Perfect (48 page)

even ask about the pictures.

GBME:
Ha! Maybe she’s

already seen them.

“No way. Don’t be ridiculous.”

GBME:
You never know.

Deputy Rossiter:
Who in the hell

are you talking to back there?

“No one. Sorry. Just processing.”

GBME:
Maybe Aunt Mo is a lezbo

too. Maybe she’d like them.

“Aunt Mo is so not a lezbo.”

GBME:
You never know.

Deputy Rossiter:
Did you know

crazy people talk to themselves?

“I am not crazy.”

GBME:
You never know.

The Booking Process

Takes a lot of time. Retinal

scan: check. Personal info:

check. Photographing,

face forward, right, left:

check. Fingerprinting:

check. Every step, all new

to me, just another day

at jail for the intake

officer. Now a nurse

comes to take some blood

and ask a lot of questions

about my medical history.

“What’s the blood for?”

The question seems fair,

but the mastiff-faced nurse

seems totally put out by it.

She rolls her big bug eyes.

To identify certain diseases,

of course.

She squints at my

pupils.
Screen for substances …

The familiar nervous prickling

begins at the base of my skull,

creeps upward. “Like what?”

Mastiff Nurse:
Why, you worried

about something in particular?

GBME:
You really need to learn

when to keep your mouth shut.

“Uh, no. Just curious is all.”

My face flushes embers.

It must be cranberry red.

Mastiff Nurse:
Are you currently

taking any medications?

GBME:
A simple “no” will do.

“Would you please shut up?”

Mastiff Nurse:
Excuse me?

GBME:
I’ll shut up if you will.

Andre

If You Will

Only

pause, as you hurry

through your days,

take a minute to

look

at passersby, beyond

cursory skin-deep

analysis, all the way

into

their eyes, what beauty

you might find woven

from the life threads there.

If you will only look past

my

clumsy attempts at love,

sound the depths of

emotion in my

heart,

what haven you might

find in the soft surf

of my harbor.

Birthdays

Have never really felt like such a big

thing. Certain ones stand

out—my fifth, when my gramps took me

to Disneyland and Cinderella kissed

me. I thought she was

the most beautiful lady in the universe.

My eleventh, when we went to San Francisco

and watched a street dance

competition in Golden Gate Park. I’d been

practicing on the sly, but wasn’t nearly as

good as I thought I was.

Seeing those b-boys do one-armed handstands

made me believe I could do one too. I tried,

landed on my head. Never

knew a tiny head wound could bleed so much.

My sixteenth, when I got my driver’s license

and
the Quattro on the same

day. Mom wanted my first car to be a safe one.

Today is my eighteenth birthday. Jenna

and I are celebrating

tonight. It’s someone else’s party we’re going

to, but that’s okay. I haven’t seen her in over

a week, and I can’t believe

how much I’ve missed her. Don’t know if

absence actually makes the heart grow

fonder, but it definitely

makes it ache. Should love be painful?

I’m getting ready when someone knocks

on my bedroom door.

Mom.
May I come in?
Birthday present?

I’m shirtless, but she’s seen me that way

a time or two.

“Of course.” I step back and she brushes by.

Your father had to fly to Oakland. Your

grandmother has been ill.

She’s out of danger for now, but they

are moving her into a nursing home.

I thought you might

try and get down to see her as soon as

school is out. Your grandfather would

like that too. He’s asking

about you and your plans for next year.

Gramps, too? “Why didn’t anyone tell

me that Grandma Grace

was sick? Is she going to be okay?”

When people get older, their bodies

deteriorate. You can

make the outside look better, but you

can’t always control what’s going on

inside. She has brain

cancer. Inoperable. But she’s not in pain.

Guilt smacks me in the face. How long

since I’ve even called to

say hello? “How long does she have?”

A Few Months

That’s it. The truth of death grabs me

by the shoulders. Shakes.

Mom comes over, puts her arms around

me. She hasn’t held me like this since

I was little.
I’m sorry.

I know you were close. And I’m sorry I

had to give you the news on your birthday.

She would want you to

go to your party, though. For Grace, death

is a beginning. She’s a woman of strong

faith. I wish I was. It

would make the day-to-day living easier.

Easier? How much easier could it be

for her? What is she

afraid of? “Are you afraid of dying?”

Her arms fall away, as if they have been

around me too long.

She smiles.
Only when I think about it.

She has always seemed ageless to me,

like time has no way

of touching her. I understand now that

no one is immune to time’s embrace. One

day I will lose her. She

goes to the door, hesitates.
Happy birthday.

Before he left, your father made a deposit

into your savings account.

Use some of it for a mad splurge, okay?

“Okay.” One day I will lose them both.

“Hey, Mom? I love you.”

I think I need to tell her that more often.

I love you, too, Andre. Very much. Now,

go have fun. Just be

smart about it. I want you to make nineteen.

The Party

Is up Jumbo Grade. The pavement ends

at the first cattle guard,

and the Quattro bumps along the packed

dirt.
Why are you driving so slow?

complains Jenna.

This is a four-wheel drive, isn’t it?

“It’s all-wheel drive, but that doesn’t

mean it was built for

off-roading. I don’t want to tear it up.”

You should get a Hummer. That would

be fun.
As usual, she has

already been drinking. Tequila, tonight.

“Where do you come up with all your

alcohol? You can’t

just keep taking it from your parents.”

She laughs.
No, I only take a few sips

from theirs. Patrick

is a tightwad. He’d definitely miss it.

It’s not that hard to get guys to buy

it for me, though.

I wait outside a grocery store and ask.

“Oh.” I can picture the scene clearly.

“And what do you offer

them in return for helping you out?”

Nothing! Hey, are you jealous? I might

flirt, but I wouldn’t

follow through. Once they hand it over,

I say thanks. That’s it. What do you

think I am, anyway?

She unscrews the Cuervo, takes a long

pull off the bottle, and I’m tempted to tell

her too much. “How much do

you drink every day?” I want her to say it’s

not every day. She doesn’t.
I don’t know.

Enough to relax me, help

me sleep. Don’t worry. It’s under control.

Obviously

It’s under control enough that she has

finished a pint before

we even get to the party. By the time

we spot the bonfire, up on a little mesa,

she is starting to slur.

There it is. Hey. D’you think it’s sh-safe

having a fire up here?
Well, she’s clear

enough to think about

that, she’s probably not too drunk. Yet.

“Considering this place was under

snow not long ago,

I think we’ll be fine. I’ll turn around

and park downhill just in case, though.”

Some twenty cars are

already lined up along the escape route.

I park below them, so it’s a long uphill

walk to join the people

gathered around the fire. Most have plastic

cups in their hands, filled with Budweiser

from the keg someone

supplied. Heavy smoke, not campfire-scented,

hangs in the air. I haven’t smelled weed since

we moved here. Plenty

of it in Oakland, though I never indulged.

Jenna, big surprise, goes straight for

the group passing

the blunt.
Hey, Bobby. Hey, Aubree.

She sucks in a lungful of green-smelling

weed. Tries not to cough

as she says,
Did you hear about Sean?

His lawyer says they have enough evidence

for a trial.
She offers me

the J. I decline, and she passes it on to

the Bobby person.
Yeah, I know. He thought

Coach was gonna

kick him off the team, but they’re letting him

stay, at least until he gets convicted, if he

does. You don’t think

Cara will actually testify against him?