FOUR SPARKS FALL: A NOVELLA

by

Tiffany Noonan

A Thesis Submitted to the Faculty of

The Dorothy F. Schmidt College of Arts and Letters

in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of

Master of Fine Arts

Florida Atlantic University

Boca Raton, Florida

May 2006

Copyright by Tiffany Noonan 2006

II

FOUR SPARKS FALL: A NOVELLA

by Tiffany Noonan

This thesis was prepared under the direction of the candidate's thesis advisor, Dr. Jason Schwartz, Department of English, and has been approved by the members of her supervisory committee. It was submitted to the faculty of The Dorothy F. Schmidt College of Arts and Letters and was accepted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Fine Arts.

SUPERVISORY COMMITTEE:

~~ Dr. Andrew Furman, Thesis Committee

~.t:Ba~,

Dr. Andrew Furman

c;q~ Dr. William Covino

hmidt allege of Arts & Letters

1t;j!/l ]e(J(;, Date

Ill

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

There's never enough room to thank everyone, particularly when you've been

lucky enough to receive the incredible support I have. I couldn't have asked for a better

group of peers, colleagues, and friends. This novella owes a lot to my writing community,

but I would like to thank Su Carlson, Kathrine Wright, Scarlett Rooney, Laura Quinlan,

Nicole Oquendo, and Jeanne Genis in particular.

Thanks to Papatya Bucak for answering my questions with all the right answers,

Andrew Furman for his attention to detail and kind feedback, and Jason Schwartz for

advice on structure, language, and approach. They were the best advisory committee a

student could have.

Special thanks to Christopher Wells for his valuable input in the early stages of

this project-and for his continued support and friendship during revision.

And finally, this project would not have been possible without the continued love,

friendship, and guidance of Erica Bercegeay and Angel Campoamor. I will never be able

to repay them for everything they've given me, but the least I can do is tell them that I

know.

IV

Author:

Title:

Institution:

Thesis Advisor:

Degree:

Year:

ABSTRACT

Tiffany Noonan

four sparks fall : a novella

Florida Atlantic University

Dr. Jason Schwartz

Master of Fine Arts

2006

four sparks fall is a complex narrative, darting among symbols, languages,

puzzles, and styles. There is the story of Susanna, our narrator, and there is a diary of

May, Susanna's twin sister- a story within a story. To further complicate matters,

both narratives are "interrupted" by May, who manifests an uncanny ability to project

her thoughts into Susanna's mind. In a sense, both characters know and do not know

what is happening, and their struggle to come to terms with multiple ways of

"knowing" is manifested in the structure, which experiments with visual layout and

language in new, interesting ways. This project began as an experiment in "organic

writing": the process of writing without a direction or end in mind. One of my

weaknesses as a writer is a tendency to "over-think" my work, and four sparks fall

represents my attempt to address this issue.

v

To Mom, as promised.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

(SORRY SPELLS A LOT) ............................................................................................................... 1

(TO CARRY ROTE OR NOTE) ........................................... ......... ................................. ......... ......... 13

(RARE BEE SPINES, NEW) .......................................................................................................... 23

(WE GOOD LIGHTS) .................................................................................................................. 33

(FOUR SPARKS FALL) ............................................................................................................... 45

(HOLLOW ACT) ................................ , ...................................................................................... 55

(WHO SAW A LOCO DAME) ......................................................................................................... 65

(NO ROSE SLAT) ..................................................................................................................... 76

(OUR LADY OF THE PINK) .......................................................................................................... 88

Proposal for four sparks fall .............................................................................................. 96

Works Cited ..................................................................................................................... 1 02

VI

1

(SORRY SPELLS A LOT)

I thought May's fingernails looked

( ... CHIPPED ALREADY? SHIT. NOW I HAVE TO REPAINT THEM.)

like oyster shells that morning, the kind they use for driveway gravel here in Baton

Rouge. All pale and ragged at the edges, pearly ridges fading white to purple to brown­

black. The gulf in a dozen shades, crushed under tires. She was rolling back, an April tide

on wheels.

Dad steered the minivan into the street. Riding away. I looked at her arms- Ionic

columns with hands curled under her chin-and wondered if she could hear me like I

heard her. Hear me thinking goodbye.

(I'M GOING AWAY NOW, SUSANNA. ALMOST GONE. BAI-BAI.)

Those were her thoughts, her voice. I listened; I'd had plenty of time to learn how. Her

thoughts, sheets ofbubblewrap smuggled under school desks. I wouldn't remember that

she was there, until she twisted, pop-pops reminding me.

May's impressions told me where they were-at least twenty seconds out of the

neighborhood. Speeding past the Shenandoah sign, down Old Jefferson, and out to

Airline Highway. On their way to Cracker Barrel before a full day of shopping. If I'd

been there, I'd have started writing a list of everything that May needed to buy:

• Comforter (extra-long twin) • Pots • Cellphone

• Hotplate • Pans • Cordless phone

• Towels • Dishes • Laptop

• Hamper • Silverware • Printer

• Sheets • Mini-fridge • Clothes

I had a head for little things. May, on the other hand, was the kind of girl who wrote

manifestos on napkins:

(I WRITE: f SCRAPS FOR WRITING: "BEAUMONT DRAWL"- USE IN A STORY­

"I LIVE IN A BAG. MY CAT DEMANDS I GIVE HER THE BAG."= FUNNY-

THE GREEN OF TIFERET IN CORDOVERO = GREEN OF A BOILED EGG YOLK

-REMEMBER FOR THE SHEKHINAH POEM IN THE TREE OF LIFE CYCLE.

DAMN, THESE PENS ARE SHIT ON PAPER TOWELS.)

The girl who wanted to be the writer hated lists and word puzzles. She relied on Mom

and Dad to make lists for her, and she had me solve problems.

Every day, Mom sat on the patio and did the crossword. When she was done, she

2

set the paper aside, leaving the Scramblewords and Cryptograms for me. This was an

important gesture. By letting me sit outside and work the puzzles, she said, -I let you do

this because I want you to think I'm supportive. I want you to pretend I have faith in you.

All without opening her mouth.

May didn't believe in word puzzles. She said they weren't rea/language, just a

game for losers with delusions of literary genius. Bitch. Like she could do any better. All

that I.Q., and she couldn't even solve the old Cracker Barrel peg puzzle.

(HEY, IT'S THAT PUZZLE SUSANNA LIKES SO MUCH.

"JUMP ALL BUT ONE GAMES"

JUMP EACH TEE AND REMOVE IT

LEAVE ONLY ONE-YOU'RE A GENIUS

LEAVE TWO AND YOU'RE PURTY SMART

LEAVE THREE AND YOU'RE JUST PLAIN DUMB

LEAVE FOUR OR MORE AND YOU'RE JUST PLAIN

"EG-NO-RA-MOOSE"

BUT I NEVER GET ANY BETTER THAN PURTY SMART.)

I would have solved the damn thing this way:

1. Define top peg as 1 4. 6 over 5--+4 8. 12 over 8--+5 12. 3 over 6--+10

2. Leave 1 empty 5. 1 over 3--+6 9. 14 over 13--+12 13. 15 over 10--+6

3.Movepegfrom4 6. 7over4--+2 10.11overl2--+13 14. 6over5--+4

3

over 2-+ 1 7. 10 over 6-+3 11. 13 over 9-+6 15. 4 over 2-+1

GENIUS, psychic, or not, I couldn't force my sister's hand to solve the Cracker Barrel

peg puzzle.

I felt something. Premature guilt, maybe perfom1ance anxiety. Like stealing and

mutilating my sister's diary wouldn't be enough. Too childish; a stupid prank. But I knew

she'd be upset. I would've pitched and whined something like, -!fit was me, you'd

punish me forever! Accent on the middle "eeeh." Dragged out for at least two whole

seconds for maximum eeehffect. But I didn't just want to upset her; I wanted her to figure

out why I'd done it. Why I hated her so much.

There I was, all pumped up with righteous anger, and I actually thought, -Yeah,

I'm going to do this. Gats 2 B a gangsta, or whatever it is the cool kids say.

(DORK.)

Whatever. -Hey, you dumb bitch, I cursed to her in my head, No more talking to

yourself, like you 're some hashibashi boy waiting with his dick in hand for the porn to

load.

May made that up. She just came home, Pocky biscuits poking out the comer of

her mouth, and said, -Did you know hashi means bridge and chopsticks in Japanese?

Some kid in class kept translating them wrong, and he kept complaining in class. God,

what a fucking hashibashi idiot.

Hashibashi: whiny; pathetic. A bridge made out of chopsticks is pretty pathetic.

Then again, I've never had Legos. Or a twin language.

4

May loved inventing new words. I used them, but they were hers. I just gave them

power, offered a bit of my tongue. Facio utfacias: I do in order that you may do.

I'd been planning my secret vandalism for days, ever since Mom and Dad had

announced they were taking May shopping with their 2002 tax refund. I even lied to get

the alone time. Gave up shrimp alfredo at the Macaroni Grille- my favorite.

(I DEFINITELY WANT TO GO TO COPELAND'S CHEESECAKE BISTRO FOR DINNER.)

I told them I was sick, and they bought it. They always did because I was always sick. It

was so easy for me to fake it. I'd practically etched the drill into my muscles:

1. Wear that hideous pink and yellow bathrobe your aunt got you for

Christmas three years ago. The one with the duck embroidered on the

breast. Yes, that one. You wouldn't be caught dead in it if you were

well. Suck it up.

2. Lick your palms and rub together for that sticky, clammy feel.

3. Muss up your hair.

4. Slap your cheeks for a perfect fever-flush.

I've always been the delicate child, the pipecleaner. I cleared the way for the other

daughter. Born at 11 :49 PM on a Saturday night. It was a nightmarish, miserable

experience, according to Mom and Dad. Even then I was a pain in their asses. Crotches.

Then, first thing Sunday morning, the other one-the golden one-was born.

Twelve minutes. Twelve fucking minutes that became an entire day's worth of

5

difference. Saturday's child works hard for a living, but the one born on the Sabbath Day

is fair and wise, good and gay.

(BUT TODAY IS SATURDAY.)

Susanna and May Florence. Mom wanted to name me April because of that old rhyme

about what its showers bring. Dad said that was corny and suggested Susanna.

-1 had an ancestor on my mother's side of the family, he said as the doctors

rushed to put me on a ventilator, named Susanna. She was a pioneer, a real trouper like

this one.

More like Artemis and Apollo, except with the strain all backwards. You know

Leto had her moon goddess daughter first, right? And Artemis helped move Leto to a

safer location so Apollo could come out. That was how She got that childbirth protectress

gig, even though She was a virgin.

The Apollo-child was supposed to be the hard birth, but May just came right out.

Which proves, I guess, that she was never a goddess. Then again, everything gross and

sickening and difficult glided out with me, umbilical cord all tangled like a cheap pair of

earbuds.

I wondered if Artemis ever got pissed that She had to help deliver Her brother, yet

She had to settle for second-place silver. Cool metal, forged underwater. Bet She washed

Him, too. Maybe that's why people say you need hot water when a baby's coming.

Because Artemis used cool water, but Her brother boiled it up. Cooked the gunk right off

His skin, left Him gleaming.

Not quite Robert Graves.

6

The plan was for them to spend the whole day out. Why was I so nervous? Hell,

they were probably ordering breakfast while I was worrying about them walking in on

me.

(I'M PASSING TIME BY WANDERING AROUND THE COUNTRY STORE. AFTER A FEW

MINUTES, I NOTICE THE CANDY-STICKS DISPLAY. PHIL LOVES CLOVE, & LYLA WOULD EAT

THE BLUEBERRY ONES ALL DAY IF SHE COULD. I DIG AROUND MY PURSE, CHECKING FOR

SOME SMALL BILLS. FOR A SECOND I CONSIDER GETTING SOMETHING FOR RYAN, BUT I

DECIDE THAT HE WOULDN'T WANT ANYTHING. CRACKER BARREL REALLY ISN'T HIS KIND OF

PLACE.

DAD & MOM CALL MY NAME, POINT TO THE WAITRESS. I REMIND MYSELF TO GET A

FEW SMALL PRESENTS ON THE WAY OUT, THEN DASH OVER TO THE TABLE. SIT. LOOK

FRIENDLY. WHEN THE WAITRESS-ALL GRINS & BALLPOINT PENS-ASKS FOR MY ORDER, I

SMILE RIGHT BACK.

"I'D LIKE WHOLE-GRAIN PANCAKES, PLEASE," I SAY, "WITH CINNAMON APPLES ON

THE SIDE. I'D LIKE SUGAR-FREE SYRUP WITH MY PANCAKES, IF THAT'S OKAY. ALSO, I'D LIKE

SOME COFFEE & A GLASS OF WATER. I WANT TO BE AWAKE & HAVE LOTS OF ENERGY

SINCE WE'RE GOING TO BE SHOPPING ALL DAY TODAY. I'M MOVING BECAUSE I GOT INTO

LSMSA.")

And I didn't.

("ONCE WE FINISH BREAKFAST," MOM CHIMES IN, "IT'S OFF TO TANGER OUTLET,

7

THEN THE MALL OF LOUISIANA & DINNER AT EITHER MACARONI GRILLE OR COPELAND'S

CHEESECAKE BISTRO. WHATEVER SHE WANTS."

MOM LOOKS AT ME & FLASHES HER I'M-SO-PROUD SMILE. THE WAITRESS LOOKS

LIKE HER OWN SMILE'S SEWN ON. CROOKED. PAINFUL.)

LSMSA-Louisiana School for Math, Science, and the Arts. A residential high school

for gifted juniors and seniors. Located about three hundred miles from Baton Rouge on

the Northwestern State University campus in picturesque Natchitoches. Home of the

annual Christmas Lights Festival and the Steel Magnolias tour. Only the highest­

achieving students from across the state were allowed to attend LSMSA.

- But you 're too delicate, Susanna, Mom said when I asked to apply. Living in a

dorm will aggravate your condition. and who will take you to the doctor? You're better

off at Baton Rouge High. You're doing so well there, anyway! Then she and Dad went on

their whole you'll-be-valedictorian spiel.

Together: -Wonder Twins Powers, Activate!

May: -Shape of an Honor's Scholar!

Susanna: - Form of Most-Likely-To-Succeed!

In their superhero dreams, we were perfect, twin satellites in tandem orbits. Same ash­

blond hair, cut in layers. Same brown eyes. Proportions between neck and shoulder,

curve of hip, rise of feet on tip-toe- all the same. Well, I was a little shorter, but our

parents might as well have bought matching tights.

I tucked my hands into my bathrobe pockets. In the left pocket, I fidgeted with my

8

X-acto knife. The rough-edged cap scratched against a gluestick. My other pocket

flopped under with the weight of my first-gen iPod. Oh, excuse me. May's old first-gen

iPod that I inherited when she got her new one. Her newer model was a present from our

uncle on the occasion of her glorious acceptance into LSMSA.

-For the long car ride to Natchitoches, he said. We can always use more music

in our lives. Then he smiled and promised her a digital camera so she could take pictures

of herself in Shelby Eaten ton Latch erie's dress.

I decided to play a little game of"iPod Magic 8-Ball." I put my iPod on random,

then asked it a series of questions, hoping the music titles would provide answers.

1. What do you think of me, iPod?: Joan Osborne- The Man in the Long

Black Coat

2. Will I have a happy life?: Marilyn Manson- New Model No. 15

3. What do my friends really think of me?: Tori Amos- Not the Red

Baron

4. How can I make myself happy?: White Stripes- I'm Finding It Harder

to Be a Gentleman

5. What should I do with my life?: October Project- Wolf Moon

6. Will I ever have children?: Sailor Moon - Muunraito Densetsu

[Moonlight Legend]

7. Will I die happy?: Tori Amos- The Wrong Band

8. Can you give me some advice?: Roberta Flack- Killing Me Softly

with His Song

9. What do you think happiness is?: Harvey Danger- Terminal Annex

9

10. Any final words?: Frank Sinatra (feat. Gloria Estefan)- Come Rain or

Come Shine

No wonder I thought fortune-telling was such a fucking crock. With a snort I snapped off

the iPod and opened the door to May's room.

She kept her diary in the top drawer of her nightstand. Just in case she woke up

and decided to write a novel about her dream. I jimmied the drawer open, toppling a stack

of mahou shoujo comics, Cosmo back issues, and origami guides onto the floor. The

largest origami book fell open to a series of images detailing how to make oribina.

Origami, paper folding. Oribina, doll folding. Kami, meaning paper, the hard -k

softening to-g in -gami.

(KAMI ALSO MEANT GOD, OR GODS-WHICH IS WHY JAPANESE MAGICIANS USED PAPER

DOLLS AS FETISHES.)

In the same way, hina-the word for doll, chick, or young girl-became -bina. I thought

of hashibashi, the repetition of the -h consonant rounding its feet into -b. Suddenly,

May's word seemed less silly.

There, on the top-a spiral bound journal, blue cover, nice scans of astronomical

guides to the moon. Not quite what I expected from May. Somehow, I thought it would

be some neon-sequined monstrosity. I opened it and read the silver ink on the inside

cover:

)) * PROPERTY OF MAY FLORENCE * ({ 10

NO SNOOPS! THIS MEANS YOU, LOSER!!!

©

Such neat, even block letters. I uncapped my X-acto and slowly traced rectangles around

them. Peeled back, exposing whiteboard viscera. I set the -r aside, cut a sliver of glue off

the stick with my X-acto, put it on the back of the -r. Positioning it where the -1 had been

proved a bit tricky, but after a minute, I got something like:

)) * P _OPE_ OF M_ Y F_ENCE * <r:

NO _NO_! THIS M_AN_ YOU, jRjOSE_!!!

©

I had thought about blaming this on Ryan, her boyfriend, but there was no was I could

pass this off as someone else's work. I was the collagist. Besides, he wasn't smart enough

to think of something like this. Of taking these letters and rearranging them. Morphing

the text into the gibberish she said every fucking day.

As I started to form sorry out of the confiscated letters, I wondered if May had

finished breakfast.

(I NIP THE CORNER OF THE BULB OF CREAMER, SQUEEZE UNTIL A FINE WHITE LINE

SHOOTS FROM THE HOLE.

"THAT'S DISGUSTING!" MOM SAYS.

"NO, IT'S AWESOME, SEE?" I POINT TO THE DELICATE FOAM ON THE TOP OF MY

CUP, COURTESY OF THE PRESSURIZED STREAM OF CREAMER. "IT'S LIKE A LAZY

11

CAPPUCCINO."

"THAT'S REALLY SMART," DAD OBSERVES, RUFFLING MY HAIR. "I KNEW THERE

WAS A REASON WE WERE SENDING YOU TO THAT SCHOOL.")

I used the edge of the X-acto to flatten the letters into words. The dry ones I pushed into a

pile, picking them up one by one with licked fingertips. They rolled back and forth in the

little valleys where the spiral binding gapped. The other letters, damp with glue, curled

like leaves. Like the-! becoming a slippery -r in Nihongo. In the diary.

I licked my lips, surprised to discover they were paper-tear rough.

12

2

(TO CARRY ROTE OR NOTE)

As I let the glue dry, I went into the kitchen and filled up Dad's travel mug with

that thick, pulpy orange juice only I liked. Everyone else in my house liked the pulp-free

kind, but I preferred the kind that actually resembles real oranges. Not from concentrate.

My best friend Phil liked the high-pulp OJ, too; the thin stuffreminded him ofSunny

Delight. His mother liked to mix Sunny D in her daily gin smoothie.

-Part of a nutritious, alcoholic breakfast, he said. A real get-up-and-go kinda

drink.

As I sipped from the mug, I thought of good ol' Phil LeClaire. Our blue-eyed

babyface with a trucker's mouth, and best friend since middle school. He was already

smoking by the time we met him, though he didn't start wearing eyeliner till high school.

That's when his clothes took a tum for the goth. He was still pretty, though. Also, a real

genius at foreign languages. He taught himself French, and he was studying Latin,

German, and Japanese in school.

If you looked at his family, you'd ask where he got it. We used to joke that his

dad's name-David Michael LeClaire-sounded like a name you'd hear on the news

attached to some politician accused of racketeering, embezzlement, and animal cruelty.

13

That his mom looked like someone who'd fuck a bedpost if she could climb that high.

Turned out we weren't far off in either case.

Mr. David LeClaire was a big-time New Orleans lawyer who wasn't exactly

known for warm-fuzzies. If he weren't so fond of bourbon, you'd think he drank kitten

milkshakes with every meal. Mrs. David LeClaire was his trophy wife, always shopping

or boozing it up at the country club. The pair of them moved from New Orleans because

"it was too full ofniggers." Same with Baton Rouge, so they said. The whole

desegregation case, in their minds, was one big conspiracy to help militant blacks take

over the South. They would have been part of the White Flight, but they didn't want to

move again. They settled for Baton Rouge High.

-At least, Mrs. LeClaire said, Philip isn't in one of those black schools.

-Just one full of fags, replied Mr. LeClaire. We should have stayed in New

Orleans. He would have been better dealing with those faggot priests at Jesuit.

Everyone knew the LeClaires were sleeping with other people, but no one was

stupid enough to say so. Mr. LeClaire had at least one mistress in New Orleans, and Mrs.

LeClaire often picked up college boys working the club greens. But on those rare

occasions when they had to be together

(-&NOT JUST PASSING EACH OTHER IN A CROWDED ROOM-)

they made nicey-nice. A little too nicey-nice.

-Oh, honey, said the Missus. We never have enough time for each other.

-You're right, my love. I'll take time off work. The other partners can take care

of themselves.

14

-The country club can live without me for a few days.

Then cue the drunken nibbling until they exited stage right to find a convenient

flat surface.

The first time I saw his parents do that, we were freshmen.

-They're totally gross, I said.

-Yeah, Phil agreed, but it's all a big act. They only fuck when they're in public.

May rolled her eyes. Dude, are they exhibitionists or freaks or something?

-Well, it's more a case of Baton Rouge being the biggest small-town in the

world. People talk, so the parental units think they've got to be discreet, but they're

fucking morons if they think no one sees it. He brushed a hand through his hair, shook the

little strings of gold off his fingers. Hey, will one of you go swipe me a Sterno from the

buffet table? I need a cig, but I can 't find my lighter.

Later that night, when Phil, May, and I were hanging out behind the ballroom, he

compared his parents to Zeus and Hera.

-They treat me like I'm Hephaestus. Like I'm ugly or lame or something.

Appropriately, smoke billowed out of his mouth. I thought to myself that May was

probably confused by the analogy. Mom looks at my eyes and bitches about how she went

so wrong, or, when she's drunk enough, how it's all Dad's fault for fucking me up. Oh,

and let's not even get into Dad's whole "queer son "spiel. Gods of my fucking misery, I

swear.

-Could be worse, May said.

He shrugged. -I guess. I could be missing my liver.

-You could, said May, have a jellyfish shoved up your ass.

-You could have to translate Ovid, I joked. Oh, wait. Never mind. You'd do that

15

anyway.

-Hey! His face lit up. Maybe if !jizz on the ground, I can make a king of Athens.

Think I should try? He stuck his hand into his overlarge pants. We squealed and laughed

and called him a pervert.

(IT'S EASIER TO LAUGH AT FUCKED-UP PARENTS THAN TO DEAL WITH THEM.)

Once I finished the orange juice, I refilled the mug and went back to May's room to

retrieve the diary and my supplies. I didn't want to finish my little project in her room,

for some reason.

First page.

MOM BOUGHT ME THIS JOURNAL AT BARNES & NOBLE TODAY BECAUSE

SHE WANTED ME TO WRITE POETRY ...

No one saw me goading the blade across and down, or the gluestick wobbling next to my

white-pink knuckles.

16

MOM BOUGHT ME THIS JOURNAL AT BARNES & NOBLE TODAY BE_A_SE

SHE WANTED ME TO W_l_ P _EjOjUjTj . SHE THINKS THAT ME WINNING

THAT STUPID YOUNG AUTHOR'S CONTEST MEANS I WANT TO BE A POET

OR SOMETHING. BUT EVERY TIME I LOOK ON THE BACK OF SOME LADY'S

POETRY COLLECTION, I REALIZE THAT I'LL NEVER LOOK THAT PRETTY.

NO, I CAN'T BE A POET.

TODAY PHIL PUT A N_E IN MY BOOKBAG WHEN I WASN'T

LOOKING. IT SAID THAT SOMEONE'S BEEN SPREADING SOME RUM_

THAT I GOT THE YOUNG AUTHOR'S AWARD BECAUSE I FUCKED MR.

CAVANAUGH, BUT HE KNEW IT WAS_'_ TRUE. I C_ULDN'T TELL PHIL THAT

I'D DREAMED ABOUT MR. C EVER SINCE THAT DAY HE TOUCHED MY HAIR.

HE BRUSHED HIS FINGERS THRU MY BANGS & TOLD ME I WAS THE MOST

TALENTED YOUNG WRITER HE'D EVER HAD THE PLEASURE OF TEACHING.

EVERY TIME I THINK ABOUT THE WAY HE SAID "PLEASURE," I SHIVER.

WHY DO GIRLS WANT TO BLAME EVERYTHING BAD ON SEX?

ASSHOLES.

I CAN'T HELP IT IF I'MjSTUPIDjER THAN jSMARTj PEOPLE IN MY

CLASSES.

May won first place for her haiku cycle about soft drinks available on campus. I wrote a

sestina about the pelican on the stained-glass window in Most Blessed Sacrament. My six

17

words:

blood I sun I blue I grass I formula I field

and I only got third place. Third place for a sestina!

I was particularly angry because I knew May made up words just to fit the 5-7-5

form. Instead of using soda, pop, or whatever people call that carbonated shit that comes

in cans, she used koldrank.

Mello Y ello -+ frogpiss Coke -+ crankwater

And so on. She wrote most of the haiku in shower-door condensation the night before

submissions were due.

(EVEN I KNEW THEY WEREN'T GOOD.)

The judges called her a natural. A homegrown street-poet. One of them called her "the

Basho of Baton Rouge." Another said she totally reinvented the form, blending

Ginsburg's urban pastoral with Ikkyu's irreverent, Zen-tongue-in-cheek observation. All

encouraged her to seek publication.

It was tricky work fitting the letters and words into the gaps, especially since she

wrote in those even block letters. May never believed in capitalization. She said

Cummings didn't do it, so why should she? I told her Cummings was special, but she said

that she was, too. Can you imagine what her IM chats are like?

18

MayMaiMae5: OMG, I DID THE CRAZIEST THING TODAY!

PbiJipsHedSkrewDl: Really? What was it?

MayMaiMae5: I WAS@ THE KLEINPETER FARM WITH MY FAMILY & I HAD TO

HELP MY UNCLE JACK OFF A HORSE!

PbiJipsHedSkrewDl: *raises eyebrow* Oh really? Hmm. I'd like to

buy a shift key, Pat.

MayMaiMae5: HAHAHA UR SO MEAN ROFL

Okay, so that might be an exaggeration. But seriously, that - JI-j distinction? Fucking

important.

Gluing my cut-outs back onto the diary pages was like trying to squeeze into jeans

two sizes too small. God,

(I 'M GAINING WEIGHT AGAIN. I POKE THE ROLL OF SKIN SQUOOZING OVER THE

EDGE OF MY JEANS. SHOULDN'T HAVE EATEN THAT THIRD PANCAKE. ALREADY GETTING

FAT. IF I DO SOME SIT-UPS & JUMPING JACKS IN THE CHANGING ROOM, COULD I BURN IT

OFF? HOW MANY CALORIES IS A PANCAKE, ANYWAY? MAYBE I SHOULD DRINK SOME TEA.

THAT'LL HELP. I HOPE I DON'T HAVE TO THROW UP. I HATE STICKING MY HANDS IN MY

MOUTH. UGH,)

what a mess. I licked my fingertips and thought of Van Gogh as I cut out - e, - a, - r.

19

SUSANNA BORROWED MY FAVORITE TOP TODAY, THE ONE WITH

THE BLACK LACING ON THE SLEEVES. IT LOOKS BETTER ON HER THAN

ME, I THINK IT'S BECAUSE SHE'S SMALLER. I WISH I WERE A LITTLE

SHORT_, THEN MY JEANS WOULD FIT BETTER. MAYBE IF I LOST A FEW

POUNDS, I'D SHRINK A LITTLE. THEN I'D BE PETITE & CUTE LIKE HER.

I SKIPPED LUNCH & ONLY HAD_ HALF-BREAST OF CHICKEN &

SOME GREEN BEANS FOR DINNER. MOM STEAMED THEM WITHOUT

BUTTER, & I ONLY ADDED A LITTLE SALT. AFTERWARD I JOGGED IN MY

ROOM FOR 30 MINUTES. NO CHANGE ON THE SCALE.

May and I were born identical twins, but I grew three inches less. I just didn 't have the

energy to grow. I had pneumonia three times in my first four years- complications of

asthma and chronic bronchitis. Spent at least 65% of my pre-kindergarten years in the

hospital. In theory, we had the same genetic predispositions, but no cold ever slowed her

down. She never worried about flu vaccines. Me, the doctor put me in line after the old

Shenandoah biddies.

When she was four, May asked the doctors if they could make her sick so she

could be in the hospital with me. He said no. I had no idea she was still doing that eleven

years later.

I absently pushed the leftover letters around with my nail to spell things.

20

Cool, with six -o's. Ass, with three-s's. Now sass. Tory. No story. Cry. To carry-

("HONEY," MOM SAYS, "DON'T YOU WANT SOME NICE THINGS FOR YOUR ROOM?"

I SIGH & FLOP INTO A VELVETEEN ARMCHAIR. "THE SCHOOL HAS STRICT RULES

ABOUT WHAT WE CAN & CAN'T BRING. THEY DON'T LET YOU HANG ANYTHING ON THE

WALLS UNLESS YOU COVER THEM WITH BUTCHER PAPER FIRST SO THE PAINT ISN'T

RUINED, & I KNOW FOR A FACTTHAT THEY DON'T LET YOU DRILL HOLES OR USE

THUMBTACKS. EXCEPT IN YOUR PERSONAL CORKBOARD." I POKE THE ARM OF THE CHAIR

WITH EACH EMPHASIZED WORD.

MOM SCANS OVER THE LIST OF RECOMMENDED SUPPLIES FOR INCOMING LSMSA

STUDENTS. "BUT I DON'T SEE ANYTHING HERE THAT SAYS YOU CAN'T HAVE A STORAGE

OTTOMAN."

"I THINK WHAT SHE'S TRYING TO SAY," DAD WHISPERS IN MOM'S EAR, "IS THAT

THE ROOMS MIGHT BE TOO SMALL FOR EXTRA FURNITURE."

"LOOK," I SAY, ROLLING MY EYES, "I'M GOING TO SIT DOWN FOR A BIT, MAKE A

PHONE CALL. YOU GUYS GO ON AHEAD & LOOK AROUND. I'LL CATCH UP."

I PULL MY CELL PHONE OUT OF MY POCKET, LOOK AT THE SCREEN. NO BARS. OUT

OF AREA.

"SHIT." I TURN OFF THE PHONE & SINK BACK INTO THE CHAIR. MY HEAD FILLS WITH

WORDS. SOME NONSENSE, SOME REAL. WITHOUT THINKING, I TRACE LETTERS INTO THE

SIDE OF THE CHAIR, THE NAP PICKING UP MY HALF-CURLING FINGER PATHS. COOOOOOL.

ASSS. SASS. TORY. NO STORY. CRY. TO CARRY-)

21

-rote or note. What did that even mean? Rote was a process or a harp, note was a

musical key or something written. Process and product, word and song. Something Mr.

Cavanaugh would have said in class-that poetry was an integral with a lower limit of

speech and an upper limit of music. Didn't someone else say that first?

I glued the nonsense sentence to the top ofthe page. Each letter grew longer in

comparison to my mouth. My new-formed line looked like a headband holding back

whole fists and snarls of hair.

22

3

(RARE BEE SPINES, NEW)

The next page peeked through the paper windows I had cut in the other pages, and

the edges of some letters clung to the glue like sweater fuzz. I carefully separated the

current page from the next, blotting the excess glue with my finger. The glue turned gray

from the graphite smudges and other dirt on my hands.

I looked out the window. No gray in the sky, just blue and white. No blue and

white on my hands. I imagined somewhere in the Tanger Mall, the piped-in radio

announced, -Baton Rouge weather!

• Partly cloudy today. Highs in the upper • Tonight, cooling down, with a nice breeze

80s. coming in. Lows in the low- to mid-70s.

• 20% chance of scattered showers. • Overall. a beautiful spring day, perfect

• Pollen index is green, meaning those for that trip to the park you've been

with allergies, it's a great day to be planning.

outdoors.

- Now let's get back to the music!

23

("SO SAYETH CHIEF METEOROLOGIST. NO RAIN DANCE NECESSARY. JUST GO

HUNT." I POINT TO DAD & MOM. "HIM GO GET BIG BARGAINS. HER NAME 'SHOPS-WITH­

PLASTIC.' HOW."

MOM HEARS ME, RUSHES OVER, & POPS MY MOUTH WITH THE BACK OF HER

HAND. "SHH, YOU'LL OFFEND SOMEONE! JESUS, WHAT KIND OF DAUGHTER HAVE I

RAISED?")

I looked down at my desk chair, searching for arms. Only mine; my chair didn't have

them. I shouldn't have even expected them. I wanted to move to the armchair in the

living room, rest for a while, get comfy. Let the others go on ahead-

No. Stop.

This was one of the side effects of letting May inside. Her thoughts, like her

words, overcame mine. Her vocabulary invaded my mouth, her sensations tinged mine

with imaginary color- frogpiss green, egg-yolk green,

(&THE PURPLE OF MALKHUT BROKEN INTO FIVE ANGELS, L 'ARC EN CIEL, THE

SHEKHINAH'S DRESS IN ALL THE WORLD'S COLORS)

- and mythology.

Got to finish this. I unscrewed the head of the X-acto handle, carefully slipped the

blade out of the top. Set it aside, popped a replacement into the top. There.

24

I GOT MY FI_ST PAYCHECK FROM GEORGE'S TODAY! IT WASN'T

A LOT SINCE I'M JUST BUSING TABLES & BRINGING FOOD, BUT I MAKE

GOOD TIPS. THE CjRjOOKS WHO WORK IN THE BACK ARE R_ALLY NICE &

HAVE BEEN TAKING CARE OF ME. THEY GIVE ME FREE FOOD SO I DON'T

HAVE TO GO DOWN TO WENDY'S & PAY FO_ CRAP_ FOOD. EVERY

LITTLE BIT HELPS.

WHEN I WENT TO CASH THE CHECK, THEY MADE ME SIGN THE

BACK & PUT MY THUMBPRINT ON THE FRONT. I GUESS THAT'S TO MAKE

SURE I DIDN'T STEAL IT. BUT WHAT IF SUSANNA STOLE IT? WE PROLL Y

DON'T HAVE THE EXACT SAME FINGERPRINTS, EITHER.

MY FINGERS ARE STILL BLACK, CHECK IT OUT_

A faded print underneath the hole where an exclamation point used to be. About half the

size of a gum eraser. She must have rolled her finger back and forth a couple of times. I

placed my own thumb over it. Same size. My fingerprints, printed over her fingerprints.

Swirls and whorls sticking together. Eighty- four

(-NO, EIGHTY-THREE-)

major points of difference between our physical fingerprints, despite sharing a genetic

25

one.

May got her job at George's Southside four months after she turned fifteen.

During the school year, she only worked during the day on Saturday and Sunday. They

let her work some during the week in summer. Only days, though; George's let the older

college students work nights because they could serve alcohol.

WENT TO THE USED BOOKSTORE & BOUGHT MY FIRST BOOK

WITH MY OWN MONEY: MOSES CORDOVERO'S INTRODUCTION TO

KABBALAH: AN ANNOTATED TRANSLATION OF HIS OR NE'ERAV BY IRA

ROBINSON. THE SHOPKEEP HAD NO IDEA WHAT SHE _OLD ME. I PAID $20

FOR IT, BUT IT'S LIKE $100 ONL_E.

IT'S GOOD BUT REAL DENSE. I DON'T GET _LL OF IT, BUT I

WANTED TO GET A "SE_IOUS" BOOK ON THE KABBALAH EVER SINCE PHIL

GAVE ME THE ESSENTIAL KABBALAH. HE SAYS HE GOT THAT ONE FROM

HIS FRIEND L YLA FROM MCKINLEY. THEY MET AT PAGAN'S NIGHT OUT. I

WISH I COULD WORK THE PNO'S_ BUT THE BOSS SAYS I'M TOO YOUNG.

PLUS, MOM & DAD WOULD KILL ME IF THEY KNEW I WAS HANGING OUT

WITH WITCHES.

26

Phil met Lyla Rizzo at one of those Pagan's Night Out meetings that George's Southside

hosted every month. It was kind of strange that May and Lyla had never crossed paths

before Phil introduced them. Once they met, though, they hit it right off. I knew as soon

as I saw those two girls together that Lyla had replaced Phil as May's best friend .

Not that I had a problem with her. Lyla was pretty fucking cool. Her mom, Faye

Rizzo, was a tattoo artist, and it showed when you looked at Lyla. She had seven holes in

each ear, the first ones on either side bigger than quarters. Her black hair was cropped at

the chin, except for two shoulder-length frontlocks dyed pink. She had a stud in the

teardrop-shaped dimple above her lips- Lyla called it a Medusa, though what

relationship it had to the mythological Medusa was a mystery-and two rings through

her lip. She also had three tattoos- an intricate trefoil knot design a tattoo between her

shoulders, a band of stars trailing around her left wrist, and a ribbon of music around her

right arm.

Lyla was supposed to be named Layla

(-AFTER THE SONG, THE ONE SHE LATER HAD TATTOOED ON HER ARM-)

but some moron in Alabama fucked up her birth certificate. A typo. But Lyla learned to

live without the - a, like she learned to live without a father.

The first time May, Phil, and I met Lyla's mom, she baked oatmeal raisin cookies

and gave us all the lemonade we could drink. Mrs. Rizzo's body was covered in ink­

sakura and sparrows, nautical stars and geisha with bared thighs. Bright-blooming roses

and thick-leaved vines and feathered serpents twining around her hips. Her bottom lip

was pierced with a circular bar that twinkled with pink crystal ends. Long, thick titanium

27

bars crisscrossed the shells of her ears. Lyla swore her mother had her nipples and nape

pierced, too. I thought how strange it was that Mrs. Rizzo- the last person our parents

would want us hanging out with-was more a parent than any of them.

On the living room wall, Mrs. Rizzo had hung portraits of her and Lyla together.

Some color, some shadow and white. All serious, artistic studies of their twin, painted

bodies. Both mother and daughter looked completely comfortable in their modified skins.

-I had those taken a couple of months ago by a photography student at LSU,

Mrs. Rizzo said when she noticed me looking at them. He won afew awards for them,

even published them in art magazines. I took some heavy criticism for tattooing and

piercing my daughter. They said she was too young to make that decision, but she's lived

with this her whole life. She knows what it means. Someday, she may decide she doesn't

want to look like this, and if she does, that 's her choice. I'll respect it. But for now, that's

what she wants, and I'm willing to oblige.

-When I got my snakebites, Lyla added, pointing to the twin rings in her lips, Ma

said if I was bad, she'd sew them to my medusa.

Mrs. Rizzo laughed, then excused herself to go meet a client at her shop.

- Where 's your dad? Phil asked once Lyla's mom was out the door.

- Ma doesn 't believe in divorce, so she and my dad are legally separated.

May popped a bit of cookie in her mouth. -Do you ever see him?

- Sometimes. Only when he visits New Orleans. Then he takes me on these guilt­

trip shopping trips where he asks me to pick out whatever I want. Like that 'If make up for

never getting to see him. She rolled her eyes.

- What do you make him buy you? I asked.

Lyla shrugged. - I go to all the expensive boutiques and pick out clothes to

28

auction on eBay. Then I go to all the voodoo supply shops and ask for stuff like

porcupine quills and lucky-hand roots. She looked down and stabbed a cookie with her

finger. One plump raisin popped underneath her nail. I know it's wrong to feel/ike I'm

getting revenge every time he whips out his Mastercard, but I can 't help it.

I'M TRYING TO SAVE SO I CAN GO ON THAT FIELDTRIP TO THE

JAPANESE RESTAURANT INN_ O_L_A_ NEXT MONTH, BUT MOM &

DAD SAY I'VE GOT TO PAY FOR IT ALL MYSELF.jYIESi!j

WHY DO THEY HAVE TO B __ ITCH_ ABOUT IT?

-You idiot, I said aloud, answering the diary, -What parents in their right mind would

let their sophomore daughter go to the French Quarter with an open line of credit? Phil's

would have, but they were drunks. Lyla's dad would have, but he was trying to buy his

daughter back.

BOUGHT 2 PAIRS OF NICE BOOTS FOR REAL CHEAP FROM THE

UNIFORM SHOP OFF OLD JEFFERSON. THE OWNER SAID HE COULD GET

IN TROUBLE FOR SELLING THEM THAT L_W, BUT NO _NE WANTS THEM

29

BECAUSE THEY DON'T MEET THE NEW UNIFORM STANDARDS. PHIL TOLD

ME THAT I COULD SELL THE BOOTS FOR 2X THE PRICE I PAID, EASY. I

THINK I'LL SELL THEM ON EBAY SO I CAN GET EXTRA$$$ FOR XMAS

PRESENTS & FOR THE TRIP.

SCHOOLS HERE ARE SO RIDICULUOUS. STUPID DESEG. CASE &

NOW THIS WHOLE UNIFORM THING. I'M GLAD BRHS DOESN'T HAVE SOME

UGLY UNIFORM. THEY SERIOUSLY NEED TO LET PEOPLE WEAR WHAT

THEY WANT TO SCHOOL. PHIL WEARS WEIRD CLOTHES & PEOPLE THINK

HE LOOKS COOL .. INIOI

Actually, Phil got a lot of shit for his clothes. His parents told him to buy "proper" school

attire, but he used his father's credit to get bulky jeans with a million pockets, band t-

shirts, and steel-toed boots. When his father forced him to pick out dress shirts, he bought

the most expensive ones he could find in black, maroon, and obnoxious pink pastel.

Paired them with his crazy pants and peacock-colored eyeliners every day for three

months.

That was when Mr. LeClaire gave up and wrote his son off as a good-for-nothing

fag. A few days later, Phil bought five silk ties, four pairs of black pinstriped slacks, three

vests, two pristine white shirts, and a bowler hat. He looked like a cross between emocore

and A Clockwork Orange .

By administrative definitions Phil was well-groomed. No underwear outside, no

holes, pants and belt on his waist. Still, he took beatings for the way he looked- and for

30

me.

I turned the page and read ahead a little. Wondered if she ever wrote about--oh.

I saw his name and flinched. Shit, I knew I would eventually reach this part of the

diary. Just hadn't expected it to sting so much.

THERE'S THIS REALLY CUTE BOY NAMED RYAN WHO KEEPS

STARING AT ME IN TENNIS CLASS. HE'S A JUNIOR & HE'S ON THE

STUDENT COUNCIL. THE GIRLS IN GYM KEPT GOSSIPING ABOUT HOW

HE'S A SUCH PLAYER, BUT THEY'RE PROBABLY THE SAME STUPID

BITCHES WHO SAID I FUCKED MR. CAVANAUGH.

I SHOULD ASK HIM OUT. DON'T KNOW WHY HE'D GO OUT WITH

SOMEONE AS FAT & UGLY AS ME, BUT IT COULDN'T HURT. WONDER IF I

CAN GET A BOOK FROM PHIL ON CASTING LOVE SPELLS. OR WHAT IF I

LOST A COUPLE POUNDS? THAT WOULD HELP. OKAY, IF I CAN LOSE FIVE

POUNDS BY NEXT FRIDAY, I'LL ASK HIM OUT.

I'M GOING TO TAPE MY FIRST PAYSTUB IN HERE. MAYBE IT'LL

BRING ME LUCK. WHO KNOWS .. . IF I MANAGE TO LOSE SOME MORE

WEIGHT & NOT LOOK SO UGLY, I CAN GET FAMOUS & THEN IT'LL BE

WORTH SOMETHING.

31

I read the small printout on the stub. The net pay was less than forty dollars, but it was

her forty dollars. I'd never worked before, so I didn't know what it felt like to have

money that was completely yours.

She probably starved herself to ask that asshole out. I shivered. Not because of

Ryan. Not because of the thought of May killing herself to be pretty for him.

Fuck that. I was just cold. Really.

I got up and pulled some clothes out of the closet. A comfy babydoll tee with the

slogan Witch & Famous across the chest. Jeans that flopped over my heels and made me

look even shorter than my actual five feet-

(1 WRITE: l SCRAPS FOR WRITING: "FIVE FEET TALL, BAREFOOT, ON A TALL DAY"=

GOOD DESCRIPTION OF SUSANNA- "SHEKHINAH SLIDES OFF HER

CLOAK I BARES HER NECK I WORN SMOOTH BY KISSES I A THOUSAND

SUITORS"- FOR THE TREE OF LIFE POEMS-)

-and boots. The ones I bought off eBay with a fake usemame. My sister unwittingly

sold them to me. It took me almost two sneaky months to break them in, to make it look

I'd had them forever. The blisters on my feet were worth knowing that May had bought

her presents with my money.

32

4

(WE GOOD LIGHTS)

(I LOOK AT THE HUGE STACK OF JEANS, SKIRTS, & SHIRTS SHE'S GATHERED ON

TOP OF OUR CART. "JESUS, MOM. MY CLOTHES ARE FINE. WHY DO I NEED ALL THIS STUFF?"

"DON'T TALK TO ME THAT WAY!" MOM SNAPS. "YOU CAN'T HONESTLY EXPECT ME

TO SEND YOU TO NATCHITOCHES WITH OLD, NASTY CLOTHES. I REFUSE TO HAVE PEOPLE

TALKING ABOUT HOW I DRESS MY CHILD IN RAGS."

"MOM ... "

"LOOK, JUST TRY SOMETHING ON. FOR ME? PLEASE?"

I KNOW THERE'S NO WAY I'M WINNING THIS ONE, NOT WHEN MOM'S ON A PARENT­

OF-THE-YEAR KICK. WHY DID SHE HAVE TO PICK TODAY TO BE THE ONE DAY OUT OF 365

THAT SHE GIVES A SHIT? "FINE."

"OKAY, I'LL PASS YOU CLOTHES."

I GO INTO THE STALL CLOSEST TO THE FRONT OF THE DRESSING ROOM. MOM

FLOPS TWO PAIRS OF PANTS & TWO SKIRTS OVER THE DOOR. THE FIRST PAIR OF JEANS

DON'T FIT. I LOOK AT THE TAG. FUCK, MOM GOT THEM A SIZE TOO SMALL. I WEAR AN EIGHT,

NOT A SIX. I CHEW MY LIP AS I WHISPER, "HEY, MOM. DO THEY HAVE THESE IN A BIGGER

33

SIZE?"

"A BIGGER SIZE? WHEN DID YOU GAIN SO MUCH WEIGHT?"

"I CAN'T WEAR THESE. THEY'RE TOO TIGHT!")

I turned in front of the mirror. The bottoms of my jeans covered the leather loop-flap on

the backs of my boots. What were those things for, anyway? Phil said they were for

hanging them on display ranks. That sounded about right, but I usually used them to help

wedge my shoes off.

("STOP WHINING. JUST HOOK YOUR FINGERS IN & PULL!")

Sometimes I tied bells on them so my feet jingled when I moved. So people could find

me when I wandered off. Lyla and Mrs. Rizzo danced in Bayou Shimmy, the local belly­

dancing group. One night when I went to see them perform, and the 25-40 group went

gaga over my bells.

-That's so cute! You should dance with us!

-Can't, I said. Not allowed to do anything aerobic because of my lungs.

-But you look fine. What's wrong with your lungs?

- Chronic bronchitis. And of course, I Jet out a perfectly timed hack-cough

combo.

-Oh, you poor baby! You just sit right here. Two of them ushered me over to a

cluster of pillows reserved for resting dancers and drummers. Is there anything we can

get you? Bottled water? We can tell the smokers to go smoke on the other side of the

building, if you'd like.

34

I didn't have the heart to tell them I'd smoked one of Phil ' s cigarettes earlier, and

that was why I was coughing so badly.

I WENT TO NEW ORLEANS TODAY WITH RYAN & PHIL. RYAN

SKIPPED C_ASS SO HE COULD DRIVE DOWN & MEET US. WE CAUGHT UP

WITH HIM IN THE QUARTER AFTER OUR JAPANESE CLASS LEFT

HORINOYA. _'M STILL NOT SURE WHY WE WENT ALL THE WAY TO NOLA

FOR JAPANESE FOOD WHEN KAMADO'S IS RIGHT _CROSS TOWN.

WATANABE-SENSEI KEPT MAKIN_ CUTE JAPANESE CONVERSATION WITH

OUR SUSHI CHEF. I THINK I HEARD HER TALKING ABOUT DANCING WITH

HIM. BET THEY KNOW EACH OTHER. ©

PHIL, RYAN & I WALKED THE QUARTER ONCE WE _REDONE

WITH LUNCH. PHIL TOOK US TO ESOTERICA, THAT METAPHYSICAL

SUPPLY STORE HE'S ALWAYS TALKING ABOUT. RYAN SEEMED KIND OF

UNCOMFORTABLE, BUT HE DIDN'T COMPLAIN. WHEN I WASN'T LOOKING,

HE BOUGHT ME A MOON-SHAPE_ CANDLE HOLDER. IT'S ON MY

B_ KSHELF RIGHT NOW. I GAVE HIM A BIG KISS & THANKED HIM FOR

BEING SO SWEET. I BOUGHT SUSANNA A SHIRT _HAT SAYS "WITCH &

FAMOUS" FOR XMAS. IT'S PERFECT FOR HER.

THE GUY WORKING THE COUNTER LOOKED LIKE HE WAS PISSED

OFF THAT WE WERE IN HIS STORE. THERE WAS A PSYCHIC LADY THERE,

35

TOO, & SHE WAS REALLY NICE. BUT SHE KEPT REFERRING TO PHIL AS MY

BOYFRIEND, WHICH PROVES THAT SHE, LIKE MOST NOLA PSYCHICS, IS A

FRAUD. A NICE FRAUD, BUT STILL A FRAUD. ILI!IAIRI

-Oh, come off it, I said aloud.

("OFF WHAT?"

"EXCUSE ME?" MOM ASKS.

"NOTHING." I GO BACK TO SQUEEZING INTO TOO-TIGHT JEANS.)

How had she not realized how much Phil liked her? How many times had Phil and I

talked about it?

- She'llfigure it out someday, Susanna, he'd said. Not like she can deny it

forever.

-Are you sure we're talking about the same girl?

I remembered how Phil and I sat on his front porch, our chairs leaning against the

faux-Corinthian columns. As usual, his parents weren't around to tell me to go home and

to tell him to do something useful. We talked for hours about school, parents, and my

sister. Phil wanting to be with her, and me wanting to be her. Both of us wanting to be

normal, popular.

- You know what it's like being her best friend? he asked.

- Is it anything like being her sister? Because if not, I can't relate. Pun not

36

intended.

He drew the sign of the cross in the air with his cigarette. -Consider yourself

absolved.

-Sweet, I said. Now give me a cigarette.

-Won't you, like, die if you smoke?

-I'll probably cough a lot, I admitted, maybe hack out half a lung. But I could

really use that right now. Seems like the normal thing to do in a conversation like this.

-I know the f eeling. Here. He held the Camel by the tobacco tip, filter pointed

toward my lips. I bent forward, closed my mouth over the end. His other hand pulled a

Zippo out ofhis pocket, flipped it open across his jeans, struck the flint without a second

hand.

-Nice trick.

-I fee/like I'm contributing to the delinquency of a minor.

-Ha ha. You're funny. I coughed a little, swallowed, took another drag. Funny

how quick I got used to it. So, elaborate. What is it like being best friends with a girl who

doesn't want to go out with you?

-Well, he sighed, smoke trailing from between his lips, say you're working for a

great boss in an awesome company. There's a position you want more than anything, so

bad you can taste it.

-Yeah, okay.

- Every time it becomes available, the boss comes up to you and says, "Hey, I

know you 're totally qualified, and you 've wanted this job forever. But you 're so good at

what you're doing now, I'm just going to give the job to someone else. Someone who 's

less qualified and a total asshat. "

37

Between coughs I said, -That fucking sucks.

- And if that weren't bad enough, every time the other guy fucks up, your boss

comes to you and says, "Can I complain to you about how shitty this other guy is?"

PHIL MADE ALL THESE FACES & NASTY JOKES AT RY _N WHILE

WE WERE WALKING. I TOLD HIM TO SHUT THE _ELL UP SINCE RYAN'S MY

BOYF _lEND. PHIL WAS BETTER AFTER THAT, BUT ONCE THE TWO OF US

WERE ALONE, HE TOLD ME THAT HE WAS GOING TO KILL RYAN .

"WHAT'S YOUR FUCKING PROBLEM?" I ASKED.

"HE MAKES ONE MORE COMMENT ABOUT ME TAKING IT UP THE

AS_ FROM SATAN, I'M GOING TO PUNCH HIM IN THE NECK WITH A

CACTUS."

WHEN I ASKED RYAN ABOUT IT, HE SAID HE DIDN'T SAY

ANYTHING LIKE THAT TO PHIL. LYING SO BLATANTLY ISN'T LIKE PHIL.

SOMETHING'S WRONG, BUT I DON'T KNOW WHAT. RYAN SAID HE THINKS

PHI_ IS JEALOUS, THAT PHIL 'S LOOKING TO STEAL ME AWAY. JESUS,

HOW FUCKING DUMB CAN PHIL BE? I MEAN, I'VE KNOWN HIM FOREVER.

IT'S NOT LIKE ME HAVING A BOYFRIEND IS GOING TO CHANGE THAT.

BUT PHIL HAS A THING FOR ME, & I KNOW RYAN KNOWS.

EV_RYONE SEES IT BUT SUSANNA, WHO'S OBLIVIOUS TO THESE

DYNAMICS.

38

She knew the whole time. That bitch.

As I read the entry, I started to wonder why May didn't break up with Ryan

earlier. Phil, her best friend since middle school, told her that Ryan was a homophobic

asshole. Shit, even the phony psychic knew he wasn't the guy for her.

May had broken every cardinal rule of dating known to man:

1. Never date someone who doesn't share your interests.

2. Never date someone who doesn't get along with your family.

(Especially your twin sister, I'd add.)

3. Never date someone who beats up your best friend.

4. Did I mention avoiding men who think tormenting your twin sister is

their idea of time well spent? Make sure that's on the list.

It's bad mojo, as they say yonder down I-1 0 eastbound. She should have known better; I

know she subscribed to Cosmo.

Actually, I got the idea for breaking them up from one of May's fashion glossies.

As Phil and I talked that afternoon, I flashed back to one of those articles I'd read in the

bathroom. -What if I could make May go for you?

He looked at me as if I'd tried solving an trigonometry equation by reciting Virgil.

-The fuck does that mean?

-I bet you any money that Ryan can 't tell the difference between May and me.

39

-Oh, come on. It's so easy! You're shorter than May-no offense-and you wear

different clothes and she's- He stopped mid-flow as it hit him, eyes widening. Holy shit,

Susanna.

-Just noticing we're identical twins?

-But I've always been able to tell the difference between you two.

-That's because you pay attention and don 't suck. I grabbed another cigarette

from Phil's pack and lit up. Ryan doesn't notice anything about May other than the color

of her bra. If I wore her clothes and pretended to be her, he wouldn 't know the difference.

A FEW DAYS AGO, WHEN MOM & DAD THOUGHT THEY WERE

ALONE, I HEARD THEM TALKING ABOUT HER:

MOM: "DO YOU THINK IT WAS A GOOD IDEA TO KEEP HER IN A

PUBLIC SCHOOL? I'M WORRIED THAT SHE'S HAVING TROUBLE

ADJUSTING."

DAD: "WE CAN'T GET HER INTO A PRIVATE ONE, NOT WHEN THE

ENROLLMENT'S ALREADY SO HIGH."

MOM: "GOD, THIS STUPID DESEGREGATION CASE NEEDS TO

END. DO YOU THINK WE SHOULD PUT HER IN A HOMESCHOOLING

GROUP? I COULD MAKE SOME LESSON PLANS, MAYBE GO PART-TIME.

THOUGH I PROBABLY WOULDN'T EVEN NEED TO BE HOME ALL THE TIME.

SHE'D DO THE WORK IF WE GAVE IT TO HER."

40

DAD: "NO, SHE NEEDS TO BE WITH KIDS HER AGE. KIDS WHO

ARE SMART ENOUGH TO KEEP UP WITH HER."

MOM: "SHE'S TOO SMART & I REALLY DON'T THINK SHE WANTS

TO RELATE TO KIDS HER AGE. I THINK SHE'D RATHER SHUT THEM OUT &

PLAY WITH HER PUZZLES ALL DAY LONG."

THEY DROPPED THEIR VOICES EVEN LOWER AFTER THIS, SO I

LEFT. AS MUCH AS IT SUCKS TO SAY IT, THEY'RE RIGHT. SUSANNA

REALLY DOES SHUT PEOPLE OUT. WE USED TO TALK SO MUCH MORE. I

MISS HAVING A SISTER, NOT JUST A ROOMMATE WHO HAPPENS TO LOOK

LIKE ME. I WISH I COULD TALK TO HER ABOUT RYAN & PHIL.

SHE MAKES ME FEEL INFERIOR. MOM & DAD NEVER TALK ABOUT

HOW SMART I AM. I LOOKED AT THE SHIRT I BOUGHT HER, & I REALIZED

THAT IF I WORE IT, MY STOMACH WOULD BULGE OUT.

I tried to imagine how she got such a huge fucking complex. Jesus, I would have killed

for the opportunities she had. May was the one who got to participate in extracurriculars;

I had to come home every day. She had a boyfriend before me, and friends besides Phil

who actully wanted to be around her. She wasn ' t some sickly sliver of a girl. But she

wanted to be and I didn't understand why. It pissed me off that I was trying to be more

like her, and she responded by trying to be more like me. Disgusting.

As I pressed the X-acto knife against the paper, I felt the blade go a little deeper

41

than it should have. I pulled back and shined my lamp onto the page. The slice glowed

lighter than the paper. It went right through-in the middle of a word-to the next page.

Another cut behind that one, and another. Shit, I'd cut too hard.

(1 TURN AROUND BEFORE THE MIRROR, WIGGLING MY BUTT. NO MATTER NOW

HARD I PULL ON THE BELT LOOPS, I CAN'T GET THESE PANTS TO COVER MY FAT ASS. TOO

FAT, I THINK. I'M TOO FAT. I SMUSH MY HANDS AGAINST MY EYES TO STOP THE TEARS, TO

STOP THE LOOKING.

WHY AM I SO FUCKING FAT?)

May's frustration was changing my pressure, on the blade and in my body. This was

delicate work; I didn't need to be upset for two people. But I couldn't help it. Her voice

and her thoughts were as familiar to me as my favorite boots. Molded against me so

well-so close-I'd swear they were coded in my DNA.

(GOD, I WISH I COULD JUST CUT THE FAT OFF MY BODY.)

For several minutes, my eyes focus on the polish-bright edge of the X-acto blade. She

would do this herself, if she could.

(1 REACH INTO MY PURSE & TAKE OUT THE NAIL KIT, THE ONE I CAN'T CARRY AT

SCHOOL. IF SOMEONE LOOKED THROUGH IT, THEY'D NEVER GUESS THAT I USE IT FOR THIS.

I DON'T TELL ANYONE, EVEN THOUGH I KNOW IT'S NOT RIGHT. PHIL CAUGHT ME

42

DOING THIS ONCE, & HE THREATENED TO TELL LYLA & SUSANNA IF I DIDN'T STOP. I SAID I

WOULD, & THAT SEEMED TO SATISFY HIM.

HE DOESN'T UNDERSTAND, JUST LIKE THEY WOULDN'T UNDERSTAND. THEY'RE SO

PRETTY-LYLA WITH HER TATTOOS, PHIL WITH HIS SUNLIGHT HAIR, SUSANNA WITH HER

CUTE BODY. I HAVE TO CUT BECAUSE THERE'S SO MUCH INSIDE ME THAT I HATE. SO MUCH

THAT'S GROSS. I NEED A WAY TO GET IT ALL OUT. WHEN I CUT MYSELF, IT RELEASES IT, I

GUESS. LIKE IT'S ALL RUNNING OUT OF ME WHEN I SEE MYSELF BLEEDING.

I KEEP THE NAIL SCISSORS BEHIND THE FILES.)

I yanked a long strip of tape off the roll and stuck it to the desk. Reached into the blade

case. Took out one of the specialty blades. Once I positioned the X-acto against my nail, I

wrapped the tape around my finger a few times.

Was the blade secure?

(YES.)

Good. I dragged it along my upper arms, making short, shallow cuts.

(1 SIT ON THE DRESSING-ROOM BENCH, DRAGGING THE POLISH-BRIGHT EDGE

ALONG THE SKIN JUST ABOVE MY ELBOW-CROOK. THERE WASN'T MUCH BLOOD.

"HONEY, IS EVERYTHING OKAY IN THERE?" MOM TAPS TENTATIVELY ON THE

DOOR.

WHY COULDN'T I JUST LET IT ALL OUT? "YEAH, JUST TRYING TO DECIDE WHICH

43

PAIR I LIKE BEST."

"STOP BEING A SLOWPOKE. WE STILL HAVE TO GO TO BEST BUY & MEET YOUR

FRIEND TO PICK OUT A LAPTOP."

I WAIT FOR THE SHADOWS OF FEET TO DISAPPEAR FROM THE CRACK UNDER THE

DOOR. IN THE MIRROR MY CUTS LOOK LIKE SCRATCHES. NOT CUTS. LEY LINES. THEY HURT,

BUT I FEEL BETTER.

SKIN IS SO WARM, LIKE IT'S ACTUALLY ALIVE.)

I wanted to use my body as a bandage for hers. Instead, I just followed her lead again.

Like she followed mine, one form of mutilation

(-NO, WEIGHT LOSS-)

as good as another.

44

5

(FOUR SPARKS FALL)

Once I peeled away the tape, I used the condensation off my mug to clean the

blood. My cuts looked like cat scratches. Could have been a scrape from running into a

doorframe. A few days of healing, and no one would be the wiser.

(AFTER TAKING A MINUTE TO WIPE MY ARMS & PUT MY CLOTHES BACK ON, I STEP

OUT OF THE STALL. "OKAY, JUST THE DARK BLUE ONES," I SAY. "MY BUTT HANGS OUT ALL

THE OTHER ONES. THEY MAKE ME LOOK LIKE A PROSTITUTE OR SOMETHING."

DAD IMMEDIATELY TAKES THE OFFENDING JEANS & HANGS THEM ON A RACK.

LEAVE IT TO A FATHER TO QUICKLY REMOVE WHORE-PANTS FROM A DAUGHTER'S REACH.

"HONEY, YOUR ARMS!" MOM GESTURES TO THE CUTS PEEKING FROM UNDER MY

SLEEVE. "WHERE DID THOSE COME FROM?"

"OH, I JUST SCRAPPED AGAINST THE DOORFRAME AS I WAS GOING IN. NO BIG

DEAL. I DON'T EVEN FEEL THEM." I ROLL MY SLEEVES DOWN & I KNOW SHE KNOWS THEY

AREN'T FROM THE DOOR.)

45

No wonder May hadn't been caught.

I capped the X-acto and rummaged through my desk for some White-Out. Once I

found the bottle underneath some papers, I loosened the top and set it next to the diary.

White-Out was supposed to be like liquid paper, but it was nothing like paper-certainly

not the same color. But I wasn't looking for a paint match.

I just didn't want to use the knife anymore.

PHIL DECIDED I SHOULD GO TO A WICCAN RITUAL IN THE PARK

WITH HIM. I SAID MOST WICCANS BORE ME. THEY'RE TOO BUSY WALKING

AROUND BAREFOOT & SAYING "GODDESS BLESS" EVERY CHANCE THEY

GET. ANYTIME I TRY TO TALK TO ONE-THAT'S NOT PHIL-ABOUT THE

KABBALAH, THEY TELL ME THEY DON'T DO "THAT MADONNA STUFF."

PHIL: "COME ON. I PROMISE IT WON'T SUCK. I WANT TO

INTRODUCE YOU TO COOL PEOPLE. BESIDES, I NEVER SEE YOU

ANYMORE."

HE'S HALF-RIGHT. I DON'T HANG OUT WITH HIM AS MUCH

BECAUSE I EAT LUNCH WITH RYAN EVERY DAY & WE SPEND A LOT OF

TIME TOGETHER. BUT IT'S NOT LIKE I NEVER SEE HIM. ANYWAYS, HE'S

THE ONE AVOIDING ME!

46

I met Phil before the ritual to smooth out the bait-and-switch. He was smoking clove

cigarettes that day; his hair smelled like incense. Paired with his smudged black eyeliner

underneath, he reminded me of a Lare with hearth ashes dusting its eyes.

I knew how much Phil loved his cloves, so I didn't bother begging for one.

Instead, I asked, -Are you sure Ryan doesn't know where she's going?

-Absolutely. She told me not to mention it around him because she thought he'd

start whole "devil-worshipping " bulls hit again. Not that I want to talk to him anyway.

-So, the plan is that you keep May away from the house for a few hours. I call

Ryan and ask him to visit because my parents aren't home. When May comes back, I tell

her that Ryan came looking for her, and when I told him where she was, he got pissed

and put the moves on me instead. Boom, instant hreakup. Then she comes running to you,

and you move in for the kill.

-Right. He considered the plan for a moment, took a long drag, and flicked a

cylinder of ash off the tip. It seems so easy. Are you sure it's going to work?

-Yeah, I read about something like this in a magazine.

Phil didn't look quite convinced. -I don't like the idea of, you know, you

exposing yourself or something.

- Don't worry. I'm not going to do anything stupid. But, I think that we should,

you know. Mess around a little. Otherwise, it won 't seem real. I didn't know why talking

about sex was so hard. It wasn' t like Phil and I hadn't discussed the subject at great

length before. All the sudden we were middle school kids again, whispering in the halls

about adults "doing it."

- I wouldn 't, he said. I mean, if you have to, then you have to. But don't go too

47

far, okay? I don't want you to get in trouble.

I nodded.

-Let me know how it went when we're both online later, okay? He winked and

blew me a smoky kiss.

Then he went off to do his thing while I prepared to do mine.

Which reminded me- l was pretty sure May was finished buying her clothes and

room stuff by now. She probably picked out a bunch of tight things so she could

complain about looking fat in them. But she didn't-and wouldn't- look bad at all. I

would have loved to take her extra inches and pounds. Totally proportional, but not to

her. I bet she thought she looked like a circus freak in a muumuu.

I looked back at the diary; the page lines reminded me of a tent. Striped sheets.

Her bed.

WE'RE SUPPOSED TO MEET OF HIS FRIENDS FROM PNO

AT THE COFFEE SHOP ON OLD JEFFERSON. HE SAYS IT'LL BE FUN, BUT I

CAN'T SHAKE THIS BAD FEELING. I KNOW RYAN WILL HATE IT. HE DOESN 'T

SEEM TO UNDERSTAND THAT WICCA DOES NOT EQUAL SATANISM. I TRIED

TO VENT TO PHIL OVER AIM, BUT HE JUST SAID "TOLD YOU SO" & NEVER

RETURNED MY MESSAGES.

WHY DOES PHIL HAVE TO BE A JERK ABOUT MY RELATIONSHIP?

WHY CAN'T HE UNDERSTAND THAT SACRIFICE IS PART OF BEING A GOOD

GIRLFRIEND? NO ONE ELSE WANTS TO DATE ME. SO WHAT IF I CAN'T

48

DISCUSS THE SUBTLE DIFFERENCES OF "WHITE SHADING TO RED IN

HESED" VERSUS "RED SHADING TO WHITE IN NETSAH" WITH RYAN?

THAT'S WHY I HAVE PHIL.

WHATEVER. BOYS ARE NUTS. SO I'M GOING WITH PHIL BECAUSE

IF I DON'T, HE'LL KEEP ACTING LIKE AN ATTENTION-STARVED PUPPY. AS

FOR RYAN, I JUST WON'T SAY ANYTHING TO HIM ABOUT IT. BECAUSE IF I

DO, HE'LL FLIP OUT.

I'd never seen Ryan before that night, so I didn't know what to expect. All I knew were

the stories I'd heard from Phil. May hadn't even gossiped about him with me.

Ryan showed up about an hour after May and Phil left. When I opened the door

for him, I immediately realized why May liked- and Phil hated-him so much. Ryan

was a very good-looking guy. Wholesome. Close-cut brown hair, brown eyes, clear skin.

His clothes were clean, but not overly new-looking. Well-maintained- like someone

took the time to use the right combo of detergent, heat, and air on them. He wasn't pretty

like Phil, but handsome in that way a parent would appreciate. I could imagine Mr.

LeClaire looking at Ryan and saying, -That boy will be something someday. Not like my

deadbeat faggot of a son.

We chatted for a little bit before he got up and started wandering around the den.

He stopped to admire his reflection in a silverplate penguin on the mantle. -1 really like

this thing, he said. - Where'd you get it?

- It's my Dad's. His cousin bought for him in Chicago.

49

-It's cool. I mean, it's a penguin, and they're normally cool because they're

from the Arctic, but you know what I mean.

He didn't strike me as the smartest guy in the world, but you didn't have to go to

Baton Rouge High anymore. All you needed was the right combination of money, race,

and punctuality with paperwork.

I tugged the lace on my-May's- skirt. Wearing her platform shoes felt weird. I

wanted my floppy jeans and boots back. More than comfort, though, I wanted to make

sure he wouldn't be able to tell the difference between us. So I wore the skirt and the tall

shoes and prayed he didn't notice. Or, if he did, he attributed my fidgeting to

nervousness.

He gestured down the hall to the bedrooms. -Hey, I've never seen your room

before. What's it like?

-Oh, I'm sorry. Let me give you the rest of the tour. May's room, not your room,

I chanted in my head. This is my sister's room, I said, pointing to my own room. But you

don't want to go in there. She gets really crazy about people going through her stuff

-Isn't she, like, your twin sister?

-Yeah, but we're nothing alike.

Ryan looked back and forth between my- Susanna's- door and me. - I hear

she's kind of a freak. Like, she's not allowed to run or she'll die. He stared at me. I didn't

really understand the look; I guessed it was concern. Some of my boys said that she gives

them weird looks, like she 's trying to curse them. Is she friends with Phil? He's sort of

freaky, too. I mean, only gay guys wear makeup like that. No offense.

- Don 't be nasty. I can 't help what my sister does or who my family tells me I

should hang out with. Susanna's a little weird. but she's my sister. We're like this, you

50

know? I crossed my fingers, then settled my hand on the crook of his arm.

{LIAR.)

He put a hand over mine. It felt like the inside of a ham sandwich. -It's cool. So, like,

you gonna show me your room?

LATER: I'M SO GLAD I LET PHIL TALK ME INTO GOING WITH HIM. I

HAD SO MUCH FUN & MET A LOT OF REALLY AWESOME PEOPLE. ONE OF

THEM, THIS GIRL NAMED LYLA, IS MY NEW FAVORITE PERSON. I CAN'T

BELIEVE I MISSED HER AT GEORGE'S-IF ONLY I'D WORK THOSE PNO

NIGHTS! SHE GOES TO MCKINLEY HIGH, PLAYS THE VIOLA, & HAS THE

MOST TATTOOS & PIERCINGS I'VE EVER SEEN. I ASKED HOW SHE GOT

THEM SINCE YOU HAVE TO BE 18 & SHE SAID HER MOM GAVE THEM TO

HER. WOW. WONDER IF I COULD CONVINCE HER MOM TO PIERCE MY

BELLY BUTTON.

WHILE WE WERE AT THE PARK, I DANCED AROUND A BONFIRE

FOR THE FIRST TIME. IT'S MORE FUN THAN IT SOUNDS. AT ONE POINT

PHIL DARED ME TO LEAP THE FIRE. THEN EVERYONE STARTED BETTING

ON WHERE I'D LAND. I JUMPED, & WOW, WHAT A RUSH! I GOT SOME

EMBERS UP MY SKIRT, & I THOUGHT FOR A SECOND THAT MY THIGHS

51

WOULD CATCH FIRE. OF COURSE, THEY DIDN'T. BUT AFTER THAT, I

DIDN'T FEEL NERVOUS ABOUT JUMPING. I EVEN MADE SOME MONEY

BECAUSE PEOPLE KEPT PUTTING BETS ON ME.

-Yeah, come in. I opened the door and gestured to May's book-covered bed. I meant to

clean up a little, but I was doing some homework so I could spend more time with you.

He pushed my- no, May's- Japanese book aside and cleared a space for himself.

After a few seconds, he smoothed out a section of sheet next to him. -It 's cool, baby.

Have a seat. No need to be nervous.

-I'm not nervous! I sat, casting my eyes to the sheet. It was striped blue and

white, wrinkles like waves, foam and water. All that blue.

He looked at me again, and I felt like a butterfly cooking in a sunbeam. -You 've

been pulling your skirt all night. You trying to tell me something? Maybe you want me to

take it off?

Oh shit, I thought. No, breathe. Be cool like May.-Are you trying to make me

throw up?

-No, I think you're beautiful, and I like looking at you. I'm your boyfriend. Isn 't

making you f eel good, like, part of my job description ?

I rolled my eyes. How fucking cheesy could a guy get? I wondered what May

could possibly see in Ryan besides his looks. Then said, - You don 't have to be perverted

about it.

-Hey. just being honest.

52

(LIAR.)

AFTER FIREDANCING, LYLA & I TALKED FOR A LONG TIME ABOUT

HOW BOTH MAGIC & ART ARE ACTS OF "RAISING THE ___ ." TURNS

OUT SHE'S STUDIED THE KABBALAH, & SHE GAVE ME A GREAT IDEA FOR

A POEM SEQUENCE BASED ON THE TREE OF LIFE. MAN, IT SUCKS SHE

GOES TO MCKINLEY. IT'D BE AWESOME IF WE WENT TO THE SAME

SCHOOL. WHEN I MENTIONED THAT, SHE SUGGESTED I APPLY TO LSMSA.

I CHECKED IT OUT ON THE INTERNET, & IT LOOKS AWESOME. I'M GOING

TO APPLY FOR ADMISSION NEXT YEAR. WONDER IF I CAN GET

SUSANNA TO APPLY, TOO?

AT SOME POINT DURING THE NIGHT, I CRAMPED UP REAL BAD &

FELT SUPER-SICK. PHIL BROUGHT ME SOME WATER & CRACKERS, &

LYLA GOT ME SOME TYLENOL. AFTER A WHILE, THE NAUSEA PASSED,

BUT I'M STILL CRAMPED. AT FIRST I THOUGHT IT WAS PMS, BUT I'M NOT

DUE FOR AT LEAST TWO MORE WEEKS & I'M NOT PREGNANT. RYAN & I

HAVEN'T EVEN SEEN EACH OTHER NAKED YET.

L YLA SUGGESTED THAT THE EXCITEMENT PLUS THE HEAT FROM

THE FIRE MADE ME SICK. I HOPE I NEVER FEEL LIKE THAT AGAIN.

53

As I finished reading that line, the phone rang behind me. I put the book down.

(IT'S LYLA. PICK IT UP.)

May had been waiting for this call all morning. I knew.

54

6

(HOLLOW ACT)

I didn't even look at the caller ID display, just picked up the receiver and cradled

it against my ear. -Hey, Lyla. May's been waiting for you to call her.

First I heard a hiss ofbreath and static, then Lyla's voice breaking over the line.

- Oh, it's Susanna. You scared me for a second How 'd you know it was me?

-I'm psychic like that.

-More like psychotic. She laughed, her voice chiming like those bells I tied to

my shoes. Goddess, I've been calling May all morning. Why hasn't she picked up?

-Probably because she's at Tanger.

-Oh, no wonder! You can't get a signal in Gonzales unless you have an antenna

stapled to your forehead.

It was my tum to laugh. - Is this a fact!

-Scientific, babe. Listen, I'm supposed to meet your family at the mall, but I

don 't know where or when.

I tuned in to May's signal to find out where she was and where she'd be.

(1 WRITE: J' POEM IN PROGRESS: TAKE YOUR PICNIC I UNDER THE TREE I WHERE

55

APPLES GROW REAL I ENOUGH TO BE HEAVY I IN THE SPACE BETWEEN

HIGHWAYS I & YOUR DRY, OPEN I MOUTH.

THE AIC HASN'T REACHED THE BACK OF THE VAN YET. I LOOK ACROSS THE

BLACKTOP-ALL SHIMMERING PARKED CARS & HEAT-& WONDER HOW LONG WE'RE

GOING TO SIT HERE, BAKING. STUPID TRAFFIC. IF RYAN WERE HERE, HE'D WANT TO MESS

AROUND IN THE BACKSEAT. NEVER MIND THAT MOM & DAD COULD JUST LOOK IN THE

REARVIEW & SEE WHAT WE WERE DOING.)

Too much. May's frustration passed over me like a shadow, then faded into swamp-grass

edging the mall complex. No development. -Be at Best Buy in about forty minutes, and

they '!! be there.

-Sweet. Knew I could count on your Spidey-senses. Thanks! The line clicked; I

put the phone back on the receiver.

I MET LYLA'S MOM YESTERDAY & SHE'S COOL, BUT A LITTLE

MORE UPTIGHT THAN I THOUGHT SHE'D BE. I EXPECTED A MOM WHO

PIERCES & TATTOOS HER DAUGHTER TO BE OKAY WITH DOING THE SAME

TO HER DAUGHTER'S FRIENDS, BUT WHEN I ASKED IF SHE'D PIERCE MY

BELLY BUTTON, MRS. RIZZO WENT CRAZY. SHE STARTED LECTURING ME

ON HOW SHE COULD LOSE HER BUSINESS BY PIERCING A MINOR

WITHOUT CONSENT. THEN SHE TALKED ABOUT HOW PIERCINGS ARE

56

DESIGNED TO BE PERMANENT MODIFICATIONS & HOW ANYONE GETTING

ONE SHOULD TREAT THEM AS SUCH.

LYLA SAID THAT HER MOM'S SUPER-SERIOUS ABOUT LETTING

MINORS GET PIERCED. WHEN I TOLD HER THAT SOUNDED HYPOCRITICAL,

MRS. RIZZO BROUGHT OUT A SMALL BINDER. I EXPECTED TATTOO

ARTWORK, BUT INSTEAD I FOUND A BUNCH OF TYPED PAGES IN PLASTIC

SLEEVES.

MRS. RIZZO: "I MADEL YLA WRITE AN ESSAY ON EVERY

MODIFICATION SHE'S EVER REQUESTED. WHENEVER PARENTS BRINGS

THEIR CHILDREN IN TO GET PIERCED, I SHOW THEM THESE & ASK IF

THEY'VE DONE THE SAME. SO FAR, NONE HAVE. SOMETIMES I CONVINCE

THEM TO MAKE THEIR KIDS EVALUATE THE PURPOSE OF THEIR

MODIFICATION. OTHERS DON'T. I BELIEVE IN INFORMED DECISION

MAKING."

In our Louisiana history class, the teacher said that the only defining trait of a "Federally

Protected Wetland" was the presence of at least three live cattail plants. In theory

Louisiana land developers were supposed to avoid cattails at all costs and report any

discoveries of healthy plants to the conservation offices. Of course, they never did. The

laws were more complex than that. Maybe our teacher was some kind of activist.

I always thought those things were weeds.

57

For a while, I thought of May as a bundle of cattails. I imagined the stalks

growing tall and wild, all expecting the world to grow and shape itself around them. May

was very spontaneous, moving in time with the winds and her whims. To her, there was

no such thing as an informed decision; there was just education-the exchange of

words-which could come at any time.

I COULDN'T FAKE A NOTE FROM MY PARENTS, SO I DECIDED I

WOULD DO IT MYSELF. LYLA WAS AGAINST IT AT FIRST BUT DECIDED TO

HELP BECAUSE SHE WAS WORRIED I'D GET BLOOD POISONING. SHE

SWIPED A ___ NEEDLE & BARBELL FROM HER MOM'S STOCK &

PIERCED ME IN HER BATHROOM. IT HURT, OF COURSE, BUT WHEN IT WAS

DONE, I WAS AMAZED. FOR THE FIRST TIME, I LOOKED AT MY BELLY &

THOUGHT, "HOW SOFT, HOW BEAUTIFUL."

I UNDERSTAND WHY LYLA HAS SO MANY PIERCINGS.

AFTER WE CLEANED UP, LYLA & I WORKED IN THIS OLD

STORAGE SHED MRS. RIZZO CONVERTED INTO AN ART STUDIO. I SPENT

SOME TIME WRITING WHILE L YLA WORKED ON SOME OF HER PORTFOLIO

PIECES FOR LSMSA. MOST OF THEM ARE THESE COLLAGES OF

COMPUTER PARTS & SHEET MUSIC.

EVERY TEN MINUTES OR SO, SHE STOPPED & PLAYED A FEW

NOTES ON HER VIOLA . SHE SAID IT HELPS HER SEE WHERE THE PIECES

58

BELONG. THE WHOLE FOR THE PARTS. I WAS REMINDED OF SUSANNA'S

INSISTENCE THAT WORD PUZZLES WERE GOOD FOR WRITERS. I TOLD

THAT ONLY "LOSERS WITH DELUSIONS OF LITERARY GENIUS" DID THEM,

BUT I WONDER IF THERE ARE SEVEN FACES BEHIND EACH CROSSWORD

CLUE, JUST AS THERE ARE WITH EACH LETTER OF THE TORAH.

I BET SUSANNA'S GOING TO • L YLA WHEN THEY MEET.

May was right. I did heart Lyla-from the black roots of her hair right down to her paint­

stained jungle boots.

That storage shed was my favorite place in the Rizzo home. I asked to see their

latest projects whenever I visited. Mrs. Rizzo did a lot of airbrush and acrylic work, so

I'd usually find her layering colors on colors on canvas. The way her hands touched the

canvas, the bend of her wrist as she textured the paint with a palette knife-I could see

Mrs. Rizzo holding her tattoo gun against Lyla's skin, tracing those notes winding up her

daughter's right arm. That same girl-arm gripping a bow as Lyla asked, -Why are violas

better than violins?

Mrs. Rizzo gouged a round, orange ditch into the paint with her thumb before

looking up at her daguther. -/don 't know, honey.

-Because violas burn longer. Lyla nipped seven notes out of the strings-the

bass line to "Under Pressure"- before gliding into an arrangement of"Stairway to

Heaven." And those notes burned like the little stars under her left hand.

59

MOM & DAD AGREED TO LET ME APPLY TO LSMSA. I SIGNED UP

FOR THE_, & STARTING NEXT WEEKEND, I'M GOING TO PREP WITH

LYLA EVERY SATURDAY. SUSANNA ASKED IF SHE COULD APPLY, BUT

MOM SAID NO BECAUSE THE DORMS ARE FULL OF DISEASE. I'M GOING TO

CONVINCE MOM & DAD TO LET SUSANNA APPLY. IT'S UNFAIR TO LET ME

APPLY & NOT HER. IT WON'T BE THE SAME WITHOUT SUSANNA.

I ASKED MY TEACHERS TO WRITE MY RECOMMENDATION

LETTERS. MR. C WAS REALLY SAD & SAID HIS CLASSES WOULD BE A

CHORE WITHOUT ME. LAST NIGHT I DREAMED HE SNUCK INTO MY ROOM

& WROTE LOVE POEMS ON MY BACK IN HONEY & BLOOD ORANGE. HE

KISSED THE LETTERS OFF MY SKIN & BEGGED ME TO STAY. HE TASTED

LIKE A RIND. BITTER YET SOFT. I COULD SMELL THE EARTH IN HIS MOUTH,

SEE THE SUN IN HIS EYES, TOUCH HIS ROOT & PULL IT CLOSE. I KNEW I

WAS CLAIMING WHAT WAS MINE-FLESH-& GIVING IT BACK TO HIM.

The night after their first cram session, Lyla and May met Phil and me at the LeCiaires'

for a celebration. Mrs. Rizzo supplied us with a box of graham crackers, several

chocolate bars, and two bags of giant marshmallows. Combined with the LeClaires'

intense selection of soft drinks and other mixers, we had ourselves a regular sleepover.

60

-I can't believe, Phil said, licking a chocolate smudge off his hand, you fucking

convinced me to celebrate the possibility oftwo of my best friends moving away.

-Three, May said as she smushed a graham cracker on top of her microwaved

S 'more. Susanna 's totally coming with us.

-Oh, that's fucking great. So you're going to leave me here to die of boredom.

Lyla grabbed a cigarette from Phil's pack and lit it with a flourish . -Dude, you

need to apply, too.

-You try convincing my parents to send me to a school known for turning its

students gay. The only place they 'If send me is military school. Or maybe one of those

Christian death camps where they beat the gay out of you.

-Phil, my love, you're about as straight as they come. Lyla winked, causing Phil

to choke on his drag.

Once he recovered, he said, -Okay, ladies. We've gotten way off topic. Time to

get back to the game.

- All right. Lyla rubbed her hands together, cracked her knuckles. May, truth or

dare?

-Truth.

-Oh goddess, you're so boring! Fine. I won't make it easy for you. How far have

you gotten with Ryan?

IF HE COULD, RYAN WOULD PEEL ME LIKE AN ORANGE, DOWN

TO MY FLESH. HE'S BEEN ACTING STRANGE LATELY. TODAY WE ATE

61

LUNCH TOGETHER ON THE GRASS & HE KEPT STICKING HIS HAND DOWN

THE FRONT OF MY PANTS & TUGGING MY UNDERWEAR. EVERY TIME I

YANKED HIS HAND AWAY, HE'D WHISPER, "WHAT'S THE PROBLEM, BABY?

I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU." ALL I COULD THINK ABOUT WAS HOW

HOT HIS BREATH WAS ON MY EAR, & HOW MUCH I WANTED IT TO BE MR.

c's.

RYAN MAKES ME FEEL BEAUTIFUL & UGLY AT THE SAME TIME.

IT'S SO CONFUSING. EVERY TIME HE PUSHES FOR MORE FROM ME, I TELL

HIM I DON'T WANT PEOPLE GOSSIPING ABOUT US. ONE TIME HE SAID,

"IT'S NOT GOSSIP IF IT'S TRUE." ANOTHER TIME, HE SAID, "THEY'LL

GOSSIP WHATEVER WE DO." MY PIERCING'S BEEN A LITTLE SORE LATELY

& THAT'S BEEN A GOOD EXCUSE. STILL, HE KEEPS ACTING LIKE HE DID

SOMETHING WRONG.

THE NEW GIRLS IN MY TENNIS CLASS SAY THAT RYAN HAS AN

EX-GIRLFRIEND AT WOODLAWN HIGH THAT HAD HIS NAME TATTOOED ON

HER ANKLE. RUMOR HAS IT THAT THEY WERE GOING TO BE MARRIED.

THEN RYAN CHEATED ON HER & CHANGED SCHOOLS. THE EX­

GIRLFRIEND WAS SO UPSET, SHE BURNED THE TATTOO OFF WITH A

CIGAR. SOUNDS PRETTY STUPID TO ME. THEN AGAIN, LYLA SHOWED ME

A STORY ABOUT A COUPLE WHO AMPUTATED THEIR PINKIES AS A

LASTING REMINDER OF THEIR DEVOITION TO EACH OTHER.

62

Phil flicked his eyes toward mine. We hadn't spoken about our bait-and-switch since that

night. I jumped on AIM and told him that everything was cool, that the relationship

would be over in a couple of weeks. He seemed satisfied with that. But Ryan and May

were dating.

May blushed and folded her arms across her breasts. -No way. I am not going to

talk about my so-called sex life in front of everyone.

-Oh, fuck you, sis, I said with as much good humor as I could muster. It's not

like we don't know that you and Ryan screw around.

Phil cleared his throat and stood. -I'm going to make myself something to drink

in the kitchen. You guys want anything?

-Way to be discreet, Phil! Lyla rocked on her side and punched him in the calf.

You think you could get me a Dr. Pepper?

-Coming right up. Anything for the Florence twins?

I waved my hand toward the kitchen. May was losing her nerve, and he needed to

vacate if she was ever going to answer. Luckily, Phil could take a hint. He took off across

the marble, his stocking-feet scrambling so quick, I was sure he'd slip. But he didn't.

-See? No more boys. Now spill it, sister. Lyla leaned over and whispered, her

eyes bright as sequins. Have you given him a blow joh?

-Oh, gross! May opened her mouth, letting her tongue dangle out. Like I'd want

to put that in my mouth. Who knows what he's done with it?

Lyla waved her hands in circles, egging her on. - Fine. so no blow jobs. What

have you done?

- I've rubbed him through his pants. and he's fingered me, but nothing else.

63

-Are you serious? asked Lyla, saucer-eyed. You mean to tell me that you haven't

even seen him naked?

-No, just without his shirt. That's as far as we've gotten.

I didn't even realize I was holding my breath. -That's it?

-What is this, the Spanish Inquisition? May blew air between her lips, fluffing

her bangs out of her eyes. Jesus, what do you want me to say, that I let himfuck me up the

ass with a satellite dish or something?

A glass shattered in the kitchen, and we all started to laugh.

(HE WAS LISTENING.)

-Holy shit, that was awesome! Lyla gasped. Next time, May, you should totally scream

that a little louder. Maybe you 'fl get him to drop his mom's gin in the trashcan!

-Shut up! Phil shouted from the other room. It was an accident.

Maybe it was an accident, but I knew I couldn't admit what had happened

between Ryan and me. I knew the second Ryan closed his hand- all cold and sweaty­

over mine, that he'd gone too far.

(HE HAD.)

And I couldn't tell Phil why he was standing in the kitchen, eavesdropping on his crush's

confession, when he should have been the subject of the confession.

64

7

(WHO SAW A LOCO DAME)

I wished I hadn't interfered, hadn't cut into my sister's life. I just wanted to be

done, and I didn't want her to leave. She could have walked into my room, seen me with

hands full of White-Out, and told me I was the worst sister in the world. I would have

agreed. I fucking deserved it.

(I TURN ON MY CELLPHONE, & MY VOICEMAIL NOTICE LIGHTS UP. THREE NEW

MESSAGES.

MESSAGE ONE: "MAY, IT'S PHIL. JUST CALLING TO FIND OUT IF YOU WANT

ANYTHING SPECIAL TO EAT FOR THE PARTY. GIVE ME A CALL WHEN YOU GET THE CHANCE."

HE INHALES DEEPLY, A SOFT CRACKLING THAT ISN'T STATIC. EXHALES. "UMM, ANYWAY,

HAVE FUN. BYE."

MESSAGE TWO: "IS YOUR PHONE OFF, OR DID YOU LEAVE IT ON THE CHARGER?

LISTEN, I DON'T REMEMBER WHERE I NEED TO MEET YOU. I REMEMBER YOU SAID THE MALL

OF LOUISIANA, BUT I CAN'T REMEMBER WHERE OR WHEN. I'M GOING TO TRY SUSANNA'S

CELL & SEE IF SHE KNOWS. I'LL CALL BACK IF I CAN'T GET AN ANSWER FROM HER. DUDE,

65

MA'S TOTALLY NERVOUS ABOUT MEETING YOUR PARENTS. I'VE NEVER SEEN HER PUT SO

MUCH SHIT IN HER HAIR! I'LL TALK TO YOU SOON, GIRL. TEN-FOUR."

MESSAGE THREE: "IT'S RYAN. CALL ME. LATER."

I could have told her what I meant, even if she couldn't understand.

(1 ALWAYS UNDERSTAND.)

But I've never understood. Not myself, not her, not why she was still seeing that fucker

who treated her like a whore.

(HE LIKES ME FOR ME.)

He liked her for me. Or, rather, he liked that I wasn't her.

The second time I saw Ryan, we were at school. I had managed to avoid him

since the failed break-up attempt, but that afternoon he appeared, standing in front of my

regular seat near the parking lot. His shadow crept over my torso, graying my cottage

cheese until I thought I was holding a cup full of mold.

- You're Susanna, right? he asked.

I tilted my head- that slow motion patented by dogs and saleswomen- with one

gentle, confused slide. -You must be Ryan. Sorry, May's in the guidance office right

now, but I'm sure-

-Actually, I was looking for you. I wanted to ask you something about May. He

glanced around, bent over, pitched his voice low. In private, please.

66

-Sure. What could I do? I stood and followed him around the library. Once we

were out of student earshot, I asked, What's up?

He got close. Real close. My three-inch deficit in height was the difference

between a daca and a gladius when he stood so close to me. -I know, he said, that you

passed yourself off as May the night I went to your house.

For a moment I just stared at him, wondering how he'd figured it out. -What the

hell are you talking about? If this is your idea of a joke, it's in really poor taste. Now, if

you'll excuse me, I'm going to finish my lunch.

He grabbed my wrist and lurched me back toward him ..

-Did you know May got her belly button pierced? He snaked two fingers under

the hem of my shirt, brushed his nails across my unadorned navel. When I asked when

she got it, she said she had it done the same day I supposedly visited her. But she didn't

have a piercing that night. Which means she's a liar. Or you are.

Before I could think of a better lie, he pushed me against the wall, his crotch

pinned to my belly.

-Asshole, let me go!

-Or what? You'll tell May that you're a hackstahhing slut who fucked her

boyfriend while she was playing lipstick lesbians with her new friend?

I thought of the tattoo on her right arm darting across the viola's strings. Those

strings like a staff. Notes jumping back and forth, singing "Layla you got me on my

knees" between bars of Led Zeppelin. -You leave Lyla out of this.

-Why, because she's a dyke bitch who won 't take a cock in the mouth? She'd

probably slice it off with those rings in her face. Ryan was hard, so hard against me, and

he sneered as he twisted my nipple. Doesn't matter. You and I are going to get along just

67

fine, aren 't we?

RYAN BOUGHT ME A DOZEN ROSES & HAD THEM SENT TO THE

HOUSE TODAY. WHEN I ASKED WHY, HE SAID THAT HE WAS SORRY THAT

HE'D BEEN A JERK FOR THE PAST FEW WEEKS. HE WANTED TO LET ME

KNOW HE'S PROUD OF ME & SUPPORTS MY DECISION TO APPLY TO

LSMSA.

"IF YOU GET IN," HE SAID, "I'LL APPLY TO NSU SO WE CAN BE

TOGETHER AFTER I GRADUATE. & WHEN YOU GRADUATE, I'LL TRANSFER

WHEREVER YOU GO. I JUST WANT TO MAKE YOU HAPPY. "

PART OF ME WAS TOUCHED BY HIS DEVOTION, & IT WAS A NICE

CHANGE FROM THE KINDS OF RESPONSES I'VE BEEN GETTING FROM

PHIL. (HE'S BITCHING ALL THE TIME NOW, LIKE THE WORLD'S GOING TO

END WHEN I MOVE.) BUT IT'S TOO EARLY FOR RYAN TO PLAN SO FAR

AHEAD. I LIKE HIM, HE MAKES ME FEEL SPECIAL, BUT I CAN'T JUST START

PLANNING MY WHOLE LIFE AROUND HIM. I CAN'T SHAKE THIS FEELING

THAT SOMETHING'S GOING ON WITH HIM. FOR ONE, I DON'T SEE WHY I

WOULD NEED HIS "SUPPORT" ANYWAY. IT'S MY DECISION, NOT HIS.

68

When you love someone, you do stupid shit. Phil complained all the time about May

leaving, but what he was really saying was that he wanted her to be a part of his life. That

was his language.

Lyla wore her language in her skin as titanium and tint; she spoke it with fingers

and horsehair.

I wasn't sure what my language was. Or ifl was just making it up from May's.

With a grunt I closed the bottle of White-Out and decided that a cup of coffee was

just what I needed to clear my head.

(COFFEE. THAT'S WHAT I NEED TO CLEAR MY HEAD. "MOM," I SAID, "DO YOU THINK

WE COULD STOP BY CC's?"

I COULD SEE HER ROLLING HER EYES IN THE REARVIEW MIRROR. "CC'S IS OUT OF

THE WAY. THERE'S A STARBUCKS JUST DOWN THE ROAD. LET'S GO THERE."

"STARBUCKS TASTES LIKE DEAD DOG BUTT. I'D RATHER DRINK BURNT COMMUNITY

COFFEE THAN FRESH STARBUCKS ANY DAY."

"THAT HAS GOT TO BE THE GROSSEST THING I'vE EVER HEARD."

"MOM, YOU SAID TODAY WAS MY DAY-"

"FINE! WE'LL GO TO CC'S. JESUS. I HOPE YOUR FRIEND'S RUNNING LATE.")

I went back to the kitchen and poured myself the dregs from the bottom of the coffee pot.

It was probably scorched at the bottom, but burnt Community Coffee was better than

fresh Starbucks any day. Just in case, I added an extra teaspoon of brown sugar and a

twist of lemonpeel to neutralize any bitterness.

69

Since no one was around, I decided to grab a smoke on the patio. Coffee in hand,

I jogged back to my room and dug out the pack of Camels I kept in my underwear

drawer. The diary sat on my desk blotter, exposed and alone. I grabbed it, too, tucking it

under my arm as I dug around in my pack for my lighter.

The chairs were still damp from yesterday's storm, but I didn't mind. I knew

Mom would have freaked if she'd caught me sitting in cold, wet chairs. Or found out I

was smoking.

I HAD A HUGE FIGHT WITH MOM & DAD TODAY. I ASKED PHIL IF

HE COULD GET SUSANNA OUT OF THE HOUSE SO I COULD HAVE A TALK

WITH MY PARENTS & HE ACTUALLY AGREED TO HELP. IT MIGHT BE THE

FIRST NICE THING HE'S DONE SINCE I TOLD HIM I WAS APPLYING.

WHILE SHE WAS OUT, I CONFRONTED THEM ABOUT NOT

LETTING HER APPLY TO LSMSA. AT FIRST, MOM SAID, "IT'S TOO RISKY

FOR HER SINCE SHE GETS SICK SO EASILY. IT WOULD BE TOO HARD FOR

US TO TAKE HER TO THE DOCTOR. SHE NEEDS TO STAY HERE SO WE CAN

TAKE CARE OF HER. "

I TOLD HER THAT WAS A LOAD OF CRAP & SHE KNEW IT. THINGS

GOT NASTY AFTER THAT, WITH MOM & DAD CALLING ME AN UNGRATEFUL

BITCH WHO DIDN'T KNOW HOW GOOD I HAD IT.

"THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT PHIL'S PARENTS TELL HIM," I SAID,"&

70

BOTH OF THEM ARE ALCOHOLICS."

SO, I'M GROUNDED.

THEY WANT HER TO LIVE HERE WHERE THEY CAN KEEP AN EYE

ON HER. IT'S FUCKING RIDICULOUS. THEY CAN'T PROTECT HER

FOREVER. YEAH, MAY'S NOT GOING TO RUN A MARATHON ANYTIME

SOON, BUT SHE'S A LOT HEALTHIER THAN THEY'D LIKE TO ADMIT.

SUSANNA'S AFRAID TO ADMIT IT, TOO. SHE PRETENDS TO BE SICK A LOT

MORE THAN SHE REALLY IS. I'VE NOTICED SHE'S NOT DOING IT AS MUCH

LATELY. MAYBE SHE THINKS IF SHE'S HEALTHIER, THEY'LL LET HER

APPLY. BUT I DON'T THINK THAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN .

PHIL & LYLA HAVE BOTH SAID THAT SUSANNA SEEMS MORE

DISTANT THAN USUAL & I AGREE. SHE PROBABLY WANTS OUT AS MUCH

AS I DO.

I never knew how hard she fought; she never told me. I assumed she put up a token fight,

made the standard "my-twin-sister-who's-so-close-to-me" argument.

Made me feel even worse that I wasn't able to fight off Ryan.

-I want you to meet me after school in the parking lot. I don't care what you tell

your faggot friends. You better be there, or else.

-Or else what, motherfucker?

-It's up to you, he said with a shrug. I could drag you off to tell your sister

71

yoursel. Or I could widen that hole in May's stomach button by ripping her piercing out.

He grabbed the back of my head and yanked my hair down with such force, my

mouth fell open. I felt him hot against my mouth, his tongue stroking mine like a boy

might stroke a kitten before he broke its neck.

Those afternoons he brought me, head dragging- or being dragged- into the

parking lot. All I could do was zone out.

I counted the number of stripes on the steering wheel cover-four hundred and

seventy-two-as he tore open the Trojan he kept in his wallet.

Connected the dots on the upholstery-geese, sunflowers, the man in the moon­

while he slid the condom over his penis.

Imagined that the hair sticking to his sweat-coated forehead was the tall grass

edging Highland Road Park-remember, May, how we lost our frisbees there?

(1 REMEMBER.)

- as he pushed inside me, my hips sinking into the seat a little bit more with each thrust.

I barely remembered the details. I couldn't tell you how my body reacted, or how

much it hurt, or how my underwear felt once I pulled it over my knees.

But I could recite the trigonometry equations I solved while we did it- entire

tables of sine, cosine, and tangent values. The genealogy of the Roman gods and their

Greek and Etruscan equivalents. The opening lines to Ovid's Metamorphoses in Latin­

In nova fert animus mutatas dicere for mas I corpora di coeptis nam vas mutastis et illas I

adspirate meis primaque ab origine mundi I ad mea perpetuum deducite tempora

carmen-and Dido's monologue before her suicide. The rhyme pattern in an Italian

72

sonnet. The names of every Supreme Court justice. The chemical formulas for caffeine,

nicotine, and sugar.

That was how I dealt with Ryan; dealing with May was much harder.

Yet I couldn't help but smile at the horoscope printed between the bridge column

and the New York Times crossword.

Aries: "Mercury in Retrograde" is a popular excuse for communication

breakdowns. Don't let it become one for you! Do your best to

listen and communicate effectively. Neptune's influence makes

you particularly sensitive to others. Use that to your advantage

today.

I decided to take a break to do my puzzles, but they were so easy I finished before my

coffee cooled. Going back to the diary, I started underlining words and rearranging them

into a Ia Scramblewords.

I RODE UP WITH LYLA TO INTERVIEW/AUDITION DAY. IT WAS HER

SECOND TRIP TO NATCHITOCHES IN TWO WEEKS; THE MUSIC DIRECTOR

ASKED HER TO VISIT THE WEEK BEFORE BECAUSE OF SOME SCHEDULE

CONFLICT, BUT SHE COULDN'T GET INTO AN INTERVIEW SESSION. SHE

INSISTS HER AUDITION WENT POORLY & THAT THE ART TEACHER HATED

HER SLIDES. BETWEEN HER MUSIC AWARDS & HER 34 ON THE ACT,

73

THEY'RE NOT GOING TO REJECT HER, BUT SHE KEEPS WHINING ABOUT

HOW THEY'RE PREJUDICED AGAINST ALL HER METAL.

I THINK ONE OF MY INTERVIEWERS WAS AN ENGLISH TEACHER

BECAUSE HE POINTED OUT THE YOUNG AUTHOR'S AWARD ON MY

APPLICATION & MENTIONED THAT I COULD WORK ON THE LITERARY

MAGAZINE.

MET SOME REALLY COOL PEOPLE OVER THE WEEKEND: A CUTE

GUY FROM CADDO MAGNET (HE LOOKS LIKE MR. C!), TWO GIRLS FROM

LAFAYETTE, & THIS REALLY SHY GIRL FROM ROSEDALE. ONE GUY FROM

BEN FRANKLIN, THOUGH, WAS 6 TOTAL JACKASS. HE KEPT GOING ON &

ON ABOUT HOW BEN FRANKLIN WAS BETTER THAN BATON ROUGE HIGH.

HE & LYLA ALMOST DUKED IT OUT, BUT I STOPPED THE ARGUMENT BY

SAYING THAT EVERYONE KNEW MCKINLEY WAS THE BEST SCHOOL IN

LOUISIANA. THAT MADE HER SMILE.

I scrawled my answer at the top of the diary page.

("JUST IN TIME, " I SAY AS DAD PULLS INTO A FIRST-ROW PARKING SPACE AT BEST

BUY.

"SO," MOM ASKS, "HOW WILL WE FIND THEM?"

"SHOULDN'T BE TOO HARD," I SAY, WAVING WITH MY FREE HAND, "SINCE THEY'RE

74

STANDING AT THE DOOR."

DAD UNBUCKLES HIS BELT, REACHES FOR THE DOOR HANDLE, & STOPS HALFWAY.

"IS THAT," HE ASKS, ARM STICKING OUT LIKE HE'S FORGOTTEN IT EXISTS, "HER MOTHER?"

"HONEY, JUST HOW MANY OF YOUR FRIENDS," MOM ASKS, "ARE GOING TO

LSMSA?"

"ONLY LYLA. WHY?"

"I WOULD HAVE RATHER YOU INTRODUCED US TO SOMEONE ELSE," SHE SAYS.

I GLANCE BACK & FORTH BETWEEN MY PARENTS' FACES. "OH, COME ON. DON'T

BE JERKS. A TATTOO OR A PIERCING DOESN'T MAKE YOU A BAD PERSON."

"I'D SAY THEY BOTH HAVE MORE THAN ONE OF EACH."

"DAD!"

WHEN I LOOK AT THE RIZZOS, I SEE EXOTIC, ALMOND-SHAPED EYES-BRIGHT

BLUE FLECKED BROWN-GOLD. ON THE MOTHER, BLACK HAIR BOUND IN A MODEST TWIST &

UNTOUCHED BY GRAY. THE DAUGHTER, SASSY BLACK ANGLES FRAMED BY BUBBLEGUM

BRAIDS. TWO TALL, SLENDER FRAMES, SMOOTH FACES, & FULL MOUTHS WITH A TOUCH OF

TINTED GLOSS. EVEN IF YOU CAN'T IGNORE THEIR BODY MODIFICATIONS, THEY STILL

LOOKS LIKE MODELS.

I CAN'T IMAGINE WHAT THEY SEE.

"HELLO THERE," MRS. RIZZO SAYS TO MY PARENTS, EXTENDING A SHAPELY,

TECHNICOLOR ARM. "YOU MUST BE MR. & MRS. FLORENCE. I'M FAYE RIZZO, LYLA'S MOM.

YOU MUST BE VERY PROUD OF YOUR DAUGHTER.")

I was. And she was very proud of you.

75

8

(NO ROSE SLAT)

How did I deal with May? I didn't. Anotherpuzzle.

SUSANNA'S BEEN ASKED TO GO REPRESENT OUR SCHOOL AT

THE JCL CONVENTION, & LAST WEEK, SHE WON AN AWARD FROM MU

ALPHA THETA FOR GETTING THE HIGHEST SCORE ON A STATE-WIDE

MATH TEST. EVEN MR. C COMMENTED ON HER PERFORMANCE. WHILE WE

WERE TALKING ABOUT PLACES TO PUBLISH MY WORK, HE SAID, "HAVE

YOU TALKED TO YOUR SISTER ABOUT SEEKING PUBLICATION? HER

WRITING'S BECOMING VERY NUANCED. HAVE YOU TWO BEEN WORKING

TOGETHER?"

"NO," I SAID.

"IT WOULD BE WONDERFUL," HE WHISPERED, "TO SEE TWO

LOVELY, YOUNG WRITERS SUCCEED. MY TWO BEST WRITERS."

76

HIS EYES FOCUSED & UNFOCUSED AS WE TALKED. I WONDERED

IF HE WAS ACTUALLY LISTENING TO ME OR TO HIMSELF. THE MORE HE

TALKED, THE MORE WORRIED I GOT ABOUT SUSANNA. OF COURSE I'M

PROUD OF HER, BUT I'M ALSO A LITTLE JEALOUS. SCARED, TOO. SHE'S

LOOKING HEALTHIER EVERY DAY, BUT SHE NEVER TALKS TO ANYONE

BUT PHIL. EVEN PHIL SAID HE'S WORRIED. ON THE WAY HOME, I

REMEMBERED THAT RUMOR ABOUT MY "INVOLVEMENT" WITH MR. C, & I

WONDERED HOW FAR OFF IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN.

My solution made me think of one of Lyla's assemblage pieces. Her father had sent her

roses for Valentine's Day, which she immediately removed from the water and hung

upside-down in the art studio. A couple of weeks later, she cut all the crinkled buds off

the tops of the stems, tossing them into the empty vase. Over the next several days, she

broke the stems, flowers, and glass and arranged them onto a hand-stretched canvas. The

stems became twisted ribs; the glass, a nimbus around a petal heart. All between layers of

paint, thicker than anything in Mrs. Rizzo's work.

When she finished, she cried for over an hour, rocking in her mother's arms.

- This is the closest he '!! ever get, she said, to being in my heart.

I looked at the clock in their studio, disgusted with myself. All I could see was the

clock in the Baton Rouge High art room-at least fifteen minutes past the bell, well into

lunch. I remembered thinking how, if I timed my schedule just right, I could avoid Ryan.

-You know, Susanna, the teacher said, you don't have to go through all that

77

trouble. I usually clean during my office hours.

Keep stalling, I thought, as I collected my paints and arranged them alphabetically

by color, type, and manufacturer. -It's no big deal, sir. I like it in here during lunch. Not

so crowded.

He chuckled. -You've discovered my secret. Well, don't lag behind too long. If I

hear about you being late for your next class, I 'II insist you leave at the bell like everyone

else.

-Don't worry, I'll be on time. I knew I'd miss my regular lunch period, but the

teachers never bothered me when I snuck sandwich bites and granola bars in class.

-Has May heard back from LSMSA? he asked.

-Not yet, but I heard some people already got rejections. We're hoping that's a

good sign.

-We've lost some of our best students to LSMSA, but they always seem to thrive.

I'm sure everyone will be sad to see her go, but I'm sure it's for the best.

Then, that voice I hadn't wanted to hear. -Where the fuck have you been?

-In here, washing my brushes. I didn't give Ryan the dignity of seeing my eyes.

He slapped a hand on the drafting table. -Trying to make up for being a slut?

-Nope, just trying to clean oil paints off my hands. I brushed my hands across his

sleeve, smearing ultramarine onto his jacket. Oops.

-Bitch, that's brand new.

-Sorry. I guess that's why people paint in old clothes and smocks. I smiled, all

cherry cordials and razor blades. My victories were small, and I cherished each one.

-1 swear, I am going to fuck you up so had-

-Susanna, are you okay?! thought I heard another voice.

78

All hail the well-tuned ears of teachers. -It's just my sister 's boyfriend. He

wanted me to give her a note. Jsn 't that right, Ryan ?

-Oh, yes, sir! Sorry to disturb you. His lips shaped syllables, but his voice was

below a whisper. You're dead.

MY NAVEL PIERCING IS VERY SORE LATELY. IT'S ALWAYS

OOZING OR CRUSTY, & THERE'S A BIG RED BUMP ON THE HOLE. I DIDN'T

KNOW WHO TO TELL EXCEPT L YLA, & SHE SAID IT'S DEFINITELY

INFECTED. SHE GAVE ME A HUGE LECTURE ON HOW I SHOULD BE CARING

FOR IT-SEA SALT SOAKS TWICE A DAY, PROVON SOAP, NO TOUCHING.

I'VE BEEN READING ALL OF THE WEBSITES I CAN FIND ON HOW TO GET

RID OF THE INFECTION. ONE SUGGESTED TEA TREE OIL, BUT LYLA SAID

THAT'S TOO HARSH. I'M NOT SURE WHO TO TRUST ON THIS. BUT I CAN'T

SEE A DOCTOR & I CAN'T TAKE IT OUT. THE SEA SALT SOAKS HAVE MADE

IT HURT LESS, BUT IT'S STILL REALLY SWOLLEN. RYAN'S BEEN EXTRA­

CAREFUL WITH IT. SOMETIMES HE'LL BLOW ACROSS MY BELLY OR TICKLE

THE SKIN AROUND IT TO MAKE IT FEEL BETTER. IT'S KIND OF CUTE & I'M

BEGINNING TO WONDER IF I OVERREACTED TO HIS OFFER TO FOLLOW ME

TO NATCHITOCHES.

79

Only when you were around, I told the diary. When he was with me, he threatened to rip

it out.

But neither the diary nor May responded.

(THE SALESMAN KEEPS GOING ON & ON ABOUT THIS EXPENSIVE NEW I BOOK,

WHICH I DON'T WANT. I KEEP TELLING MY PARENTS THAT I'M FINE WITH A REGULAR LAPTOP,

BUT THEY JUST LISTEN & STARE AT THE SALESMAN LIKE HYPNOTIZED CHILDREN. I'M SO

BORED.

LYLA CLICKS HER TONGUE & JABS HER THUMB TOWARD THE DOOR.

"I'M GOING TO GO LOOK AT THE CELL PHONES, OKAY?" I DON'T WAIT FOR THEM TO

CONFIRM THAT THEY'VE HEARD ME.

ONCE WE'RE OUTSIDE, LYLA LIGHTS A CIGARETTE & PASSES ME ONE. WE BOTH

TAKE LONG, LABORED DRAGS. "YOUR PARENTS ARE ACTING TOTALLY LAME," SHE SAYS.

"YEAH, FOR REAL.")

I lit a cigarette of my own, tracing the letter-s over and over. So much that I've tom

through the newsprint. I'm hissing over the obituaries, if you will.

("HOW'S THE PIERCING?"

"I DID EVERYTHING YOU SAID, BUT IT'S STILL REALLY GROSS. I DON'T GET IT.

WASN'T IT SUPPOSED TO HEAL IN FOUR MONTHS?"

"THAT'S THE MINIMUM HEALING TIME. WITH AN INFECTION LIKE THAT, YOU'RE

80

LOOKING AT ANOTHER TWO MONTHS, AT LEAST.

I LIFT MY SHIRT & JIGGLE THE CHARM ON THE END OF THE BARBELL. "TAKING

CARE OF THIS IS HARD WORK. I'M SUPPOSED TO DO ANOTHER SOAK SOON."

LYLA SLAPS MY HAND. "WHAT DID I TELL YOU? ALWAYS FOLLOW THE 'LITHA'

METHOD WHEN DEALING WITH AN INFECTION: LEAVE IT THE HELL ALONE."

"AND JUST WHEN WERE YOU PLANNING ON TELLING US ABOUT THAT, YOUNG

LADY?

"MOM!"

DAD YANKS THE CIGARETTE OUT OF MY HAND & SHAKES IT IN MRS. RIZZO'S FACE.

"IS THIS YOUR INFLUENCE, MRS. RIZZO? LETTING YOUR DAUGHTER SMOKE? GIVING OUR

DAUGHTER A PIERCING WITHOUT OUR PERMISSION?"

MRS. RIZZO LOOKS BETWEEN US, EYES WILD & CONFUSED. "I DON'T KNOW WHAT

YOU'RE-"

"YOU CAN KISS YOUR PRECIOUS PARLOR GOODBYE," MOM SAYS AS SHE YANKS

ME AWAY FROM LYLA. "I'LL REPORT YOU MYSELF."

LYLA JUMPS IN FRONT OF MRS. RIZZO & POINTS HER STARRY HAND AT MY MOM.

"WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, YELLING LIKE THAT?"

"DAD, MOM! STOP BEING ASSHOLES FOR A MINUTE & LISTEN!")

My head started buzzing like crazy, and not from the nicotine. I was sick, for real this

time. Like my head was stuck in a toilet full of voices, and someone had just flushed. I

tossed my cigarette into the grass, rushed into the house. Bed. I needed to get to my bed.

81

(A CROWD GATHERS AROUND US.

"I'D RATHER MY DAUGHTER BE HONEST ABOUT HER CHOICES THAN LIE, BUT I

GUESS A MAN LIKE YOU WOULDN'T UNDERSTAND THE CONNECTION BETWEEN A SINGLE

MOM & HER DAUGHTER!

"WHAT GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO SAY THAT I DON'T HAVE THAT CONNECTION WITH

MINE?" MOM SAYS, SHAKING MY ARM LIKE A PUPPY'S LEASH.

"OW! MOM, YOU'RE HURTING ME," I SAY AS MY ARM TWISTS.

"WELL, SINCE MAY SNUCK BEHIND YOUR BACK & GOT HER NAVEL PIERCED­

SOMETHING I HAD NO PART IN-SHE OBVIOUSLY ISN'T COMMUNICATING WITH YOU. FUNNY

HOW I CAN TALK TO MY CHILD LIKE AN ADULT." MRS. RIZZO GRINNED. "DO YOU THINK THAT

MAYBE IT'S BECAUSE I KNOW HOW TO ACT LIKE ONE?"

"MA, YOU'RE MAKING A HUGE SCENE."

"WELL, LET THEM STARE. IT'S PROBABLY THE FIRST TIME ANY OF THESE

JUDGEMENTAL REPUBLICAN FUCKERS HAS SEEN A BEAUTIFUL, CONFIDENT WOMAN PUT

HER FOOT DOWN IN FRONT OF A MAN."

"BEAUTIFUL? CONFIDENT? YOU LOOK LIKE A SIDESHOW FREAK."

MORE PEOPLE CIRCLED AROUND US, & I WATCHED THEM DOUBLE, TRIPLE.

WOOZY. "LYLA? I DON'T FEEL so-"

"MAY!" SHE RUSHES OVER JUST IN TIME TO CATCH ME, TEARS ME AWAY FROM MY

MOTHER, CLUTCHES ME AGAINST HER CHEST. "WILL YOU GUYS STOP FIGHTING & FUCKING

HELP HER?"

THE LAST THING I HEAR BEFORE I BLACK OUT IS HER CRYING.)

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I barely made it to the bed before I faint,

(AND I DREAM-)

and I dreamed-

I'm as tall as Ryan. No, taller. I tower over him; he looks like a toddler. A

pathetic kid. Someone knocks him down on the playground, steals his shoes, and tosses

them into the bushes where he couldn't get them. The teachers tell him to suck it up.

-Just boys being boys.

He doesn't have another pair, so returns to class in his socks. The other children

snicker and call him Blackfoot.

Now he hunches over a sink in the Baton Rouge High bathroom, scrubbing his

sleeve with soap and water. He yanks off the jacket, pisses on it. Rubs the urine in with

his hands, nails digging into the blue smudge-a stain the same color as the sky. No

clouds.

There are two more people now, male and female.

Phil leans over and kisses his mother on the cheek before covering her with his

comforter. She's passed out in the armchair again, a bottle of Bombay tucked under her

arm.

He hears his dad yelling from the study for a scotch. Grumbling, he shuffles to the

bar and gets out the bottle. Pours a glass, then dumps it into the bar sink. Pours another

down the drain. Another, the same way. He goes through about half the bottle before he

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slips the bottle under the faucet. A thin stream-inaudible across the house-fills a

quarter of the bottle before Phil shuts it off

He pours one last glass, takes it into the study, and leaves it on his father's desk.

The girl is me

(SUSANNA?)

and I've

(SHE'S)

got a handful of eyeliners. I hold them up to Phil's eyes. Pluck the peacock green from

the display, swear up and down that it matches his eyes. He raises an eyebrow. I uncap

the pencil, ask for his lighter. I pass the tip through the flame once, twice before I touch it

to the line of skin below his lashes.

-Now that's alchemy, I say.

The three of us stand in a parking lot. I can hear them talking now, voices small

and faraway.

-Susanna, what's going on?

-You stay out of it, faggot. This is between me and her.

I look at Phil, eyes pleading. -Please, just go home. I can take care of myself

-Better listen to your fag hag, Satan-boy. Unless you 're looking for a beating.

-Look, I don 't know what's going on, but I'm not leaving until you tell me what

you're doing with her.

Ryan laughs, snakes an ann around my waist. -Fine. You tell him, Susanna.

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Maybe you 'd like your fag friend to know what a slut you are.

Phil takes two long steps over, shoves Ryan away. -You better leave before I

fuckyou up.

-You're real cute, cocksucker. But maybe you won't want to be her knight in

shining armor when you know how much she likes it when Ifuck her.

Phil looks over at me, searching my face.

I look away.

Silence.

- See, your little friend wanted it so bad, she lied to you and her sister to get it.

But she needs a lesson in keeping her cumdumpster shut. So, unless you 're going to take

it for her, I suggest you get the fuck out of the way.

- I'm not leaving. If that means getting some bruises, fine. Phil steps around me,

tucks his hands in his pockets, and closes his eyes. Braces, waits.

Ryan smiles and cocks back his arm. -Whatever floats your faggot boat, kid.

Phil takes the hit, falls.

When he gets up, I notice he's taller. Growing. His shitkicker Docs the size of two

Lincolns. Of the whole parking lot. He's as big as me now. I look down, but before I can

say anything, he stomps on the scene below. Rubs it out like a cigarette butt.

-You don 't need to see that again.

We're in my room now. Everything 's normal. May's

(MY)

diary lays open on my bed. I hold Phil against me, rub my face against his shoulder. His

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shirt is damp; it takes me a minute to realize that I was making it that way.

-1 never thanked you, I say.

-You 're doing it now.

-1 guess.

-When you told me, he says, what happened, I was mad. But not at you. At

myself for putting you in that position.

-You didn't know. I pull away, brush his babysoft hair out of his eyes. I wish I'd

told you earlier.

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a half-smushed pack of Camels and a Zippo.

One-handed, he clicks the lighter open, strikes it against his leg. Digs out a cigarette,

brings it to his mouth, lights it. Always Phil. -Can't change the past, Susanna. Don't

beat yourself up over it. I 'm guessing that's my job now. To get beaten up over it, that is.

-You don't have to.

-But you have to tell May.

- !will.

-You know, I never thought I'd say this. But- And now, he kisses the tips of his

fingers. Touches them to my mouth. Gives me a wink that tells me everything I already

know. You. Are. Officially more fucked up than my shit head parents.

I laugh; it's always easier to laugh. - That 's so wrong.

-I'm serious. Promise me that from now on, you 're not going to be valedictorian

ofthe School ofFucked-Up.

- Can I be saluditorian? I smile a little. I am an overachiever.

-Yeah. He tucks the cigarette between his lips and looks down at his watch. You

know, you 're late. You really need to wake up now.

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-I want to stay here.

-But May needs you.

-Oh. I can't argue, so I settle for looking away.

-Hey, look at me. He touches me face. Softly. So soft. Turns me to face him. I'll

call you when you get up, okay? Don't worry.

I lean my face into his hands, and his palms ring-

I rolled over the diary as I grabbed my cellphone. - Phil. I need you to do me a

favor.

-You know, it 's really creepy when you do that.

- May's sick. Is that my voice?, I thought. Too calm, I sounded too calm. I need

you to get the car from your parents, pick me up, & take me to the doc-

His voice broke, drowning out mine. -Wait wait wait wait wait a second! Is May

in the hospital? What the fuck happened?

-Just come get me, I said. We don 't have a lot of time.

-Okay, fine. Just let me get the keys from my mom. I'll be there in ten minutes.

Eight, I thought. He'll take the keys without asking and run every red light on the

way.

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9

(OUR LADY OF THE PINK)

His speed lacers left a black rubber smudge on the interior as he kicked open the

passenger-side door. I knew he would hear from his mom about that later.

-Get in, he said, a fresh-lit cigarette bouncing between his lips.

Once we ripped through the stop signs, he asked, -So, where are we going? Our

Lady of the Lake or Bluebonnet?

-Neither. Head over to the doc-in-the-box on Essen and Picardy.

-Shit. no way.

Everyone knew that only drugheads went to the "doc-in-the-box," the 24-hour

emergency clinic for uninsured patients. It was just one of those things that got passed

around- you went to a real hospital if you had a real problem, but if you just wanted a

quick OxyContin fix, you went to the clinic. The nurses on staff didn't care; they were

just as strapped as everyone else. Every pill they sold under the counter was a little

capsule of tax-free income. Then kids turned around, sold to their friends, and the

business kept going.

-Why the fuck are they bringing her there? he asked. Your parents can afford

better. Hell, even Earl K. Long is better, and that's the charity hospital.

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On the way to the doc-in-the-box, I recapped everything that had happened. My

diary project, the argument. How I knew May was sick, how I knew he'd call. Passing

out. The dream. As he listened, he paled more and more, until he was practically

translucent. Like I could trace the veins inside, an unbroken line from his head to his

hand and back to his heart.

By the time we reached the tum-off to the clinic, the cigarette filter smoldered

between his fingers, forgotten. Phil looked like he would faint, too.

The second he slammed the Audi into park, he tossed the cigarette away and let

out a long breath that I doubt he knew he was holding. -You're amazing, he said.

We rushed to the entrance and found the Rizzos and my parents waiting outside.

All of them sniped at each other as they waited for the nurses. Irresponsible this, bad

parenting that. A regular finger-pointing, head-nodding, cigarette-waving scene.

Lyla noticed us first. -Susanna! Phil! She rushed over and threw her arms

around us.

From between Lyla and me, Phil stuck out his hand and wiggled his fingers. -Hi,

Mr. and Mrs. Florence. Hi, Mrs. Rizzo.

Mom and Dad turned. -Susanna? They walked over slowly. Squinted, like they

didn't recognize me. When did you get here? And how did you know where we'd be?

-I just knew.

-But you were home sick, Dad said, and no one called. I don 't understand how-

l rolled my eyes. -Doesn't matter how I knew. I did, okay? And just to set the

record straight, Mrs. Rizzo is cool and had nothing to do with any of this. Lyla helped

May give herself the piercing, and Phil let May bum cigarettes from him first. Lyla didn't

offer until Phil did.

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They stared, mouths hanging open as I ticked everything off on my fingers. Mom

blinked a few times. -H-how do you-

-Shit, Phil said, cutting into my mom's wonder. There goes any chance of

hanging out with you guys anymore. Thanks, Susanna.

Mrs. Rizzo held up her hand. -That's enough, Phil. My breath snagged on my

tongue, and I wondered ifMom and Dad had seen the P-I-N-K and L-A-D-Y tattoos on

her knuckles. That was all she needed right now.

One of the ladies from the waiting room poked her head outside. -Excuse me.

The nurse just said you can, umm, go see your daughter.

-Good. Mrs. Rizzo glanced over at my parents. Mr. and Mrs. Florence, I'm sure

you'll have plenty to talk about with Susanna later, but perhaps you should go check on

your other daughter.

They nodded, as if they couldn't think of a better reply, and mutely wandered into

the clinic.

Once my parents were gone, Mrs. Rizzo turned to Lyla. -You and I will be

having a talk this weekend about your behavior, young lady. I don't think I need to

explain how much trouble I'd be in if the Health Department thought I was illegally

piercing minors.

-Yes, ma'am. I mean, no, ma'am.

Mrs. Rizzo nodded, her steepled hands touching her lips. -Susanna, why in

God's name did your parents bring May to the trucker's clinic?

My hero. -They don't think she's sick. I'm the only one "special" enough to go

to a real hospital.

She opened and closed her mouth a few times, failing to say something. No one

90

had to; we all knew.

A minute or two passed before May walked through the doors. Seeing me, she

smiled and said, -You're late.

I yanked my friends to her side and let go long enough to hug her. Lyla and Phil

squeezed in, pressing their cheeks against our four.

- Where are Mom and Dad? I asked.

-They're talking to the doctor. He suggested that they bring me to the hospital

for observation, but they said it wasn 't necessary.

Mrs. Rizzo walked over to the side of the clinic office and leaned against the wall.

The grit from the bricks ground against her bare shoulder, her skin pinking the color of

the roses peeking above the waistband of her skirt. -I'll refrain from saying anything

about your parents, she said finally, because it's not my place. She paused and pressed

her back harder against the wall. I had a flash of wild fear, a thought she could shove

down the building if she wedged her hips just a little harder. And I'm afraid that if I start

talking, I won 't stop until someone hauls me off to jail.

May pursed her lips. -Well, the doctor said it was only a fainting spell, probably

stress related. He seemed to think it wasn't really serious, so maybe Mom and Dad knew

that I didn't have to go to the hospital.

-Should I ask him if he can get me sick so I can stay with you?

(YES.)

For a second she stared, then pulled me closer. -I dreamed about you, she said. Her

heart fluttered in her chest like a small, angry bird.

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-Me too. Her hair brushed against my neck, and I thought of the last diary entry,

still untouched.

I GOT IN! MY LETTER CAME IN THE MAIL TODAY, & LYLA GOT

HERS YESTERDAY. PHIL GAVE ME A BEAUTIFUL GOLD TREFOIL NECKLACE

AS A "CONGRATULATIONS" PRESENT. IT LOOKS EXACTLY LIKE L YLA'S

TATTOO, WHICH IS WHERE HE GOT THE IDEA, KE SAID. HE HAS GOT TO

BE THE BEST FRIEND EVER.

RYAN WAS REALLY UPSET ABOUT IT & KEPT GOING ON ABOUT

HOW IT WAS AN "INAPPROPRIATE" GIFT FOR A FRIEND. I TOLD HIM TO

BACK OFF. "I'VE KNOWN PHIL FOR A LOT LONGER THAN I'VE KNOWN YOU,

BOYFRIEND OR NOT."

BUT HE WOULDN'T LET IT GO. HE'S BEEN WAY TOO POSSESSIVE

THESE PAST FEW DAYS. MAYBE GOING AWAY WILL BE GOOD FOR US.

GIVE HIM SOME PERSPECTIVE. I LIKE RYAN A LOT, BUT IT'S NOT GOING

TO WORK BETWEEN US IF HE GOES ALL JEKYLL AND HYDE ON ME.

PHIL GOT BEAT UP A FEW DAYS AGO, BUT HIS BRUISES ARE

CLEARING UP. WHEN I ASKED HIM WHAT HAPPENED, HE SAID HE GOT

JUMPED BY QUEER-BASHERS. SUSANNA HASN'T SAID A WORD TO

ANYONE BUT HER TEACHERS SINCE IT HAPPENED. SHE KNOWS

SOMETHING ABOUT IT, BUT SHE WON'T TALK TO ME.

92

WE'VE GROWN SO DISTANT THESE PAST FEW MONTHS. I'M NOT

SURE WHAT HAS HAPPENED. I WORRY THAT, WHEN I MOVE, I WILL LOSE

THE BEST FRIEND I'VE EVER HAD. I HAVE TO DO SOMETHING TO LET HER

KNOW THAT ALL THIS SCHOOL BULLSHIT IS JUST SCHOOL BULLSHIT. L YLA

SUGGESTED WE THROW HER A "STAYING HOME" PARTY, WHICH SOUNDS

AWESOME. I CAN'T WAIT TO HANG OUT WITH MY REAL SISTER AGAIN, NOT

THE SILENT GIRL WHO'S TAKEN HER PLACE.

It was September and too sticky to be outdoors. Still, we sat on the patio and

substituted crankwater for concern. I wore a tank top and cutoffs. Phil had taken off his

shirt and rolled his pants up. We looked really ridiculous.

Every few minutes, he let me sneak a drag off his cigarette- even though he

promised May he wouldn't. When I coughed, he swore he'd never let me smoke again.

But he kept giving me cigarettes. I knew he just wanted someone to smoke with. He tilted

his head back. In the half-light of the citronella candles, I looked at his throat and thought

of May doing her laundry, her hands reaching inside the stockings, turning them right­

side in. I fought the strange urge to poke Phil in his Adam's apple.

-I still can't believe, he said, you cut your hair.

-It's easier to deal with. Plus, I really do look different now.

He sighed, a thick ribbon of smoke trailing out of his mouth. - At least you didn 't

chop it all off Otherwise, you couldn 't wear those combs we got f or you.

A surprise they'd planned. He, Lyla, and May all chipped in to buy me these

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handmade hair combs. All silver with Celtic knot motifs, including one set with the

trefoil. They got them from an artist on eBay, of course. Under a secret usemame. All

very clandestine.

-Give me another drag off your cigarette.

-No way. You're not going to get sick because of me.

-Don't be a prick, Phil.

He passed it over. -You 're going to be the death of me. Between this and Ryan,

you're going to dig me an early grave.

As that small, smoky sting fills my lungs, I stared at the junebugs smacking

against the living room window. All going to the light, all trying to get in. Sometimes,

one or two wandered over toward the candles, spun out, wiggled upside-down on the

table. -What do you think I should do about him? I don 't want to report him. The last

thing I want to deal with is all that attention.

-Don't know. I mean, I could report him for fighting me. I'd probably get a

suspension, but he'd get expelled.

-You'd do that for me?

Phil smiled a little, but didn't answer.

I imagined that ritual I never saw, May jumping the fire, Lyla and Phil egging her

on. We were both jumping over it

(-BET I CAN JUMP FURTHER-)

embers flying up our skirts.

I passed the cigarette back, stood, and climbed into Phil's lap. -You think, if you

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and May ever get married, that I can be your Best Man ?

-1 guess. Why would you want to be Best Man?

-!like pants.

-Oh. That's silly.

(PRETTY SILLY, SIS.)

I wrapped his arms over my shoulders like a shawl. We stuck together.

Later that night, I showered. Warm water- sun-water-rinsed all the dirt and

sweat away, but not the Velcro touch of our skin. Just before bed, I brushed my hair and

held the combs up to my scalp, admiring their flash against my water-dark hair. I thought

to myself, May can have her Apollonian light- her Shekhinah-as long as I could keep

this silver fire.

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Proposal for four sparks fall: a novella

This novella revolves around four friends attending high school in Baton Rouge,

Louisiana, during April 2003. The setting is of note because at that time, the Baton Rouge

public school system was the center of the longest-running school desegregation lawsuit

in the nation. Over seventy percent of students in Baton Rouge public schools are

African-American, even though African-Americans only represent 50% of the city's

population. This is due to the so-called "White Flight": middle- and upper-class white

parents enrolling their children in white-majority schools outside the East Baton Rouge

Parish public school system. This phenomenon is two parts economics-black-majority

schools are poorly funded-and one part old-fashioned Southern racism. Schools like

Baton Rouge High-better funded and less "integrated" than other Baton Rouge

schools-remain highly desirable to white families. Many parents enroll their children in

accelerated programs, regardless of their academic abilities, to secure positions in the

white-majority gifted and talented, or "magnet," schools. This issue (which is mentioned

only in passing, as if understood by everyone to be a natural part of the Baton Rouge

education system) underscores the story. All of the major characters are affected by the

desegregation lawsuit, and their school enrollment reflects their relationship to the case.

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Susanna Florence, the narrator ofjour sparks fall, is a sophomore at Baton Rouge

High School, the city's top-rated magnet program. Her twin sister, May, attends the same

school, as does Susanna's best friend, Phil LeClaire. Susanna is an intelligent,

complicated teenager. She suffers from asthma and chronic bronchitis, which frustrates

her because she wants to be a "normal" girl. Despite this, she smokes-part of her

attempt to be "normal"-further exacerbating her condition. She also displays a love of

puzzles, lists, and anything in pieces; she enjoys putting things together and taking them

apart.

As the novella opens, Susanna informs us that May and her friend Lyla Rizzo, a

student in McKinley High School's gifted program, have recently been accepted into the

Louisiana School for Math, Science, and the Arts, a residential college-preparatory

academy in Natchitoches, Louisiana. Susanna wanted to apply, but her parents would not

allow it because they felt dormitory life would endanger her health. When the rest of the

Florence family leaves Susanna behind to go shopping for May's school supplies,

Susanna sneaks into May's room, steals her diary, and vandalizes it. However, as she

reads May's diary entries, Susanna discovers a side of her outgoing, popular sister she

never knew: a sensitive, emotionally troubled girl who shares her twin's feelings of

inadequacy. Susanna's reflections on the events May has chronicled in her diary provide

insight into both girls' characters.

The Florence twins share a strong, preternatural bond. Susanna and May can read

each other's minds, though Susanna is more practiced at harnessing this ability.

Throughout the novella May's thoughts interrupt Susanna's, blending with Susanna' s

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reactions to, and deliberation upon, the diary and adding another dimension to the

narrative.

The title four sparks fall is a collage of three words from May's diary. This diary

and its contents are central to the novella, and the notion of collage plays upon Susanna's

love of puzzles and assemblage. Additionally, the novella's text appears as a collage on

the page, alternating between Susanna's reflections, May's thoughts, and the text of

May's diary. The word "spark" normally refers to a small, bright particle of fire or

electricity, yet it can also refer to shimmering metal and traces of thought. I consider the

major characters of the novella to be like sparks: bright bits of electricity and personality,

begilll1ings of fire, origins of genius. All four characters are passionate and intelligent

young people, yet they are far too independent for their age. They are distanced from

their parents, floating without direction toward greatness or disaster.

Also suggested is "sparks fly," an expression referring to a heated exchange

between people. Misunderstanding between friends and family is central to the novella,

and by suggesting a struggle in the title, the reader is prepared to experience the

characters' struggles with each other. "Fall" contains hints ofboth the season and the

action, both ofwhich are implied in the novella, and it indicates the aimless motion of

these four teens.

As I indicated above, misunderstanding is a major theme in four sparks fall. Other

themes include body modification, particularly among girls; fire and burning; religion

and mythology; the definition of"gifted"; friendship; sisterhood, particularly between

twins; conformity; and the role of parents in teens' lives. A few of these themes are more

prevalent than others. For example, body modification-the process of altering one's

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body to suit a personalized aesthetic-is one that is played out in many of my female

characters. With Lyla we see body modification approached responsibly and in full

awareness of the risks; her piercings and tattoos are an outward expression of her comfort

with herself and her body as a work of art. Lyla's mother Faye, the only parent in the

novella that takes an active role in her child's life, is a tattoo and piercing artist, and she

instills a respect for body modification. By contrast May's attempts at body modification

are more dangerous and haphazard. She engages in risky cutting behaviors, skips meals

to lose weight, and convinces Lyla to help her pierce herself.

One could, by extension, see Susanna's self-destructive behaviors-such as

smoking-as a form of body modification. Her anger at being the "delicate child" drives

her actions, and she attempts to change herself through activities that have a physical

effect on her body. Primarily, though,four sparks fall is about Susanna's loss of

innocence. While she does not quite reach full adulthood by the end of the novella,

Susanna comes to understand the difference between a child's awareness and an adult's

awareness of the world. Her experiences-and her knowledge of her sister's

experiences-have stripped her of her nai"vete. She cannot pretend to be a sick little girl

anymore, yet she must deal with still being a "child" in body. It is not so much a coming­

of-age story as a realization-of-age story.

four sparks fall began as an experiment in "organic writing": the process by

which one writes without a goal or direction in mind. One of my weaknesses as a writer

is my tendency to overwrite and over-edit; my usual writing process involves a near­

constant state of revision as I attempt to reach a certain goal. I wanted to write something

I did not revise as I wrote it. The annual 3-Day Novel Contest provided me with an

99

excellent excuse to attempt an organic novel. I did not enter the contest expecting to win,

but I knew entering would provide me with enough mental impetus to complete the

project. The first draft of four sparks fall was written over the 2005 Labor Day weekend.

The works I have cited as influences fall primarily into three categories: works

that were written quickly, works that exhibited thematic similarities, or works that

influenced my aesthetics. Still is of particular note because it was also written for the 3-

Day Novel competition. Its author, bpNichol, is one of Canada's most distinguished

poets. Nichol's emphasis on visual presentation-and representation-of text was a

major influence on four sparks fall. Still relies on visual cues and the use of space on the

page to distinguish between narration and dialogue. I employed similar techniques to

separate the multiple narratives in four sparks fall.

Eve's Apple by Jonathan Rosen centers on Ruth Simon 's hunger and

dissatisfaction with her body, themes that manifest in the character May Florence. Janet

Fitch's White Oleander follows Astrid Magnussen's journey through foster homes

mirrors her struggle to understand her own existence and her mother's strange,

unrelenting power over her. This journey from innocence to experience is one that

Susanna undertakes, though on a much smaller scale. Susanna and May's complex love­

hate relationship with each other mirrors Enid and Rebecca's struggle to become

independent of one another in Daniel Clowes' graphic novel Ghost World. The

presentation of body modification lifestyle in Sarah Hall ' s The Electric Michelangelo

helped guide my characterization of Lyla and Faye Rizzo. The novels Catcher in the Rye,

The Bell Jar, The Lovely Bones. and Kamikaze Girls provided models for approaching

the characterization of precocious teenagers.

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Visually, four sparks fall is a complex narrative, darting among multiple symbols,

languages, puzzles, and styles. The diary is, in essence, one narrative-a story within a

story- that Susanna reads. Yet this narrative is constantly interrupted by May. In a sense,

both May and Susanna know and do not know what is happening, and their struggle to

come to terms with these multiple ways of"knowing" is manifested in the structure.

Tripticks by Ann Quin provided some direction for approaching the visual layout. Quin

incorporates drawings, lists, and other snippets of written ephemera into the story; these

bits indicate the direction of the narrator's thoughts, or set a mood that the narration

follows. Tripticks also incorporates a great deal of flashback to provide history and

context for situations, attitudes, and even stray thoughts-a technique I found invaluable

to shaping later versions of my novella.

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Works Cited

Clowes, Daniel. Ghost World. Seattle: Fantagraphics, 2001.

Fitch, Janet. White Oleander. New York: Little, Brown and Company, 1999.

Hall, Sarah. The Electric Michelangelo. London: Faber and Faber, 2004.

Nichol, bp. Still. Vancouver: Arsenal Pulp Press, 1983.

Plath, Sylvia. The Bell Jar. New York: Harper, 2000.

Quin, Ann. Tripticks. Normal, IL: Dalkey Archive Press, 2002.

Rosen, Jonathan. Eve's Apple. London: Picador, 2004.

Salinger, J.D. The Catcher in the Rye. New York: Little, Brown and Company, 1991.

Sebold, Alice. The Lovely Bones. New York: Little, Brown and Company, 2002.

Takemoto, Novala. Kamikaze Girls (Shimotsuma Monogatari). Trans. Akemi

Wegmi.iller. San Francisco: VIZ Media, 2006.

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