Yellow Mini Read online

  New York won’t

  disappoint,

  how could it?

  It’s got every-

  thing, the whole

  world in one.

  It’ll set them

  free, unleash

  their young minds.

  Experience

  is all, nothing

  else matters.

  Their parents are

  scared, I

  can see that.

  It’s the news

  on TV, always

  negative.

  Focusing on

  drugs, shootings

  street violence.

  What about the

  rest—art, music,

  poetry?

  All the devoted

  people, working

  for justice?

  That’s what I’ll show

  these kids, give

  them a taste

  Of what’s going

  on, every day

  in New York.

  The world needs

  hope—these

  kids are mine.

  Good Intentions

  Stacey

  I want to be there for her, at least

  that’s what I pictured

  in my mind,

  But when we get here

  and she just kind of freezes

  against the wall

  Like she is having some kind

  of panic attack,

  her eyes wide,

  A spastic smile

  glued to her face,

  all my good

  Intentions fly outside

  and I follow them

  up the stairs and out the door

  Where I find some people to hang with

  and drink a few beers and

  smoke some joints

  And have a good time like

  any normal person does

  at a party.

  At one point, when I have to pee,

  I pass her, still glued

  to the wall

  Like she is waiting for me to return

  like I said I would and be

  her best friend.

  I don’t want to, but I catch the

  deer-in-the-headlights look

  in her eyes

  And it makes me think of my dad

  when I came out to bow

  at curtain call

  And his eyes caught mine, hard,

  like the beam of a cop’s

  flashlight,

  Making me feel like a criminal because

  I know he thinks I have stolen

  his little girl.

  When he smiled, his eyes softening,

  it sent a zap right through

  my body

  Like he’d reached in and stunned

  my heart with some kind of

  electric rod.

  I know he’d want me

  to go to Mary and be nice

  and rescue her

  Because that’s how he always saw me,

  as someone who always did

  the right thing,

  Because up until last year, before that swim

  out to the big rock with Paul,

  I always did.

  Both Things

  Annabelle

  I’m not really invited

  to the party

  But I came to look

  for Christopher.

  I want to tell him

  we can do both things,

  Workshops and Planetarium:

  my thing and his, together.

  I was also hoping

  to find Mary

  But this house is

  crazy crowded

  And I can’t find

  anyone I know

  Except Stacey

  who is outside

  Cracking up

  Like a hyena.

  I watch her

  stumble away

  A six-pack

  under her arm

  And I wonder

  if she’s okay.

  THE SHAPE

  Mark

  I’m driving the streets, thinking of crashing

  the cast party, except Stacey

  will be there, totally

  pissed off

  At me and the last thing I need is someone

  bringing me down when I’m still

  feeling pretty

  high

  From what went on back there, up

  in the mountains, my dad’s

  key now locked

  up safe.

  Idling my Mini outside the house, I let

  my heart syncopate with the beat

  of the music banging

  the brick,

  And I picture all the stuff going on inside

  those walls: the beer, the girls,

  the pool, the music,

  the fun

  But I can’t decide if I want to go in or not. It’s like

  my old self is in there, waiting for me

  to become the life of the

  party

  But I don’t know how to take this new self

  in there and pick up where I

  left off, like nothing

  has changed.

  Suddenly this shape floats outside, straight

  across the yard, caught by the low

  beam of my Mini’s

  park-lights.

  It looks like a ghost, white from head to toe,

  and I wonder if it will walk right

  through me, like ghosts do

  on TV.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have spent a whole night alone

  in the woods, thinking about my dead

  father and hearing his voice

  in my head.

  It’s made me see things weird, on top of

  filling my nails with dirt

  and coating my teeth

  with moss.

  I’m just about to hit the gas and take off when

  the shape turns towards me

  and I see that it’s

  her,

  That girl who plays the piano like she’s in a trance

  and never talks to anyone except

  that do-gooder girl I see

  at the mall.

  I hear Stacey’s voice in my ear calling her a freak

  because that’s how Stacey is, always

  running people down with her

  fast tongue,

  Which is something I used to like about her

  because it suited the image

  my souped-up Mini

  gave me.

  Tonight I do something I never thought

  I would do: I open the door

  and yell at piano girl to

  get in.

  She’s the last girl I ever thought I’d see in my car

  and I don’t even look at her for a while

  because I know she won’t

  look right.

  She’ll be as out of place as I feel

  just about everywhere

  in the world

  right now.

  Counterpoint

  Rhythmically different but harmonically intertwined

  Mary

  My fingers tap

  a two-beat rhythm,

  echoing

  in the quiet car.

  Mark’s fingers drum

  counterpoint,

  creating

  an odd effect.

  I wonder if he’s doing it<
br />
  on purpose, to avoid

  having

  to talk to me,

  If he regrets that I’m in the seat

  that Stacey usually occupies,

  giving

  us all the finger.

  If I told him what she did to me,

  pretending to be nice then

  leaving

  me on my own,

  Would he laugh and call

  me pathetic for

  being

  such a loser?

  I’m thinking I should just open

  the door and leave,

  letting

  him off the hook,

  When Mark does something

  totally unexpected,

  making

  me wonder

  If everything I think about people

  is wrong and they’re just

  faking

  most of the time,

  Because next thing I know he

  is looking at me sweetly,

  asking

  me where I live.

  Smoking Weed

  Stacey

  Makes me feel fuzzy,

  like I am not

  really there

  So I can’t really care whether

  Mark is with me

  or not.

  It doesn’t matter because

  there’s a cottony

  zone

  Around me, with no sharp

  edges, nothing

  brittle

  for me to bump against,

  or cut me, just

  soft space

  That I slide into, forgetting

  how much so many

  things hurt.

  Midnight

  Mary's Mom

  Midnight and it’s the first

  time she’s been out

  so late and not at

  Annabelle’s house.

  I’m pacing the floor,

  worrying about her

  on her own at this party

  at a stranger’s house.

  Midnight and I’m resisting

  waking her dad, sending

  him out into the dark

  to fetch her back.

  Midnight and I’m telling

  myself to get a grip,

  sooner or later

  I’ll have to let her go.

  I’m listening for

  the slam

  of a taxi door

  meaning she’s here.

  Midnight and a car is pulling

  into the driveway,

  a guy at the wheel

  talking laughing.

  I’m hiding

  in the curtains, watching

  as he leans toward her

  still talking.

  Midnight and I’m breathing

  in fabric dust as she comes

  in the door, kicking

  off her shoes.

  I keep hiding

  because I don’t know

  what to say as she

  hums her way upstairs.

  Stacey

  Annabelle

  She is sitting in the yard, plucking dead grass

  into a heap near her feet, mascara

  streaking her cheeks.

  She starts mumbling stuff about Mark and Mary,

  about woods and moons, about

  waiting in the Mini.

  I’m wondering how I’m going to help her home

  when Christopher appears, holding

  out his hand.

  We walk Stacey around the block three times,

  making her gulp the cool air before

  climbing her stairs.

  At the top, her face clears and she says my name,

  drawing out its three syllables like she is

  remembering

  Something from long ago, like maybe the time

  she got a new puppy and we spent hours

  playing with it

  Or the day she got her first period and was so scared

  that her sister would embarrass her by

  telling her dad.

  That day, we read the school pamphlet on reproduction

  together, marvelling at all the changes

  our bodies were going through

  Deep down

  in the most secret

  of places.

  She looks at Chris, and I wait for her to laugh

  or say something mean, but she just nods

  and steps inside

  Leaving us on the sidewalk, moving close

  to fill the space where Stacey’s

  body once stood.

  Surrender

  Stacey

  All the lights are off

  but they don’t fool me

  because I can feel their

  baited breath.

  I know they’re awake,

  lying still in bed,

  thinking to catch me

  drunk or stoned

  Even though they won’t

  call me or come out

  because they’d rather

  keep silent

  And pretend, like with

  my sister, never

  facing her head-on

  like parents

  In movies do:

  yelling and screaming,

  demanding answers

  from their kids

  Instead of hiding

  their heads in the sheets

  like they’re afraid of

  what they’ll see.

  What would happen if

  I banged and crashed and

  stamped my way upstairs

  like thunder,

  Noises they couldn’t

  ignore or pretend

  away, forcing them

  to emerge

  And smell my beer-breath,

  see my blood-shot eyes

  and deal with me once

  and for all?

  They might be surprised

  by how willing I am

  to put myself

  in their hands.

  THIS GIRL

  Mark

  I really am going to take her there, this girl

  I never spoke to before tonight, this girl

  who listened to every word I said about my dad,

  who didn’t laugh or make feel crazy,

  who told me about Chopin,

  whose emotions were as raw as a fresh scrape,

  who’s probably never even kissed a guy,

  but plays the piano amazingly, this girl

  who is so different and doesn’t try to be

  someone she isn’t, this girl

  who is just herself, in a way I’d like to learn to be,

  this girl, whose name is

  Mary.

  Magnetic

  Christopher

  Walking home from

  the party

  we can feel

  the city

  pulling

  us in

  like a giant

  magnet,

  our internal

  compasses

  set

  due south

  toward

  New York.

  I picture Annabelle

  as Lady Liberty,

  raising

  her green

  torch high

  into the air,

  her chin tipped

  east toward

  the ocean,

  looking

  forward

&
nbsp; to changing

  people’s

  lives.

  And me?

  Will I be like

  some poor

  immigrant

  in the 1920s

  looking to her

  for

  salvation

  after a whole day

  of gazing

  at the sky?

  LANDING

  Stacey’s Dad

  I catch her in mid-step

  on the upstairs landing

  between our bedrooms.

  Her foot is raised, frozen

  by the click of our door,

  like a fawn’s paw, caught

  by the click of a trigger.

  I step up to her, my

  arms wide, poised

  to catch her like she is

  still my little girl.

  She is surprised

  by my gesture, her body

  damp and shivering, not

  sure whether to stay or go.

  We stand like that

  in a deadlock, neither

  one moving, until a memory

  of contact propels me forward.

  She doesn’t flinch

  when I hug her,

  the fight in her melting

  away as I stroke her hair,

  Her foot finally landing.

  What He Did

  Stacey

  It totally amazes me,

  what he did, but why

  did it take him so long to do it?

  Now I’m wondering, if he’d done

  it sooner, to my sister, would she

  have stayed home longer?

  Maybe she waited months and months

  for him to hug her and show her he cared

  but nothing happened, so she left.

  Maybe, right now, she’s waiting

  for him to write or call

  and ask her to come home.

  Maybe she’s waiting for all of us

  to do something like that, to show

  her that we know she’s still alive.

  I wonder if my mom knew

  what my dad was doing while

  she was still wrapped up in bed.

  Maybe she told him to do it,

  because it doesn’t seem like

  something he’d just do on his own.

  Now, lying on my bed, watching

  the night turn light, I can still feel

  his big hand stroking my hair

  And I can still hear his heart

  thumping inside his big chest

  next to my right ear.

  I wish I could send those two things,

  his hand and heart, to my sister

  so that she could feel them too.

  Simplicita

  Simplicity

  Mary

  I crossed over