Dating Down (3 page)

Half Full

cup cup

fill me up

hot steamy beverage caffeinating

my heart

like an extra large latté you foam

my brain

dreaming of nothing other than the

taste of your lips

on mine

the smell of your hair

brushing by

the heat of your shoulder

bumping me

percolating under my skin

your dangerous smile keeping me up all night

like a strung-out mess

filled to the brim and still thirsty

for more.

I drink it all in

and wait for

you

to pour me

another

cup cup

At School

April looks at me, knowingly

shifting her pile of books

staring me up and down.

April: So, who's the boy?

She's good that way.

Gavin tips his bowler hat to us as April whines—

I'm shutting her out

storing secrets

she knows there's a new love

and he's not Ted.

What gives?

Gavin:
sm
You didn't tell her about the old guy?

Me:
sm
Don't be jealous.

April:
sm
Old guy? Am I missing something?

Me:
sm
He's in college, well, was.

Gavin:
sm
And tall. And cute.

I blush.

Me:
sm
He is cute. And a free spirit.

April:
sm
Free spirit?

Ted walks by,

arms around some

sweet-looking sophomore

speaking softly, saying something sports-related

probably.

He
sm
spots me

stops smiling.

I
small
pretend not to notice.

Ted can move on, right?

Feeling my nervous energy,

April springs into action—

Where'd you meet X?

How old is he?

How cute?

Then inevitably,

something triggers her into a story

about Ralph.

She is, after all, obsessed with Ralph.

Clueless, clueless Ralph.

April:
sm
He lives with musicians?

Think their band's as good as Ralph's?

Here we go.

I listen to
The Problem with Ralph

up two flights of stairs and

through the final bell.

There will be more

to come on this subject

at lunch.

This is as certain

as homework.

High School Ted

High school boys play with toys they are, yes, they are that young. High school boys play with toys they are,
yes, they are that young. I don't
know why they like to play with
toys, act like boys, make loud noise
just to annoy us, when the girls are growing up. They play with toys it
gives them joy, but girls don't see
the fun. It's not fun, no longer fun.
It's dumb. How come they enjoy it? High school girls like to shake their brain, bounce their curls. They want
a guy not a boy. They want to flirt. What's the hurt? They want to court.
Go out in short skirts. Paint the town red. Go head to head. But mostly what they want to do is anything and everything and something else but be with that boy, that high school boy,
Ted.

Chemistry

Mr. Tanner scribbles

Antoine Lavoisier

on the whiteboard.

April looks at me like,

Who the heck is that?

She really should crack open a chemistry book.

Mr. Tanner scratches,

conservation of mass

and faces the mass of blank stares.

Mr. Tanner scribes,

mass that's isolated cannot change over time …
remains the same … unchanged.

As Mr. Tanner explains,

I contemplate my own chemistry.

What is X doing right now?

Is he sitting at some other girl's table?

Is he thinking of me?

Is he working right now?

Or hanging out with his roommates?

Is he doing twenty-two-year-old stuff?

Artsy stuff?

He's certainly not doing

Chemistry class stuff—

listening to a teacher

with male-pattern baldness

ramble on about matter.

And what matters is our chemistry.

But how could X possibly connect

with a high school girl?

A girl like me?

An isolated mass waiting to be unstuck.

Changed.

April passes me a note.

Carefully, I uncurl the paper and read it.

Another quandary over Ralph.

Talk about bad chemistry.

Lunch

We are the usual suspects

at our typical table.

April slides in first

Gavin snuggles up to George,

squeezing some room for me.

I plop down my lunch of

Twizzlers

PB&J

Chex Mix

Twizzling and crunching as

The Problem with Ralph, Pt. II
begins.

April:
sm
What comes after this?

George:
sm
What's the big deal?

Gavin:
sm
What's a few drugs among friends?

April:
sm
I just don't see how we can be together when—

Gavin:
sm
You aren't together!

George:
sm
You aren't together!

Gavin and George make goofy love eyes at each other
for their same response.

Me:
sm
Can somebody clue me in here?

April:
sm
Ralph's doing—

Gavin:
sm
Things.

Me:
sm
Things?

Gavin:
sm
Bad things.

Me:
sm
Bad things?

I sound like a parrot.

April:
sm
Drugs, okay? Ralph's a druggie!

George:
sm
Honey, please! It's just pot!

April:
sm
For now, it's pot.

George:
sm
Plenty of people smoke pot.

Gavin:
sm
You do pot?

George:
sm
Sure! Now and then.

Gavin:
sm
Oh? And what else do you keep from me?

Gavin deflates.

Up next—
The Problem with George
, perhaps?

April:
sm
Hello! Can we focus on me?

I focus on April,

tell her it's not a shock

really

Ralph being one of the most

unmotivated guys I know.

Me:
sm
You're dating someone beneath you.

Gavin:
sm
Date up, honey, not down.

Me:
sm
You could do better, perhaps.

Gavin:
sm
Sam's right.

Ralph's not so high on the dating scale.

Get it?!

Gavin laughs at his play on the word “high.”

George rolls his eyes.

April looks pained.

I finish my Twizzlers.

April:
sm
Well, when I get ahold of his supplier …

George:
sm
When you get hold of his supplier, give me a call.

He finishes his tuna casserole

winks at Gavin

walks out.

Gavin:
sm
People who do drugs are lame.

Me:
sm
People who deal 'em are lamer.

April:
sm
Is “lamer” a word?

The usual suspects all leave.

Then it's just me,

my Chex Mix,

and my thoughts

of April and Ralph.

Dating Down

Meet a guy

butterflies

then come lies

systemized

feeling low

can't let go

loss of spark

deep in dark

wonder how

this fell down

Once was great?

Break-up fate!

lesser highs

louder cries

greater price

major vice

loser guys

make life

a

sadder life.

Relationships, Pt. I—The Good

Gavin and George aren't afraid

to hold hands after class.

They share hats

and split chocolate bars.

They study together

and text all day long.

Gavin boasts about George's singing voice

George brags about Gavin's knack for math.

They smile a lot, flirt a ton,

and joke with each other constantly.

Gavin never seems out of sorts

when George is around.

Love.

Relationships, Pt. II—The Bad

April's mad about Ralph.

She follows him down the hall after class

bakes him brownies when it's his birthday

and sugar cookies when it's not.

She's sweet on him.

Ralph gives her a smile

gives her a hug

gives off no indication that he's as crazy about her

as she is about him.

Just enough interest

to reel her in.

I like your hair like that.

You been working out?

April's caught on his line.

She studies him instead of Chemistry

leaves him love notes

and donuts for breakfast.

Ralph runs off with his friends,

promises to call.

She waits for a ring when we're

at the mall

at a show

getting manicures

making dinner

listening to music

on the bus

out and about

settled in

Longing.

Relationships, Pt. III—The Lonely

My mom used to tell me stories

love stories

stories of her youth

her courtship

how she and Dad ran around

two peas in a pod

a daring duo

paramours

birds of a feather

lovebirds

fanning the flames

falling in love

forever and ever linked

together.

How she told it:

sm
eyes sparkling

smiles emerging

memories bubbling

up from a place

deep within her heart.

Will I find this?

Can I have this

with X?

Back in My Bedroom after School

Me,

my canvas,

and thoughts of X's

russet-brown eyes

mahogany lips.

Will he call me before Saturday?

It's only Wednesday.

Does he miss me?

Do I miss him?

Did he ask for my number?

Maybe he'll

go online, look me up.

Maybe I'll

go online, look him up.

Round and round I go

red paint hits my canvas

lines begin bold,

feather off.

It feels good,

controlling color.

The playlist on my computer

s h u ff l e s

swift sounds

LOUD,
bright!
colorful sounds.

You, dear red,

start and stop my head

What's he doing?

What's he thinking?

Is he thinking of me?

Not thinking of me?

Do you know, sweet blue?

He's not thinking of me!

Is it true?

Oh, brown,

turn my thoughts around

He's thinking of me. It must be!

But, if it's not true—

I'm back to blue

Am I on his mind at all?

And if so,

sm
will he call?

Oh, pink
,

I can't help but think

he will call.

But where will he be?

what will he wear?

what will he say?

Oh stop me, green,

from wondering

what he's doing

right now. Is he

walking

talking

eating

breathing

sleeping

or …

Round and round with

blue

brown

pink

green

red.

Colors, crisp in my head

my therapy

I, the painter

live the paint

b r e a t h e the artist's

life.

Dad

Lost in brushstrokes,

I jump when Dad lowers the “noise”

coming from my laptop.

He sits on the edge of my bed

sm
watching me
sm
studying me
sm
judging me

the usual.

Dad:
sm
Your art finals?

The
don't you want to be more than a painter?

sound in his voice.

I nod and

continue painting.

Silence sits.

I could count on one hand the

number of times

he has said he's proud of me and still

have enough fingers left

to hold a cup of coffee.

I run a stiff stroke of cyan across the canvas.

It rests there like a lie waiting for truth.

Dad:
sm
Finished your homework?

I nod and

continue painting.

Dad:
sm
Don't you have a chemistry test this week?

Stroke stroke.

Stroke stroke.

Dad:
sm
Have you studied for that? Chemistry's essential

for your SATs.

Stroke stroke.

Stroke stroke.

He leans back on the bed, gets

comfortable enough to take on a lecture.

Dad:
sm
Your mother and I …

She's not my mother
.

Dad:
sm
… saving for your tuition …

Dad:
sm
… sacrifice …

Dad:
sm
… don't want to muck that up, do we?

Me:
sm
I studied, Dad.

Dad:
sm
That's my girl.

Pause.

Only time he's in my life

is to lecture me. Not like it used to be

with Mom.

The time before

cancer

funerals

elections

Queen Vanilla—

just us.

Blending the cyan with peach, I paint something pretty

something sweet

like the hands of a father

held out

holding his daughter.

Dad:
sm
Who was that boy who walked you home yesterday?

Me:
sm
Someone I met studying.

Dad:
sm
Seemed a little old for you, don't you think?

The politician's tone taints my portrait.

Stroke stroke.

Stroke stroke.

Never argue with a debater
.

Stroke stroke.

Stroke stroke.

Me:
sm
Don't worry … head's screwed on … it's okay …

His contorted expression relaxes a bit.

A bit.

His phone beeps.

The usual check-in from Miguel.

Suddenly he's distracted,

engaged in Miguel's message.

Dad:
sm
Well, keep your nose to the grindstone.

You're a Henderson and we Hendersons—

sm
Fingernails
sm
across
sm
chalkboard.

He rephrases.

Dad:
sm
Just remember, the primary's coming up.