
o
w
n.
It seems
my wish has come true . . .
in part.
Something
has
changed.
But I should have been more careful
with the hopes I pinned
on that falling star,
because that something
is not anything I like.
In math class today,
Matthew laughs
at one of Mary Mosley's jokes.
She is not funny,
she is not a queen
with a gleaming crown
or a glittering scepter.
But still Matthew laughs.
I am so distracted
by the happy crinkles around his eyes
that I forget the story
I was excited to write
only a few seconds ago.
Then our teacher
passes out a test
and I realizeâ
I've been so distracted by
fighting parents
writing stories
helping Matthew
making wishes
âI forgot to study.
I sit still
worried
helpless
as stone,
grip the edge of the desk so hard,
my knuckles turn white.
The test lands in front of me,
but my eyes stay on
Matthew and Mary.
We are victims
of our own desires.
Test over,
my answers only guesses,
I hurry out of class.
In the hallway
I see a shock of red hair
like the scarf in the middle of the road
and stop.
She stands next to the lockers
surrounded by friends,
but somehow
my neighbor still looks alone.
Our eyes meet
and she lifts her hand
in a tentative wave.
None of the others
seem to notice.
I hesitate,
a pause longer
than days or months or years.
Wonder what would happen
if I waved back, said hello.
Will she one day
move away
find someone
or something
better?
I think about
falling stars and wishes
while my neighbor waits
with hopeful eyes.
Then I take a breath
close my eyes
make a choice
take a risk
and wave back.
After school,
the silence of the quarry
is shattered
by the rumblings of a plane.
I look up from my pages,
track the movement
with my eyes.
It leaves
a white stain
across the sky;
I wonder who is sitting
in those seats.
I think about those people
where they're going
what they want.
For a few moments,
I picture myself
within that metal bird
flying away
soaring high.
But then
I come back down.
I always come back
d
o
w
n.
Later,
a scratching sound
interrupts my dreams.
I open my eyes
and smile into the red ones
of my favorite monster.
“Where are we going?” I ask him.
The rest crowd behind
with mischievous smirks
glowing eyes
twitching talons and wings and claws.
My sister snores,
unaware of them poking and licking
her sleeping skin.
I ask them
if we are going
into the woods again.
“Better!”
“Up!”
“Climb, climb, climb!”
Bed abandoned
blankets tossed aside
warmth forgotten
I follow them
out the window
through the trees
toward the mountain
that once was the hill
in my backyard.
Wind nibbles and whispers;
I crane my neck,
try to see the top of the rock
even as the night sky
keeps it hidden.
I hesitate;
snow swirls all around.
My friends are already climbing,
calling down to me.
I summon courage,
begin the ascent,
haul and strain
up the side of the mountain.
They shout encouragement on either side,
howl like a pack of wolves.
The higher I get,
the sharper
the cold's teeth.
Finally,
gasping and burning,
I stand tall on the peak.
My head brushes
against the moon.
The monsters shriek and dance,
their voices echo in delight.
I don't move
for a few moments,
enjoy the stillness,
listen to the stars
murmur my name.
Then I spread my arms,
close my eyes,
and fly.
Once
I asked them why.
Out of all the children
in all the world,
why they chose to
tap
scrape
claw
on
my
window.
“Because you're lonely,” they answered.
“We look for the lonely ones.”
Sunlight shines down
on my blank pages.
In the brief space of time
before Matthew arrives,
I wait beneath my tree.
My neighbor walks past.
Today she stops
clears her throat
looks at me.
“Hi,” she says. “I'm Anna.”
Before I can give her
a piece of myself
in return,
someone calls her name
and she hurries away.
It's as if she is a puppet
and someone has jerked her strings.
Anna sits with Mary Mosley,
wears a smile so big
it looks painful.
My mouth has forgotten how
to do such a thing
until Matthew appears
and it remembers.
My father sits at the kitchen table,
head in his hands,
jobless
sleepless
hopeless.
He doesn't have to tell us
that he didn't get the job.
With bleary eyes
he goes to the fridge,
pulls out a beer.
Mom comes in;
the fighting starts.
I go upstairs
sit by my bedroom window
and wait for the sky to darken.
Tonight my friends tell me
we are going to the moon.
“How do we get there?” I ask.
“Jump!”
“As high as you can.”
“Leap into the air!”
We link hands
like cutout paper figures
bend our knees
count to three.
I keep my eyes open
the entire time
to watch the world
shoot pastâ
or am I
shooting past the world?
We land,
feet bouncing off the ground
stars glittering
everything glowing.
The Earth seems so far away
so gently blue
that I struggle to remember
why living there is so hard.
Then,
for hours or days,
we float through the weightless air.
I only remember
who I am and where we are
when my favorite monster
tugs at my nightgown.
“You dropped this,” he hisses,
holding one sock in his claws.
I smile
and close his fist
around it.
“Who needs socks,” I say,
“when your feet don't touch the ground?”
In the morning,
I hit the ground
with a jarring
thud
.
The F at the top of my test
is so red,
it looks like the paper is bleeding.
I know
that thoughts of Matthew
sleepless nights
are to blame.
Our teacher keeps talking
and everyone else keeps listening;
some of them
hold shiny grades.
I slump,
prop my chin on my hand,
turn my head.
Through the window
I see flowers begin to shrivel
and the world turn to brown.
There are so few things
that make sense
and countless things
that don't.
I sit beneath my tree,
stare so hard at that F,
the paper should have holes.
The apple in my hand feels rotten
goes uneaten.
“Tell your parents,” the teacher said.
“We need a signature.”
The fear in my eyes
must have been obvious,
like a bleeding wound
or a broken heart.
She might think this will
disappoint my parents,
but the truth is
I'm worried it won't.
Suddenly
movement above me,
a familiar scent
of shampoo
of kindness
of possibility
taunts my senses.
“Hi,” Matthew says.
“Hi,” I say in return.
I resist the urge
to pat my hair,
fix my shirt,
and hope I look pretty
in this slant
of sunlight.
The red-marked test
catches the wind
and Matthew's eye.
“Math? I can help you with that.”
For a few seconds
my heart stops beating;
I don't tell Matthew
I'm good at math,
that failing tests
isn't something
I normally do.
Instead,
another person with my voice
whispers, “Okay.”
He grins
takes a bite
of my apple.
I can feel Mary Mosley's glare.
The most beautiful girl
jealous
that the most beautiful boy
is sitting with me.
Matthew hands back the apple,
and when he's not looking,
I bite out of the same spot he did.
For the first time,
I understand
the purpose of a kiss.
I arrive at Matthew's
with a heart full of hope.
It feels
strange and wonderful
to go somewhere newâ
not the sky
up a mountain
through the desert
but here on Earth.
I won't be missed at home.
The place where he lives
is as perfect as he is with
paved streets
prim trees
elegant mailboxes.
A green door
beckons.
I raise a trembling fist,
knock three times,
feel vibrations
in every bone.
Before I can prepare
or even take a breath
Matthew is there,
smiling at me with those sky-blue eyes.
“Come in,” he says.
I step over the threshold,
inhale his intoxicating smell
as it rolls off his skin.
We walk through the empty house;
he leads me to his room.
I wonder for the thousandth time
if he can hear my pulse,
wild and erratic.
A goldfish
swims round and round
on Matthew's desk.
“That's Good Listener,” he tells me
with a sheepish grin.
“What do you tell him?” I ask,
settling down beside Matthew,
so tense that my spine
has become a plank of wood.
The boy from New Orleans
frowns
wrinkles his brow
then says, “I tell him the things no one else wants to hear.”
All I can think
as Matthew opens a textbook
teaches me about numbers
is that I am jealous
of a goldfish.
No more delaying,
no more avoiding.
I walk home from Matthew's house,
find my father
in the kitchen.
Without an excuse or explanation,
I lay the bleeding test
on the table in front of him.
He barely glances my way,
just mutters, “Do better next time.”
My response
is so faint,
it's barely a breath
of air.
“I will.”
We sit in silence,
the air as cold in here
as it is
out there.
The tree
beyond the kitchen window
rustles in the wind.
Leaves curl and wither
till the branches are almost bare.
Trees
always know when to let go
and when to start again.
If only people
were so smart.
There are days
I imagine
everything opposite.
People walk on ceilings
pour upward
cry inward.
My mother asks to read my stories,
my father tells me that he's proud.
There is nothing outside my window
but leaves and stars and air.
I have
never felt lonely.
That night
I open my window
to a world of
lapping waves
and endless depths.
My friends
drift by on a boat,
waving urgently,
calling for me
to jump.
I land on deck
with a squeal.
The moon and stars
loom close enough
to touch.
All around me
everything familiar
has vanished.
No roads
or houses
or trees.
We run
to the bow
grab hold of ropes
lean over so far
we could easily fall.
“Look down, look down!” the monsters shriek.
I gaze
into the darkness below,
see the hulking shape
of something that lives
in the water.
The shape moansâ
a whale!
âits mournful greeting
touches my soul.
Suddenly
the sky flashes.
I jerk back,
my friends
begin to clamber
for the ropes.
“A storm!”
“A storm is coming!”
“Hurry, hurry!”
We work together,
turn the boat around,
leave the whale behind.
Once we reach the house,
I climb violently inside.
Dana snores away
in the corner.
The monsters shout their good-byes,
sail away
between one lightning bolt
and the next.
I slam the window down;
rain pounds against the glass.