Heartbeat Page 5
a thin little smile
and says
You might enjoy being
part of a team.
And now I really want to slug her15
because I have heard this before
from other coaches
who think that if you don’t
want to be
part of a team
there is something wrong with you—
perhaps you are a future
ax murderer
and so I know I have to find
some little thing
to let her win
and so I say
Yes, ma’am
maybe I would enjoy being
part of a team—
someday.16
And so, victorious,
she says
Well,17 you think about it
and let me know when
you’re ready.
And I say
Yes, ma’am
I will.
And she says
Because, ya know,18
you shouldn’t waste
a gift.
And I say
Yes, ma’am.
And when I get home
I fling off my shoes
and flee for the path
and I run
hard and fast
on the soft spring ground
so that I barely see Max
zoom from out of the trees
Hey, Annie!
but I don’t answer
because my chest is too tight
and we run fast and faster
and today I want to beat Max
to the bench
and I fly down the hill
f-l-y over the creek
zoom up the path.
We are neck and neck
and we are breathing hard
and I soar over the grass
thump-thump, thump-thump.
I feel as if I am weightless
and free
as I lunge for the bench
reaching it one slim second
before
Max
and we hunch over
huffing and puffing
and he says
That’s a little better pace, Annie
and I slug him hard
and turn and fly for home
fast and faster and fastest
and all the way
I am apologizing
to the air
to the sky
for not wanting
to waste a gift
but knowing
that I am right
and knowing
that I do not like
to be wrong
which is probably
a serious character flaw.
A GIFT
I am sorry
for punching Max
and so I take my lawn-mowing money
and place it in an envelope
and write Max’s name on it
using my left hand
to disguise my handwriting
and I slip it in through
the vents of his locker
and hope that he will have enough
to buy his shoes
and be part of a team
and win his race.
PUMPKIN BABY
We are calling the alien baby
the pumpkin baby now
partly because my mother
looks as if she is carrying a pumpkin
in there.
Pumpkin baby is eight months old
more than a foot long
and weighs about five pounds.
It can hiccup and suck its thumbs
and open its eyes.
Mom is practicing her breathing
and Dad and I are coaching her.
We have to say things like
Relax your forehead
relax your arms
breathe in
breathe out.
We have seen the birthing videos
which gave me nightmares
because they show everything
and it looks hard and painful
for both the mother and the baby
and a million things can go wrong
but my mother says that
a million things can go right, too
and that a billion things
have already gone right
to enable our pumpkin baby
to have eyes and ears and toes
and heart and liver and lungs
and
heartbeat
a-whoosh-a-whoosh-a-whoosh.
And now I am not dreaming
of baby mice or rabbits or horses.
I dream of real babies.
Last night I dreamed
of a baby no bigger than my hand
and I was watching it
but I lost it
and I was frantic
searching everywhere
until finally I found it
behind the radiator
where it had got too hot
and the baby was
melting
melting
melting.
And I don’t understand
why I can’t dream
of perfect babies
with all their fingers
and all their toes
and a perfect
perfect
sister.19
TREASURE OF WORDS
Now Mr. Welling is on a crusade
about using the thesaurus
to help us find synonyms
because our vocabularies
are needing some help
he says.
He is exceedingly big on the thesaurus.
It’s a treasure of words
he says.
Thrilling! Sensational! Exhilarating!
I try to use it
but it stops my mind
and I forget where I am going
but Mr. Welling says
to soar ahead and write the first draft
fast
as I usually do
and then later go back and
plumb
the thesaurus
for more thrilling
sensational
exhilarating
words.
I am endeavoring
to do so
but sometimes
the consequences
make me resonate
rather abnormal
but I did perceive
some compelling
revelations.
I detected a quantity of synonyms
for angry—
now when I run into the girls’ track coach
I can say that she makes me
aggravated
annoyed
antagonized
bitter
displeased
enraged
exasperated
furious
heated
hot
incensed
indignant
infuriated
irate
irritated
mad
outraged
passionate
and
raging.
THE STRANGER
Annie! Annie! Grandpa calls.
He sounds frightened.
I find him huddled in his blue chair
his arms hugging his chest.
What is it, Grandpa?
What’s wrong?
He points to the photo on the wall
the one of him standing with the trophy.
Who is that boy?
Grandpa asks.
He’s staring at me!
Grandpa, that’s you.
Grandpa looks at the photo
suspiciously.
Well, he says, he’s bothering me!
Do you want me to take him away?
I ask.
Grandpa’s chin quivers.
He nods.
and take it to my room
and then I return to Grandpa
and say
Is that better?
He studies the blank space on the wall
his chin still quivering.
He looks small and frightened
like a child.
He nods slowly.
He was bothering me so much
Grandpa says.
I sit on the bed beside Grandpa.
Why? I ask. What was he doing?
Grandpa seems a little braver
now that the photo is gone.
He leans toward me and whispers
He wouldn’t stop staring at me!
I do not like to see my grandpa like this.
Always he was so busy
so wise
so comforting.
Always he was the grandpa
the one who knew everything
the one who would laugh with me
and run with me.
Grandpa looks around the room
as if checking to see if anyone is listening
and then he says
Go ask him why he was staring at me.
And because my grandpa is so serious
I leave the room and go into mine
and I say, aloud
Why were you staring at my grandpa?
and I listen for the photo’s response
and return to Grandpa and say
He was staring at you because
he likes you.
Pff! Grandpa spurts
but a grin has appeared on his face
and he seems flattered and boyish.
I say
Do you want me to bring him back?
Grandpa thinks a minute
considering
and then he says
No. Not right now.
Maybe he can come back tomorrow.
SHOES
Thump-thump, thump-thump
running up the path
in the balmy air
full of flowery smells
and zinging bees.
Hey, Annie-banany!
You going to cut my grass today?
Yes, Mrs. Cobber-obber
I’ll be there later
and she salutes me
as I think about starting over
saving money
for the pencils and paper
or maybe the chalky pastels.
Hey, Annie!
Hey, Max!
He stumbles, trips
regains his stride.
Hey, you got your shoes!
I say
staring down at the new white
enormous shoes.
Yeah! he says
his chin jutting out as if
it is leading him along the trail.
He stumbles, trips, scowls.
Not used to them yet
he says.
Big race Friday.
Gotta beat these things into shape by then.
L-e-a-p over the creek
up the hill
proud of my secret gift to Max20
feeling good running free.
You going to be there?
he asks.
I stumble, trip
surprised by his question
by the intensity in his voice
as if it matters to him
that I be at the race.
Where? I say
composing myself as best I can.
The race?
Of course the race!
You going to watch me win?
I don’t want to think about it.
I don’t want to see him in the herd
and what if he doesn’t win?
He reaches out, taps my arm.
You’d better be there, Annie.
Yeah, I say, feeling
confused
baffled
bewildered
disarranged
discomposed
disoriented
embarrassed
flustered
mortified
muddled
and
perplexed.21
PRESENTS
On Grandpa’s birthday I give him
a booklet I’ve made:
twenty drawings of Grandpa.
Some are small, pieces of the whole:
an eye
a hand
a foot
a mouth.
Some are large, the parts assembled:
asleep on the bed
sitting in the blue chair
eating my apple.
And one, my favorite, at the end:
Grandpa as a boy
running
on a path through the woods.
Grandpa smiles at each drawing
touching them
lingering over them
and when he is finished
he hugs me to him
and says
You’ve been spying on me!
He says he has a present
for me, too.
He wants me to know where it is
and what it is
but I am not to open it
until he kicks the bucket.
I cannot bear to hear him joke
about kicking the bucket
and maybe he senses this
because he says
You know I would stay here forever
if I could, don’t you?
He asks me to open a drawer
in his desk
and to find a narrow yellow box.
That’s for you
he says
for … later.
There are letters inside.
Thirteen, he says.
One written the day you were born
and one written on each of your birthdays.
The envelopes are a rainbow of colors:
yellow, blue, pink, violet
and around each is a white ribbon.
I want to open them now
I want to read every one
but I know he doesn’t want me to—
not now.
I pull a quilt up to his chin
and kiss his forehead
and feel as if I should hold him
but I don’t know how to do it.
THE RACE
After school, I decide I’ll go to the race
then I decide I won’t
then I will
then I won’t.
I slip to the track
stand off to the side.
The herds are all there
bouncing
stretching
pacing
jogging.
Boys will go first
then the girls.
I wish Max didn’t want this so much
and I feel odd—
as if in order to wish him well
I have to hope that others do badly—
and I find myself not wanting
to be a part of this.
The air is steamy
heavy with expectation.
A grasshopper leaps across my foot
and seconds later
another grasshopper follows.
I spot Max in his herd
in his own world
stretching
bouncing
shaking his hands loose
rolling his head from side to side.
I pace around the field
as the first group sets off:
starter horn
whistles
cheers.
Can’t bear to see the winner
and the losers.
Pace pace pace
until
Max’s herd is up
horn blares
Max flies away
pumping hard
finding his stride.
Round the bend now
he’s starting to relax
looking good
chin out
arms close in
and then he stumbles, trips
and I freeze
like a statue on the grass
mouth open
hand stretched toward Max
as if I could push him
to the finish line.
And in my frozen moment
Max has kicked off his shoes
and I think, Yay, Max!
He’s pumping his arms
in the middle of his herd
but he’s lost ground.
Hey, Annie, Annie, Annie!
It’s Mrs. Cobber-obber.
Annie, Annie, Annie
come quick!
Your mama’s baby’s coming!
For a moment, I am frozen again
unable to move
watching Max overtake one runner
and another
and another
and I see the winner
cross the finish line
and it is not Max.
I wonder how he feels
and want to see his face
but Mrs. Cobber is pulling at my sleeve
and off I go with her—
the baby is coming!
FLURRY
Dad is carrying Mom’s suitcase to the car
trying to look calm.
Mom is in the kitchen
leaning against the counter
pff, pff, pff
breathing hard.
Pff, pff, pff
Oh, Annie, I’m glad