Glimpse, page 3
my eyes tear up.
I think I love him.
30.
I have
three dreams
for myself.
One
is to be a writer,
telling stories
about true life and
maybe about
aliens.
Two.
Be a country and western singer
if I don’t get rich
writing books.
(Momma and me and Lizzie
we practiced
before Liz left, practiced
singing.
Liz or me lead or alto.
Momma tenor.)
Three.
My third dream
is to kiss Ian St. Clair
right on the lips.
(Maybe
we would sing onstage
together.)
Could be
any one of these dreams
is possible,
so I keep on hoping.
No one
knows
this brand-new plan
I’m just coming up with
but Mari.
I’d never tell
Momma
and I can’t tell
Liz
until
she comes
back.
31.
Out behind the house,
in a field
where only one cow lives,
Momma tells me
to throw the dead cats.
It’s six days since
Lizzie’s gone,
though it seems a forever,
and now this.
They’re kittens, really.
A momma cat wandered up,
had them here,
then one day
just didn’t come back.
A momma don’t often
leave her babies,
Momma said to me and
Lizzie
when this happened.
Now, these babies?
They cry out to me before they die.
One by one.
The whole
litter almost gone.
I use an old rake
to pick the dead cats up
and sling their weight
far from me.
It is hot,
last days of May hot,
the air so heavy
breathing
is like drinking,
just about.
Don’t
think
about
any
of
it.
All at once
I am mad at Liz!
White-hot
mad!
Why did you do it?
I yell at her,
clenching my fists
so tight
and looking toward where the bodies
are hidden
in the high grasses
on the far
side of the
fence.
Why did you
try to leave me,
Liz?
I’m on my knees,
shovel
beside me.
All these babies
dying
and I don’t know why.
Just like with
my Lizzie.
I don’t know
why.
32.
In the morning
two kittens are left.
The small black and white one
will be the next to go.
I know.
I can tell.
It lays on its side
near the kitchen door.
I crouch close,
pushing my hair
behind one ear
when it falls in my face.
Little one,
I say.
And I think,
Not a thing I can do for you.
(Like Liz.)
There’s a place
in my heart that
I make thick
when I look at this
baby.
My old heart,
feeling fifty.
Feeling a hundred and fifty.
Or a million and fifty.
Lizzie,
Lizzie,
Lizzie
runs through my head.
Throw ’em
over the fence
once they’re dead,
Momma said,
wiping tears
from her cheeks,
when I told her
they were all dying.
Don’t pester me no more.
They’re strays. And
I got me a friend
coming by.
I need time to get ready.
Fixing herself up all shiny,
all pretty,
wiping at the
tears.
I could see
lots of her there in the
mirrors.
My momma
so pretty.
I got me a friend coming over
and
I don’t want no trouble
from you.
Hightail it outta here.
So I watch
that black and white kitten
knowing
I will have to throw
another body into
the high weeds.
Lizzie,
Lizzie,
Lizzie,
I say.
I sit outside on the
concrete steps
thinking of my sister
and all these kittens,
gone.
33.
Late that afternoon,
when the last
kitten is dead,
I bike my way to Mari’s house.
I am hollow inside
from it all.
Look at this camera,
Mari says, when I walk
in her room,
clicking my picture before
I even have a chance
to smile.
My father bought it
for me.
She snaps another picture and
another
and one more.
And I almost
forget
every
awful
thing
in
my
life.
Stop it!
I want to say, but
I’m laughing.
We can do something
with these,
she says.
Maybe I can blackmail
you.
But first,
she says aiming the camera,
more
pictures.
I pose,
hand on my head,
covering my mouth,
pointing to my butt.
Mari poses,
pulling at her hair,
mouth wide open,
grabbing her bosoms.
We take pictures,
laughing the whole
time.
Carrying on
till Mari’s mother
stops in to see what’s going on.
We’re leaping on Mari’s bed,
both of us, leaping,
catching action shots.
What are you two doing?
her mother says
just as the bed collapses.
I hit the floor
on both knees,
and roll onto my back.
Mari falls to the floor, purple
hair every-which-way.
She aims the camera.
I point to my O-shaped
mouth.
Snap!
34.
Enough of Ian St. Clair,
Mari says a few days
after the kittens,
after the photos,
after we have gone
through three magazines
full of the singer.
He’s hot and all,
but what about Robbie
or Spencer or Jeff ?
Boys that live close.
What about Jace?
Jace Nelson?
I say,
thinking about
how on the bus he wouldn’t
let me free from my seat.
Kept me trapped
by his legs.
I remember how the boys laughed
and the girls
hollered
and pointed.
I remember how
my Lizzie
whopped Jace a good one
right upside his head
with her notebook
till he set me free.
Then how Liz
grabbed my hand
and pulled me away.
I don’t love
Jace Nelson, if that’s what
you’re asking,
I say.
Mari leans close.
But do you think
he’s cute?
I shrug.
Why? Because if
I was going to pick
someone from school
it would be
Alex Cain.
I don’t say
a word
but he is a hottie.
That’s what I thought,
Mari says to
my silence.
She gives me an evil grin.
You like naughty boys,
don’t you, Hope?
She says this with an old lady voice.
And I laugh right out loud.
35.
At home
now that the sun
is down,
I can see Liz’s fear
myself.
In the bodies
of those kittens
grown cold.
Fear
smeared in the night sky
and
at the edges of our room
I worry
that maybe,
maybe
Liz will follow
those kittens
on outta here
and leave me
alone
for good.
36.
Lizzie,
I think,
are you okay?
When
are you coming back
home?
37.
Once,
me and Lizzie,
we fought
so loud
and so hard
that
Momma put us
in the front
yard
and said,
You two wild
things
fight it out
out here.
We did.
We fought,
hollering at
each
other
until
I took
a
swing at
Lizzie,
connecting
with her
chin.
That’s it!
she said.
That is it!
She knocked me
to the
ground
and sat on my back.
Say uncle,
she said.
She pushed my
face into the
ground.
Into that sharp
Florida
grass.
Say uncle,
she said,
or eat dirt.
Never,
I said.
Never
ever.
I ate dirt and grass,
both.
But
I never said
uncle.
38.
Right before they
took Lizzie away.
We sat in the sun,
school still in
for a few weeks more.
Late spring everywhere,
flowers
poking up
here and there,
peach trees blooming like crazy.
Miss Pearl,
Lizzie said that day,
wants me to interview
someone
I have a lot of respect for.
For a report.
Oh yeah?
I said
all worried
about math
and how confused
I was even at
just-about end of the year.
That’s right,
Liz said.
She pulled the ponytail holder
from her hair
that fell long around her shoulders.
The sun shone on her,
making her auburn hair
golden and
bright.
So?
I said.
So
I picked you,
Liz said.
You’re the person
I respect most.
Me?
I was so surprised
even math
was forgotten.
For a second.
Sure,
I said, pleased.
Wow.
Okay.
Liz took her pencil,
licked the tip,
and said,
What’s your name?
Oh, Lizzie,
I said,
my face going red
at the attention,
you already know that.
This
is an interview.
You have to
answer.
Your name?
It’s Hope Kristine Chapman.
Smells of roses
blew past
us.
The sun was
hot and yellow-white.
I fanned my face
with homework.
What are your goals?
Goals? I said,
I didn’t have a-one.
Not yet.
They came overnight,
much later.
Hmmmm,
I said.
What did I want
from me?
For me?
You have to have
one goal,
Liz said.
Me,
she tapped her chest,
I want
to sing.
Well, me too,
I said.
I want to be a famous
singer.
With you,
Liz.
Okay then,
she said.
And like she meant it
Liz wrote
the words down.
Hey.
Maybe you and me and Momma
could be famous
together,
I said.
The Chapman Girls,
Country and Western’s Best Family
Trio.
Liz made an
ugly face at
that.
Just with you,
she said.
Is that your onliest goal?
For now,
I said.
That’s it.
Lizzie closed her eyes
chewed on her pencil.
The sun
seemed to pat her
head.
My second goal,
she said,
her words all breathy,
is to get the hell outta here.
39.
Looking back,
I can see
Lizzie
meant what she
said.
Her going, I mean.
Her getting the hell
outta here.
Now
I think of my sister,
gone from our town
but still in
Florida.
I close my eyes
tight.
What is she sick of ?
Is the hospital
far enough away for
her?
Or is death
really what she’s after?
40.
Bad dreams.
More than a month ago.
The sky brittle.
Crying
all night it seems.
Then wake with a start.
Shaking.
Sweaty.
Lizzie?
I whispered my
sister’s name.
But Momma
I know
came in here earlier.
She led my sleepy sister out.
Why?
I asked.
She’s been sick,
Momma said to me.
When?
I said.
Right now, Hope,
Momma said.
Right now.
Momma?
I called out,
my voice slight with fear.
You go back to sleep in there,
Hope,
Momma said.
You stay in there.
I don’t want you catching
what Liz has.
There were voices in my head.
The dream cried on,
sounding too real for comfort.
I got under my blanket and pillow
and prayed myself
back to sleep.
41.
Dreams.
Don’t I
buy you clothes?
Don’t I
get you pretty things?
Don’t I
take good care of you?
You hush now.
Hush up.
Stop that
crying.
Shhh.
Shhh.
Quiet.
42.
I’m sitting on the front porch,
thinking how I miss Liz,
watching the torn screen
flap in the wind,
when Mari comes
riding down the driveway
on her bike.
Let’s go, she says.
You and me. We’re
headed to the river.
I see
Mari carries a picnic
basket and a plastic
bag full of stuff.
Her purple hair seems
to soak up
the sun.
For a moment, I
sit quiet
wondering if I should
go anywhere fun
with Lizzie waiting in a hospital.
Then Mari says,
You don’t have a choice.
Get up, Hope. You
are coming with me,
like it or not.
Okay, I say,
’cause I am too
tired to argue
with her.
It’s a long trip.
A hot trip.
Two miles away.
Down back roads.
Past an orange grove,
past a drug store
and a 7-Eleven.
Every once in a while
I can smell
the ocean
in the air
even though we are
headed in the
opposite direction.
But I know
when me and Mari get
there
that river will be so pretty,
with its white banks
