Love and Leftovers (7 page)

so she doesn’t need

another one for propane.

So I pull on my great-grandfather’s

World War II bomber jacket,

and go out in the cold

to fetch firewood.

So that Gigi

won’t be reminded

that her great-granddaughter

is living in her summerhouse

in October.

The Conversation

It takes Aunt Greta

to talk

my mother

into renting an apartment.

Greta said

that the pipes freeze

by Veterans Day

and then you have to

haul a bucket of water

up from the bay

to flush

the toilet.

October 11–11:30 P.M.

Student Housing

So Mom and I

move into the two-bedroom apartment

over the used-books store

next to campus.

We borrow Gigi’s furniture

from the summerhouse.

We take the skillet to make pancakes,

the cereal bowls, and the tarnished silverware.

I say a secret good-bye

to the potbellied stove

because I will miss

toasting marshmallows.

A Bath at Last

After our suitcases have been lugged up the stairs,

after I find soap, shampoo, and a towel,

and after I scrub the bathtub with dish soap,

I fill the tub,

step out of my clothes

and into the water.

Sleepy warmth envelops me

like a cup of chamomile tea.

I relax

floating up with each breath

and sinking when I exhale,

my nipples bobbing

like buoys

on Great Bay.

I’ll Be Brief

After we moved in,

Aunt Greta brought over

two bags of winter clothes.

It felt as if she hated to think

of Mom and me

having only one suitcase each

of clothes to wear.

One bag had things she didn’t wear much—

turtlenecks, jeans, and sweaters.

The other bag had new things—

socks, tights, and old-lady underwear.

“Aunt Greta,” I told her,

“No one under the age of thirty

wears briefs,

unless, of course,

they’re a guy.”

I hate to admit it

but

I like my big panties

because

they don’t give me

automatic

wedgies.

Closing Camp

On the last weekend in October,

it is a family tradition

to prepare the summerhouse

for the winter ahead.

Gigi commands operations

from her post on the porch.

My great-uncle Arthur

maneuvers the boat onto the trailer

while I sit in the cab

and pretend to drive

which I prefer to mopping and dusting,

and picking creepy-crawlies off the patio furniture

before dragging it inside.

Bedtime

The summerhouse was tucked in

among the trees

sung the lullaby of the tide

splashing on the rocks below.

The only thing

not in place

was the spare key,

dry in my pocket

instead of damp

under the potted fern.

The Leftover Lovers YouTube Performance #2

(LINUS THOMAS ON GUITAR/VOCALS,
KATIE RASKOLNIKOV ON BASS,
AND IAN WONG ON DRUMS)

Marcie, don’t believe what they sold you

Don’t listen to what they told you

Just let me knock on your door

Wrap my arms around you

Even the score

Marcie, don’t be a pawn

In the games parents play

In the hours before dawn

Marcie, don’t believe what they sold you

Don’t listen to what they told you

Just let me knock on your door

Wrap my arms around you

Even the score

Marcie, it’s your father’s fault

Don’t be a captive

To your mother’s doubt

Marcie, don’t believe what they sold you

Don’t listen to what they told you

Just let me knock on your door

Wrap my arms around you

Even the score

Marcie, I wanna open your door

Wrap my arms around you

Even the score

What I Want to Do

There were tears in my eyes

when I called Linus.

I told him I wished

he was here to hold me.

That I wished I could

wrap myself around him,

tuck myself under his chin, and

bury myself in his arms.

Linus said

he wanted the same things.

I didn’t say

that I wanted to do all of this

curled under the covers,

skin against skin

with nothing but a condom

between us.

And I wondered if

Linus wanted the same things.

A Package from Katie

Wrapped in pink Saran wrap

And topped with a yellow Post-it

That read

I know
Fruits Basket

is so yesterday

but I had to get us these.

Luv, Katie

Inside was a

October 27–12:02 A.M.

MarsBars:	katie! i luv the skirt.
	thank you!
EmoK8:	does it fit?
MarsBars:	yep.
EmoK8:	good.
	i thought it might be too tight.
MarsBars:	no. i’ve lost abt 12 pounds.
EmoK8:	OMG! congrats.
MarsBars:	thnx. i didn’t lose it on purpose.
EmoK8:	who cares? i bet you look good
	i dunno tho, linus likes us chubby girls.
MarsBars:	ur not chubby.
	& i’m still not sure linus likes girls.
EmoK8:	argh. linus likes u.
	why don’t u believe me?
MarsBars:	i dunno. he says it, but—
EmoK8:	he doesn’t touch u . . .
yeah. u said.
but he can’t. ur in NH.
MarsBars:	does angelo touch you?
EmoK8:	yes.
MarsBars:	i mean under ur clothes?
EmoK8:	yeah.
MarsBars:	and u didn’t tell me?
EmoK8:	how was i supposed to bring that up?
	angelo gave me a back rub, just not on my back?
MarsBars:	OMG! on your front?
	did it feel good?
EmoK8:	oh yeah.
MarsBars:	i am so jealous.
	i want linus to like me like that.
	if he’s not gay, i mean.
EmoK8:	he does. he will.
	& im not gonna say it again HE IS NOT GAY!!!
MarsBars:	ok ok
	anyway, i got a “history of new england ports” paper to write.
EmoK8:	i guess i can let you go. nite.
MarsBars:	thnx for playing the marcie song. Nite.

No One to Clink Glasses With

Now that we live in town

I take myself out for dinner

when Mom doesn’t feel like eating.

Pizza at Wildcat’s,

pitas at the deli,

salads at the sit-down place.

You don’t know what lonely is

until you’ve asked

for a table for one.

The waitress comes over

to fill your glass and

ask you how your salad tastes

a few times too many.

And you wish

she’d just sit down

and talk.

Katie Rants on the Phone

“Okay, okay,

all you do is go on and on

about Linus being gay.

So what if he is?

Goody for him.

Really, Marcie,

why should you care?

You like gay people—

you love your dad,

and Danny’s a sweet guy.”

“But what if I love Linus?” I ask her.

“You love him?”

“I don’t know,” I tell her. “I might . . . I want to.