Authors: Kristin Elizabeth Clark
to walk us
to the door.
          “It was wonderful to meet you,”
          Dorothy says. Kathleen smiles.
          “See you in class.”
And on the way home
even though I don't
mention religion
I'm thanking God.
You think meeting
your boyfriend's parents
for the first time
is nerve-racking?
Girl, you just try doing it trans.
(Vanessa)
Weigh-In for Wrestling Finals
at 6 a.m. Afterward
the team goes out for pancakes
before the first match at eight.
I slump at the end of the table
next to Sheahan,
across from
Flannigan.
There's a rowdiness down at the
other end, but for once Flannigan's
not in the thick of it.
I watch brown maple syrup
seep into the golden stack.
            “Nervous?” Sheahan asks.
Shake my head no.
            “Awww, she's probably
            missing her boyfriend,”
            Flannigan says,
            but not in a mean way.
I almost start crying.
It's the truth.
“We broke up.”
            “'Cause he's a fag?” Flannigan asks
            like he's genuinely curious.
I look up from the table
to see Sheahan give him a dirty look.
            “Shut up, Flannigan,” he says.
We finish eating in silence.
On the way back to the tournament
Sheahan walks with me.
He's nervous,
talking a lot like he
always does before a match.
            “You know Flannigan's just a dick.”
I nod.
            “I know what they say
            about Brendan, but
            I like him.
            Not like THAT,”
            he adds in a hurry.
I smile.
We walk, comfortable.
            “It's so weird,
            how things change,
            isn't it?”
“What do you mean?”
            “Like, you think you're going to be with
            someone for a long timeâit's October
            and you ask her to the promâor even
            talk about summer plans. By the time
            those roll around you're just not into each
            other anymore. And I always wonder â¦
            What changed? And how?”
Forty-Five Minutes Later
I'm stepping
onto the mat for my first bout and
What changed?
is the clang in my ears.
It rings even as I shoot fast,
get the takedown points
drive my chin
into the guy from Clark's shoulder
cross face,
guillotine
let him up
take him down again
and again
double cobra.
Win
because my opponent
was a bad wrestler
not because I was
on my game.
What changed?
It's what I'm still thinking when
I lose the next two matches.
Pinned both times.
In the first round.
I walk off the mat
and someone says,
                                        “That's what you get,
                                        little-girl loser.”
But I barely hear it.
What Really Has Changed?
I wonder, and I'm dazed.
Disappointed in my losses,
but not surprisedâ
I wrestled poorly.
Waking up
to the fact that
he's not the one
who's changed
took away my focus.
Sweet Brendan
loving Brendan
Mr. Hilarious Brendan
driven Brendan
playful Brendan
even distant Brendan
and for sure
depressed Brendan
is just Brendan.
Phase or not.
(BRENDAN)
Monday Morning Announcements
and the whole school gets to hear
that Miller Prep lost finals by six points.
Just so happens that's the exact number
a team forfeits
when there's a hole in the lineup.
I come out of a bathroom stall and
Rudy and Gil are waiting for me.
                      “We lost because of you,
                      you little faggot.”
They're between me and the door.
It's class changeâ
outside the hallway is loud.
If I shout would anyone hear?
Blood cracks in my veins.
My heart freezes.
Or would the rest of the team
come in, hold me down?
Gil steps forward.
Rudy smiles an evil smile.
                      “We're gonna make you sorry
                      you got up this morning.”
                      “Hell”âGil's smiling, tooâ
                      “we're gonna make you
                      sorry you were born.”
He steps in front of me.
Rudy's still blocking the door.
I can't move.
When the fist comes
it doubles me over
pain sears my gut
I can't breathe.
The fist comes again
only this time it connects
with my nose and I see stars.
Then I'm on my side
and Gil is kicking me
and in the distance
like some psycho sound track
I can hear Rudy laughing.
Then the door opens.
The kicking stops.
          “Dudes, what's going on?”
          It's Andy.
                  “Teaching the fag a lesson.”
                  Gil's already stepping back.
I look over, see Andy nod.
He's the only kid
in the school
as big as Gil.
As tough.
          “That's probably enough,”
          he says.
                      “Bell's about to ring
                      anyway,” Rudy says.
                      Gil heads for the exit.
                      When he's safely past Andy
                      he says, “We'll leave your
                      girlfriend alone.”
He and Rudy laugh out the door.
I shift
to sit.
I'm slow.
I'm hurt.
I'm grateful.
I need a hand
to stand up.
Extend mine
to
Andy.
He looks at it.
Looks at me.
And shoves out the door.
I Leave School Without a Pass
The bus home
smells bad and
it wheezes and grunts;
like it's not gonna lieâ
grinding away from the curb
takes effort; you'll   Â
f i n d
out just how hard moving
forward is. Maybe there's something
at the end of the lineâ
maybe there's nothing at all.
I've never been there
and for all I know,   Â
m y
ride's an infinite one.
Buildings and cars sliding by,
without end? What if there
was some   Â
w a y
to find out.
If I stayed on the bus, just
rode beyond the
horizon, checked   Â
o u t
of life here?
Would I find anything
at all? Angelic white forms
floating, soothing songs   Â
o f
joy and forgiveness?
Malicious horned beasts
with pitchforks and tails?
We used to go to church,
and yet   Â
t h i s
seems unlikely to me.
What I think
best case
would be,
a blank
dark room
at the end
of the line.
Dreamless sleep.
Male, female consciousness
gone to the grave
along with your   Â
b o d y
.
No One at Home
Walking
up
stairs
is such
an effort.
I fall
into bed
for the rest
of the day
drowsing
in and out.
Don't Do Sadness
Don't do sadness
don't do sadness
don't sadness
dadness
deadness
drift
down
sad
sorry
wrong.
Wrong flesh
wrong bones
wrong
wrong
wrong
wrong
the word “wrong”
sounds wrong.
Consciousness
             s
u
r
g
e
s
re
tre
a
t
s
Little hands
grab,
poke.
            Grabbing.
            Poking.
            “Brendy? Brendy?
            Where do you hurt?”
            Then shoving.
            “Where do you hurt, Brendy?”
A small voice
panicked
wakes me up.
It must be late
if Courtney's home
from after-school
day care already.
“I'm okay,”
I tell her.
But I'm not.
            “Are you sick?”
“Uh-huh.”
            “Did you throw up?”
“Yes,” I lie.
It's the best way I know
to get everyone to
leave me alone.
But not Courtney.
          “Should I get Mommy?”
“NoâI just need rest.”
          “I'll read to you.” She puts her face
          close to mine, repeats what
          someone's said to her for sure.
          “It's very restful.”
I don't have the energy
to tell her no.
She bounces off
to get a book
and I drowse.
She brings back several,
pretends to read.
For a long time.
I fall asleep during
The Three Little Pigs
,
wake up during
Beauty and the Beast
.
            “But Beauty wasn't scared even
            though she had a scaredy face.
            She was just sad for Beast
            because he threw up.”
            A kiss on my shoulder.
Eyes tight,
I wait for her to go away.
When I open them Court's gone
but Mom's there
thirty feet tall.
                      “Dinnertime.
                      Are you okay?”
“Not hungry,” I tell her.
“Maybe something I ate.”
She starts to step forwardâI
think she's going
to kiss my forehead
like she did
tucking me into bed
when I was little
and I'm surprised to realize
I wouldn't mind that
right now.
Would welcome it.
The Interloper
calls her name.
She shakes her head.
            “I'll check in on you later.”
Leaves.
From Sucky to Worse
The crowning touch
of the whole day,
one that would prove
God hated meâ
if I believed in Himâ
is when I turn on my Mac.
An e-mail from a school that starts,
We are happy to inform you,
is really saying,
You're special.
We want you!
Come be one of us.
You can ditch
your parents
your sucky town
your shitty life.
An e-mail that starts,
We regret to inform you,
is really saying,
You are a loser
with nothing to offer.
You are worthless and
we don't want you here.
You're stuck where you are,
you immoral freak of nature.
Guess which one
the University of Chicago sent?
And my pathetic first thought
is to find my phone,
call Vanessa,
tell her
about my rejection
but she knows about me
hates me.
I'm Tired
So tired of