Authors: Kristin Elizabeth Clark
His eyes are deep.
And damp?
            “I love you
            more than anything.
            “You have to trust me.”
I want to believe him.
I close my eyes.
Breathe
and breathe
and breathe
into the quiet.
I want to trust him.
I need to trust him.
I decide to trust him.
“I'm sorry,” I say.
We | Â | sit |
staring | Â | at |
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TV | Â | screen. |
A | Â | nation |
of | Â | two. |
After | Â | a |
civil | Â | war. |
(BRENDAN)
My Heart
didn't beat for
ten minutes.
My    worlds            colliding.
Angel            Vanessa
Vandalizing    trans    boyfriend.
It took all I had
to act casual,
and then annoyed.
All I had
to turn
to Vanessa
after she apologized
to kiss
to cuddle.
And when she fell for
my Brendan-the-everyday-guy routine
I became the ugliest hypocrite
in the universe.
“Trust me,” I told her.
But my lie is so much bigger
than anything
she could imagine.
Trust me not to cheat
    trust me to treat you well
      trust me to make love to you
        trust me to guard your reputation
afterward.
Just don't trust me
to be who I say I am.                        I lie.
Guilt Is Beach Sand
on a second-degree burn
keeping you up
at night
no comfortable
way to rest.
           Â
Be honest
           Â
with people
           Â
you care about.
Impossible,
right?
But maybe
there's a
guilt-lessening
trade-off?
Sort of
aloe vera
on a sunburn.
Not honesty
about everything
but there is somethingâ
a position that will
allow for sleep.
(Angel)
1 a.m.: The Phone Rings
Fish it out of my purse
at the end of my bed.
Denai groans, covers her head
with her pillowâshe has work at seven.
Caller ID says
Bren
.
Phone to ear
I stumble into the bathroom
so D can get back to sleep.
“Brendan? Everything okay?”
And he's off and talking so fast
my sleepy head can't hardly keep up.
          “⦠can't stop thinking about
          what you said about honesty
          and I have to tell you something
          but first I want you to know I'm
          already making up for it by
          sending money.”
“Huh?”
          “Every week I send
          money to Willows.”
And now I'm wide awake.
“Twenty-five bucks cash?
Blue envelope?”
          “Yeah.”
He takes a breath.
I hear it.
          “And I promise I'll keep sending
          it until the window's paid for.”
I'm all the way alert
but might as well be asleep,
can't think of one word to say.
          “Angel?”
Find my voice.
“You the one broke it?”
He starts talking fast again.
          “I'm sorry and
          I'm making it up
          because I really am sorryâ
          I feel so bad.”
“Why?”
          “Because I broke the window!”
“No, I mean why'd you break it?”
And now he's quiet
like he's the one can't
think of a thing to say.
        “I don't know.”
It's an effort, keepin' my voice low
so I don't wake up everyone
in the apartment.
“You mean to tell me
you threw a rock through a window,
freaked a lot of people out, making
'em think it was some kinda
asshole hate crime and
You Don't Know Why?”
        “No.”
At least he sounds miserable.
          “But I'm paying for it
          and if there was anything more
          I could do, I would.”
Which gets me to thinking.
He could come in and apologize
to the community like Liberty had toâ
let everyone see the monster
under the bed was just some
punk-ass kid â¦
Only one problem with that.
Dr. Martina might not appreciate me
bein' friends with Brendan.
I been tellin' myself it's okayâ
technically he's not a client
but he was a potential one
when he stopped by.
It's a lot to explain.
          “Angel? You still there?”
“I got a lot to think about, Brendan.
I gotta go.”
He's quiet.
          “I understand.”
I know I'm the first one
to hang up.
“No Idea What to Do,”
I say to Marcus.
We're drinkin' coffee
at his favorite place
and I'm tellin' him about Brendan,
the broken window, his sending money,
and how I'm not sure I can tell
Dr. Martina what happened
without explaining how I met him.
The Bean Scene has kick-ass mochas
and beaded curtains and jazz.
My favorite thing about it
is that Marcus is comfortable taking me
to places he likes to go.
Means he's not ashamed.
          “But he doesn't seem
          like a hater?”
                  Marcus asks.
I swallow whipped cream.
“Nuh-uh,” I tell him. “Even though
he practically threw me out
when his girlfriend came over.”
          “Maybe he has a crush on youâ
          didn't want her to find out,”
          he teases.
That makes me smile.
Marcus here's thinking
I'm so crush worthy and all.
“Nah, nothin' like that.
I know there's something
goin' on with him,
just don't know exactly⦔
          “You're so worried about him,
          you can't stop thinking about it.”
          Marcus's cocoa eyes crinkle; he
          leans forwardâ
          kisses me. “I like that about you.”
He leans back again
and I just can't
stop smiling
even though
that's not what
I was thinking at all.
One of my favorite things
is hearing what Marcus likes about meâ
and tellin' him what I like about him.
I decide to focus
on that for now ⦠Brendan later.
(BRENDAN)
Angel Was So Pissed Last Night
she practically hung up on me.
I don't know what I was expecting.
I spent the day
kicking myself.
Was I expecting some
weird kind of
absolution?
         Â
No problem, Brendan.
         Â
Thank you for confessing.
         Â
You're a vandalizing thug
         Â
but at least you're an honest one
         Â
and I'm thrilled to be your friend.
My heart's
a dried-up walnut
that only opens
at night
when I'm Larissa.
Hazardous
An unlocked door should never be.
Even with parents at rehearsal.
The door should be locked.
Even with Courtney asleep.
The door should be locked.
When it's time to be myself.
The door should be locked.
It's not about girly clothes.
The door should be locked.
It's about having this silhouette.
The door should be locked.
It's how I let go of worry.
The door should be locked.
It's how I forget about trouble.
The door should be locked.
It's how I like to do homework.
The door should be locked.
I concentrate better.
The door should be locked.
Words flow amazingly well.
The door should be locked.
Until they stop.
“Dude.” Andy bursts in.
The door should be locked.
“What the Fuâ”
He can't even finish
the word.
He's gaping
at
                    me
          sitting at my desk
          in a green satin padded bra.
          No excuse.
          Nothing to say.
          This
is
what it looks like.
His expression
would be funny
if it didn't mean
the end of my life.
                                            He bolts.
Will He Tell?
We've been friends
since seventh grade.
He wouldn't
ruin my life.
            He won't tell.
But there's Lindy,
who squeals when she comes.
He tells me
intimate details
about his
girlfriend
.
            Of course he'll tell.
Awake All Night
I consider ditching
in the morning
but there's AP testing.
Throat dry
I go to school.
Andy and I don't have any
classes together.
Keep
away        from      each other
in the halls.
After fourth period
I see him with Flannigan.
They're looking at me
and when I hear them laugh
I know it's out.
My blood
pools
around my ankles.
I knew he'd tell.
And after school
I know my life is over.
Brendan Chase Is a Fag
Thick, black Sharpie screams
across blue locker room tile.
The hair on
my neck, my wrists, stands up.
I glance around the room,
metal doors clanking open
slamming shut.
            “What are you looking at?”
            Gil snarls.
“Nothing.” Duck my head
focus on opening my lock.
A voice comes out of
a bathroom stall.
            “I'm changing in here, so
            the fag doesn't get a free show.”
Laughter.
Then one    by    one
my teammates go into the stalls.
Rudy shoves me from behind
on his way past.
Stomach squeezes
ears pound
fingers fumble
with a knot.
I give up
yank my wrestling shoe on