Perfect (9 page)

I’m not sure. My grandmother

did, and my grandfather

still does, at least when his

Alzheimer’s lets him. He doesn’t

remember a whole lot most

of the time. Which is why

they invented special care

retirement communities. If I

get that way, please shoot me.

She shudders at the last two

words, and I’m guessing

she’s thinking about Conner.

“How’s your brother doing,

anyway? All healed up yet?”

Not really, and what the hell

is up with everyone today?

Is it Dig Up Information on

Conner Day? Because I don’t

have anything new to tell you.

Jeez. What was that about?

“Hey, I’m not trying to dig

up anything, new or old.

Just trying to communicate.”

Will that always be a problem?

Andre

A Problem

Is really just a solution

in need of a reason to exist.

If you think about it,

life

would be kind of boring

if it were completely free

of friction. Each day

presents

choices. Turn this way, it’s

a downhill coast. Turn that

way, you will stumble across

obstacles.

Some are easily conquered.

Some require intelligence,

will, and perseverance

to overcome.

To win is to prosper.

The game is defeating doubt.

And the fun is in the game.

Today’s Game

Was faking my way through a trig

test. I probably passed,

but just barely. Trig? What for? Not

like I’ll need it beyond June, except

to have it, with a C

or (unlikely) slightly better grade

on my transcript. Okay, my mom might

argue that I’ll want to

know math for a future career. She uses

it all the time, calculating body fat

percentages and how

many millimeters of bone to remove

or skin to tighten to achieve the desired

effect. Not to mention

how much anesthesia per pound

of person will allow said person to wake

up from deep sleep

and walk out, covered in bandages, alive.

And Dad utilizes the ol’ calculator

to figure price points

and down payments and monthly

fees, and whether or not a prospective

client’s take-home

salary can cover those things, at least

on paper. But if I had to follow in either

of their footsteps,

I’d use math to calculate how fast

I’d have to drive my car over a cliff

of x feet in height

to attain the proper distance to make

sure I’d end up dead instead of paralyzed.

Wow. A real-world use

for trigonometry. Who’d have believed it?

School Behind Me

For the day, I stop by the house on

my way to Reno.

Change out of my stiff white button-up

shirt, khaki slacks. This isn’t my usual day

for dance lessons, but

Liana had an opening, and I’m itching to work

off a little stress. Dad’s relentless pressure

is getting to me. He caught

me on my way out the door this morning.

I’m off to Vegas for a few days. When I get
back, we’ll arrange a trip
over spring break to look at those schools.

It totally hit me wrong. “Would you please

stop micromanaging my life?

What if I have my own plans for spring break?”

His jaw clicked audibly as it tightened, and
he silenced me with
two words.
Cancel them.
End of discussion.

I Have To Make A Stop

On the way to Liana’s. I need two hundred

dollars for this month’s

lessons. But I’ll tell Mom the money is for

a haircut and some new clothes. Last year’s

sweaters are dated.

If I say that, she won’t even think twice.

Perception is everything to Mom, and style

is a vital component.

She wants her son to be a fashion trendsetter.

Three p.m. on Wednesday, her regular day

for pre-op consults,

her office is humming. “Hello, Simone,”

I say to her receptionist, eliciting her

smile with my own.

“Will my mother be tied up very long?”

She’s with a patient, but should be
finished soon. Take
a seat. I’ll let her know you’re here.

She scuttles off, and I turn toward

the plush waiting

room. A girl, seated in one of the cushy

chairs, lifts her eyes up over a magazine.

Damn! She’s a spectacular

creation, the kind you’d like to paint

a portrait of, so you could hang her on

a wall and stare at her

forever. And speaking of staring, she is

staring at me, so I’m motivated to say

hello, only it comes out,

“H-he-hello.” She smiles at the stupid

stutter, and I can’t help but notice

the perfect shape

of her plump little pout. Delicious.

Hello back at you,
she says, her voice
rich and sweet as
caramel, and all the invitation I need.

I Choose A Seat

Close to her, where I can better study

her. She’s younger

than me, maybe sixteen, but the curves

of her body belong to a woman. Surely

she doesn’t want more

nor less than what she’s been gifted with.

I can’t help but ask, “You’re not here

to see my mom, are

you?” Forward, yes. But I have to know.

She smiles again, and in that smile
is something Eve-like.
Me? No way. My sister is in there

now, choosing a new nose. But I kind
of like what I’ve got,
you know?
How could I in good faith

disagree? “You are a wise girl.” One, I’ve just

decided, I really want

to know. I offer a straightforward, “I’m Andre.”

Her Skin

Is flawless, and the color of fine ivory.

Together we are

a keyboard. Or maybe a chessboard.

My color has never been an issue for girls

before, but there’s a first

time—or person—for everything and in Reno,

ghosts of Wild West prejudice still haunt

certain neighborhoods.

This girl, however, doesn’t seem put off

by my skin.
I’m Jenna. And are you,
like, hitting on me?
She
laughs at how I can’t quite confess it.

It’s okay. I don’t mind.
She watches
Simone scurry back
to her desk.
Do you want to call me?

Her forwardness is both a little scary

and a lot refreshing.

“You know, I really would.” We exchange

appreciative smiles and cell phone

numbers, as down

the hall a door slams open, followed

by scattered voices. One of them belongs

to my mom. The others,

I’m guessing, are Jenna’s mother

and her sister. Both of them look like

her, except her sister

lacks the abundant flesh that makes

Jenna so attractive. She notices where
my eyes keep roaming.
My sister is a pageant girl,
she says in

a low (luscious) voice.
She also wants to
model, which is why
she thinks she needs her nose “fixed.”

“I hope it’s enough for her. Some people

get addicted to

the ‘fixing.’” Some are never satisfied.

Jenna, However

Appears more than satisfied with the way

she looks, every move

designed to draw the eye. My eyes,

for sure. And I can’t believe other guys

wouldn’t feel the same

way. There is something extremely

alluring about a girl who’s completely at ease

in her own skin.

And this one loves how she’s put together.

Her sister, however, for all her beauty-

focused goals, seems

to hold something in reserve. She is closer

to my age. But she is so not my type.

Not sure why I think

Jenna is, but I can’t wait to research.

Her mom tells her it’s time to leave. I watch

her exit, enthralled

by the performance. She is one of a kind.

She Is On My Mind

On the short drive to the All the Right

Moves dance studio.

Usually, when I meet a girl, I make her

wait a day or two before I ask her out.

For some reason,

I’m driven to skip the whole coy charade

and call Jenna right away. She answers

on the third ring. “Hey.

It’s Andre. Are you free Saturday night?”

Wow. You’re direct. I like that, and I’d
like to say yes, but I
kind of had tentative plans for Saturday.

That stings. And I’m late for my lesson.

“Okay. I’ll try again.”

I go inside. The place is empty, except

for Liana, who is on her own phone.
Warm up,
she mouths,
nodding toward the open studio door.

I start my stretching, thinking about

the magnetic smile that

drew me immediately to the girl I can’t

seem to get off my mind. Liana comes in,

and we begin a familiar

routine. I’ve done these steps dozens

of times, but I can’t keep them in the right

order. I can hear my dad

saying how if he wants something, he won’t

let anyone tell him he can’t have it.
Andre!
scolds Liana.
Where’s your
head today? Did you forget how to count?

Focus, Andre, focus. One, two, three, four…

Somehow I make it

through the rest of my lesson. Pay Liana

the money I finagled from Mom. At last,

I can call Jenna again. “You

know those tentative plans? Cancel them.”

Cara

At Last

It’s a perfect winter day.

No wind. No Arctic freeze.

Cloudless azure sky. A day

to fly.

Snow drapes the mountain

like ermine, fabulous feather-

light powder coaxing me

to flee

the confines of my room, brave

the mostly plowed road

up to the closest ski resort.

To run

from the cloying silence

connecting Mom and Dad,

into encompassing stillness

far away

from city dirt and noise.

Far above suburban gridlock.

Far beyond the grasp of home.