Authors: Kristin Elizabeth Clark
Freakboy (10 page)
I can tell she's being carefulâ
                        “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 boyfriendâ
                            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 herâ
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 aroundâDaniella
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 TÃa Rosa was grateful
having another “adult” there
helping with bills, kids.
He worked under the tableâ
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,
         Â
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 offâ
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).
Ohâand 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