Love and Leftovers (9 page)

would put her smack

in the middle

of an awkward situation.

Maybe

Maybe my attraction to J.D.

is just physical.

Or maybe there is too much distance

between Linus and me.

Or maybe all this loneliness

and no security blanket

has messed with my head.

The End

I know

I need to call Linus

and tell him about J.D.

or at least let him know

that maybe we should see other people,

since

I’m far away

and probably not

coming back.

I Told My Mother

I told my mother she was

self-centered

stubborn

bitchy

and

stuck in a rut.

I told my mother she should

put on a bra

see the colors on the trees

eat lobster at Newick’s

and

take Dad’s Mustang for a drive up the coast.

I told my mother she couldn’t

go on moping about Dad’s boyfriend

sleep all day and all night

eat only sourdough toast

and

pretend that the rest of the world does not exist.

I told my mother that I

didn’t mind chipping in and doing my chores

but doing all the housework was another story,

especially

when my social life was picking up

and my morals were falling down.

I asked her (in a near-hysterical shriek),

“Since when am I the parent and you the teenager?”

Now

I feel guilty

for being the big, bad, mean grown-up

when all she needs

is a

friend.

The Next Best Thing to a Security Blanket

The box springs creak

as I climb into bed with my mother.

My tears dampen her pillow.

She pushes my hair back

and pulls me close.

I sob that

I am sorry

I must be a bad person

if I can’t love my own mother

(or even my boyfriend)

if I can’t understand another person’s loss

and only think of myself.

She shushes me with quiet disagreements, telling me that

it is wrong

for an adult to burden a child

with personal problems

that are best discussed among adults.

On the other hand, she explains,

it is okay

for a child to turn to an adult

when things get complicated.

And it would be better for both of us

if she were the mother and

I were the teenager,

and if I wanted to talk about things

she’d be happy to listen.

I decline.

She doesn’t need my problems

on top of her own.

Morning

I awake

to the smell of

my mother

making pancakes

with little

round slices

of bananas

fried into them.

Peeking from Behind My Locker Door

I watch J.D. come down the hall,

saying hello to cheerleaders,

to guys on the soccer team,

and nodding politely to teachers

as if he is the eighth wonder of the world.

His hair is wet, darker than usual,

he’s wearing an OR school sweatshirt

over loose, worn jeans, and Adidas

and he looks as appetizing as he did in a tux.

“Mahcie?” he asks, pulling the locker open

so he can see my face. “Doughnut?”

“No thanks.”

“You’re mad at me,” he says.

“Nah. I ate breakfast.”

“So you’re ignoring me?”

“Yeah, kinda,” I admit,

because I had purposely

not run into him yesterday

by skipping lunch.

“Look, I’m sorry about the kiss,” he says.

“Don’t be. It was nice—more than nice.”

“You just looked so beautiful. . . .

All I’m sayin’ is that if you don’t wanna—

you know—it’s okay with me.”

“Yeah, all right. Thanks.”

“But you can’t say no to coffee.”

“Of course not, you’ve got me addicted.”

I Take the Cup of Coffee

brushing J.D.’s fingers

before he turns to go.

Anger flashes over me

and I tilt the cup back,

gripping it like a football.

I stop myself

before I throw it at him.

Dammit, I want to shout

why the hell do you

have to be so nice?

You just apologized for kissing me?

Guys don’t apologize for things like that.

You’re too goddamned perfect.

Stop it.

Before I hate you.

Before I like you

too much.

Stomping into homeroom,

I toss the coffee into the trash can

and swear not to think

about kissing J.D.

ever again.

My Sweaters Arrive Parcel Post

Snuggled among soft sweaters,

fleece-lined hoodies,

jeans,

and leather boots

are three little boxes.

Not
good
little boxes,

like that hold jewelry,

but logo-emblazoned,

drugstore boxes—

slick and shiny,

and glued shut.

I don’t even want

to look at them.

I don’t want

to think about them.

I can’t believe

my
dad
sent me them!

Because inside the boxes are

individually wrapped condoms:

1. In a rainbow of neon colors

2. In latex-free for sensitive skin

3. In fruity flavors

There’s also an envelope

with a letter from Dad.

I Open the Envelope Dad Sent

Dear Marcie,

I miss you. I hope school is going okay. Everything’s all right here, a bit quiet.

I know that we’ve had this conversation before, but I was thinking about you and your friendship with J.D. Sometimes good friends become more than friends, which is normal because our friends understand us best and we are comfortable around them. That’s why I’m sending the condoms. I want you to be prepared if the special moment comes along.

Your mother has encouraged you to wait until marriage, and if that is right for you it is a great decision and I will support it. Then again, I don’t want you rushing off to get married the minute you turn eighteen. That isn’t a good decision. Instead, think carefully about sex and what is right for you. Always, always protect yourself.

Sex, like alcohol and drugs, can have life-altering consequences. Unlike beer and meth, it can be wonderful and special.

I know you understand that you can get pregnant and if you do, there are options like abortion, adoption, and keeping the baby. Your friend Emily gave her baby up, while Linus’s brother and his girlfriend kept theirs. I’m sure you have witnessed the hardships brought on by these decisions.

STDs are the other risks you take. Some are curable, others will change (and maybe shorten) your life. As a father, I don’t want any of these things to happen to the daughter I love very much.

Please be careful, very careful. I love you.

Dad

I Crumple It Up

My father thinks

I’m falling for J.D.?

I’m not.

He’s too

perfect.

Back to the Boxes

To cheer myself up,

I take a neon-green condom from its candy wrapper,

feeling the slippery softness with my fingers.

I tuck it under my pillow,

and sneak to the kitchen for a banana.

Reading the instructions

(and gawking at the pictures)

I roll my lime-green condom

over the perky yellow banana,

which cracks me up

beyond reason.

I howl with laughter

as I dial Katie’s number.

Tears squirting from my eyes,

I try to explain how funny it looks.

But all she says is,

“Marcie, why’d your dad

send you condoms?”

I Explain

about how J.D. looks

like David Beckham in his soccer uniform

but smiles like Prince Harry

with boy-band dimples—

that he’s just too goddamned perfect.

“I can’t believe you dumped Linus and didn’t tell me!”

“I didn’t
not
tell you, Katie! I swear!”

She is, after all, my best friend.

And I’d never keep a secret like that from her.

“I haven’t dumped Linus.

It was just a birthday kiss,

nothing more.

I don’t even like J.D.

I swear.”

Lambasted

Katie

gets

righteous

on my

ass.

Threatening

to tell the sweetest

brown-eyed Leftover

boy

on planet Earth

that

his

long-distance girlfriend

isn’t watching

his YouTube videos,

but rather

kissing

another

boy

good night.

Katie, You Don’t Understand

how lonely it is here

without any friends.

My mother is so distant

I need a telescope to see her.

My father is a stranger

whom I no longer know.

My Gigi has gone loopy, old-lady crazy

and tells me to wash my hair with mayonnaise.

My aunt Greta buys me panties

the size of South Dakota.

J.D. is the only person here

who makes any sense.

It Was Dumb. I Know.

But I got swept up—

J.D. invited me to homecoming.

He wore a tux.

And I, a blue satin prom dress.

It was just like in the movies.

My mother forgot my birthday

and J.D. planned a party,

invited all his friends,

had his sisters make a cake.

It was just like in the movies.

So when he kissed me good night

it felt like part of a script.

I got wrapped up in the plot—

just like watching a good movie.

It was dumb.

I know.

What Best Friends Are For

Katie seemed to understand

that J.D.’s good looks

and sweet gestures

would be too much

for any girl

to turn

away

and

that if it

was just one kiss—

nothing more than a moment of weakness—

she guessed she could live with the whole idea,

and keep it a secret from Linus. She promised.

“Just one kiss,” I repeat. “Because I can’t stand

how stupid perfect J.D. can be.”

Trapped

The shades have not been opened,

the dishes have not been washed,

and my mother has not left her bed.

At least when she did this over the summer,

I could sit on the dock, explore the woods and marsh,

soak up some sunshine,

and ignore her.

But here there are four walls,

a bookstore below us,

and another apartment above.

Trapped.

Home from School (Almost)

Today

I can’t bear it.

I can’t go inside

that dark,

four-room tomb.

I hang out downstairs

in the bookstore,

sunk on my haunches,

reading college textbooks

among the stacks

with plenty of time

to think.

Change Is Good

I need a change.

Not an Idaho > New Hampshire kind,

but a change in attitude.

All summer,

I didn’t talk much with the townies.