Dating Down (7 page)

Undone

light

f.light

flit

flo.at

I open my wounds

and fin.d

they're healing

sealing my love

to h.is

feeling his body

on mine

reveal.ing the us

in.side

the more I un.do

my life

t.he more it reveals

to me

undo

un.done

under

hi.m

Arrivals …

Summer begins like this—

floating under bridges

kissing in coffee shops

napping in X's arms

eating grilled cheese at Leo's Lunchroom

attending packed parties in abandoned lofts

arriving in the latest set of wheels

Where does he get them?

meeting his friends, acquaintances, and strangers.

Everyone knows X

loves X

high-fives and peace signs X.

He's a celebrity in his circle

and I'm his girl.

I've arrived.

Although I'm way behind

on my painting deadline for RISD,

I'm way ahead on my life.

Missy

graduates from being a stray

that Jane and Dad will “think about keeping,”

to our cat, living in the house full time.

Melanie

mommies her, dresses Missy like a doll,

teaches her how to shake hands.

Me:
sm
The cat's not a dog.

Melanie:
sm
Shake, Missy.

Missy puts her paw in my hand.

We shake.

And that's how summer arrives.

… and Departures

Finals come and go

school lets out

no more passing Ted in the hall

pretending not to know each other

won't have to see him with

some dumb sophomore.

Good riddance.

George departs for L.A.

to spend the summer with his father.

His newly divorced parents live on

separate sides of the country

leaving Gavin also separated

and on the sad side.

Gavin:
sm
How will I live without him?

Me:
sm
It's just a few months.

Gavin:
sm
Might as well be forever.

Me:
sm
True. I wouldn't want to leave sunny Los Angeles.

Gavin:
sm
YOU'RE NOT MAKING ME HAPPY!

Me:
sm
Sorry.

Gavin's take is something straight out of
Casablanca
:

George
sm
walks toward plane.

Gavin
sm
in summer's new J. Crew seersucker jacket,

begs George.

But what about me? What about us?

Tries not to cry.

Opens man-purse, grabs tissue.

Tries not to cry.

George
sm
asks Gavin to be reasonable.

We'll always have senior year.

Kisses him goodbye.

Gavin
sm
pleads with George not to abandon him.

You get on that plane, leave me, and we're through!

Tries not to cry.

Cries.

My take is a little more straightforward:

Gavin gets upset at being alone all summer.

George tells him not to be needy.

Gavin's a needy guy.

A tad dramatic.

George says as much,

Gavin cries.

Gavin swears that

he's inconsolable

George has ruined his life

he'll spend his summer throwing darts at a map

Cali will be the bull's-eye.

I feel bad for my Gavin

my pal

my heartbroken bud.

Here's looking at you, kid.

Just when one season begins

another one ends.

The Rally

Lounging at Hex,

I almost forget my father's big rally

until Miguel calls to remind me.

Don't be late
.

I run home

just in time to hear

Queen Vanilla on the phone.

Can't take it anymore …

It's just not right …

Probably talking to Dad.

Probably talking about me.

I ignore her as I race up to my room.

Melanie follows, cheering

as I throw off my clothes

dive into a dress

tear a comb through my hair

pile my locks

on top of my head.

I'm ready in
breakingbreaking
five

four

three

two

one

And, Action!

In a flash

I'm in a hotel ballroom

watching my father shake hands.

Smiles frozen on our faces

posed like a picture.

VOTE HENDERSON!

Signs bob up and down in the crowd

Miguel hands Dad his speech

the energy in the room elevates

my heart quickens.

My dad is really loved.

It makes me look at him differently, as

a man

a father

a hard-worker

maybe he loves me in his own way.

He moves in and out of the crowd

nodding

smiling

shaking hands.

That's my Dad!

As he approaches me, I smile,

spontaneous

candid

genuine

Dad:
sm
Your dress is a wrinkled mess.

I look down at my dress.

Dad:
sm
Why didn't you let Jane pick something out?

Miguel:
sm
A politician for the people, not payoffs!

Miguel works up the crowd

helps his own career.

Dad turns around and waves

breaking my family bliss

my happiness.

I stand stunned while Chicagoans chant this cheer.

What he stands for.

For the people, not payoffs!

For the people, not payoffs!

Then there's me, the people

the wrinkled

disheveled

daughter.

We Hendersons have a reputation to uphold!

Down with wrinkles!

I can be the

person

daughter

citizen

Henderson

he thinks I'm supposed to be.

Even in a messy dress!

Only I know full well

I'm not.

I'm nothing like what he wants me to be.

His daughter.

His let down.

Choosing

painting over politics

partying over parents.

And if he had a clue about

what I do with X,

he certainly wouldn't approve of that

person

daughter

citizen

Henderson.

Henderson Family Wrinkles

How can I be

wrinkle-free

when I'm pressed with—

You should know better, try harder.

Inside my skin, my label reads—

40% honorable daughter

30% delicate girlfriend

15% resilient friend

10% supportive sister

and 5% I cannot iron out

mom

I'm washed by the political machine

hung out to dry

colors running, bleeding into

the warm, salty, tear-stained water

leftover from the gentle cycle

worn out from our family fabric

I cannot sort it all—the dirty laundry

I cannot fold it up—my father's need

steam-cleaned genes

bunching at the seams

eating into my dress,

politically pressed

gathered at the hem of a

disappointed father

distant step-mother

clingy sister

sm
cycling
sm
spinning
sm
washing over me

like a love-starved stain

my dry-clean-only life

sm
blazers
sm
pants

underwear and shirts

sm
folded
sm
flat

delicate and pressed

sm
father
sm
Jane

Melanie and me.

Chemo and Balloons

Dad speaks to the crowd

we sit

in silent support.

His nuclear family:

Melanie

motionless

in ruffles and curls

sucking her thumb.

Jane

properly pressed dress

pearls perfectly placed

around her neck.

Reminds me of her diamond earrings I gave away

to Party Betty.

One of the little ways I secretly take from Jane

and give back to Mom.

Dad goes

on

and on

about the wonderful things

he will do if elected Illinois State Senator.

Why does he give so much to others?

What about me?

It seems he's

less

and less

the father I knew with Mom,

more

and more

someone else entirely.

Am I someone else entirely, too?

I'm not like him—

obsessed with appearances

hoping others will

accept me

support me

vote for me

elect me.

Suddenly,

I want to rip off my dress

run back to X and press his body

hot against mine

feel his weight

over me

inside me

carrying me

off to another

place

time

planet.

The crowd erupts in applause.

Miguel grins, proud supporter.

Balloons fall from the ceiling as

we stand up,

banners fly.

Who am I?

How come my family had to turn out like this?

Why didn't my mother live?

Why'd she get ovarian cancer?

Chemo?

I paint the image in my head.

It's time to get back to my canvas.

The Scene

Headphones on

hands covered in paint

head wrapped around canvas,

I paint.

Melanie pets Missy

sm
purr
sm
purr
sm
purr

as I streak and stroke,

mash plastic-cup red and coffee-brown

forming a

sm
fast-paced
sm
action-packed
sm
messy image

of a guy standing in the middle

of a crowd of color.

It streams from the top of the canvas

raining down on his shoulders.

Sharper, more saturated hues than I've ever used.

Melanie says it looks scary,

yanks on my shirtsleeve

making sure I hear her.

I should continue to ignore her,

keep painting this party scene,

but I listen.

We're not at war—the two of us.

Me:
sm
He's nice. Someone sweet.

Melanie:
sm
No, he's scary.

I look at the harsh hues

strong strokes

but he's as cute as can be

isn't he?

Melanie:
sm
He scares me. I don't want to see.

She covers her eyes.

Melanie:
sm
Is he gone?

She uncovers her eyes, believing

everything bad can vanish

in the blink of an eye.

Weights

Melanie wants to paint stones

our stones

more stones.

She has memories,

her imaginary friend, Valerie—

brushing Valerie's hair

babysitting Angie Hippo

swinging together in the park.

She wants to paint them in stone,

sock them away

in her underwear drawer.

Jane's unaware

her daughter,

perfect
sm
round
sm
young

hides painted rocks

next to her panties.

But we can't go out now

dinnertime nears.

Instead, we sneak

into Dad's own private room

filled to the roof

papers
sm
posters
sm
books

folders
sm
a globe
sm
paperweights

his collection of paperweights,

presents from political people

seem an odd way to say thank you.

Good job, now here's a heavy object.

We pickpocket the

flat ones

white ones

round ones

smooth ones

big ones

tiny ones

lopsided ones.

More stones

now, our stones.

We Paint Paperweights

One for Missy,

blue like a sky of potential.

One for X,

red like lust.

One for Mom,

pink like a ballet slipper.

Melanie accidentally paints over Mom's weight.

It turns gray.

The color of no color.

Me:
sm
It's ruined.

Melanie:
sm
I like gray. Like a day when the sun naps.

She kisses my cheek, then goes to work

on a bulky, round paperweight

content

determined

a part of Jane and also a part of me.

When Jane yells that dinner's ready

Melanie morphs into RoboCop

and races downstairs to munch on

baked chicken

boiled potatoes

bland

boring

bourgeois

but then X calls.

Cracks, Pt. I

I throw on a thin skirt, socks,

and my Chucks.

Sandals seem so girly.

Dad:
sm
Don't stay out late.

Jane:
sm
We're handing out flyers tomorrow.

Me:

I'm sticky-hot,

full of baked chicken

and ready to escape this house, this heat.

To ease Dad's tensions

he hasn't met this young gentleman

X agrees to knock on the door

official date!

But X calls two seconds before I hear

BEEP BEEP

Try as I might,

sm
X won't budge.

Dad sips bourbon in his study,

engrossed in political stuff.

Does he notice the missing paperweights?

Does he remember he planned on playing
the role of concerned father?

I slip out the front door,

hop in the recently repaired '88 Rocket.

X:
sm
Afraid if I shut her off, she might not start back up.

Me:

X:
sm
Been in the poorhouse lately.

Me:

X:
sm
Can't afford another tow.

Me:
sm
You're going to have to meet him eventually.

X:
sm
Give me some time. I'm not too good with fathers.

He gives me that
cute boy
look.

I concede, but only because I'm not too good

with mothers.