Love Always

Apparently, I laugh like you
and you work too hard. I wish
you would retire to mystery novels
in the patio sun
and aromas of broccoli casserole and
mint chocolate chip dessert.

You told me to consider
popping birth control pills
before college
and scratched my back
before bedtime.

Poolside, you watched me in the water,
never daring to enter the mermaids' domain
but a phone call away when
essays needed red pen
stains.

You told me to consider
marrying a doctor or the like.
Why did I cry in the seventh grade
when M-- H-- insulted Democrats, as if
he spat directly in the face of you,
You
you consummate hostess,
       consummate ear,
       consummate seeker.

Sometimes, I think of you
as in your wedding photo,
that album tucked away in a drawer.
An English major, sociology minor
and her mane of autumn hair,
the half-smile
hiding and bestowing
so much.

Your sociology major, English minor,
autumn-haired
daughter
finds she laughs and smiles
much the same.
Apparently.

Airport Inspiration?

I always tell people that I hate airports. They give me a headache. And everyone is breathing the same air and eating far too much "food" from McDonalds and I always end up running over the toes of some innocent passerby with my overstuffed suitcase. Furthermore, for some inexplicable reason, my stomach always ties itself into knots at those security check points, as if somehow I'll be mistaken for one of the many, many female, college-age, redheaded criminals roaming airports across the country and be hauled away in handcuffs, shamefaced, screaming that they've got the wrong girl. However, I may have to eat my words. Airports are quickly evolving into wells of inspiration for my various scribblings. Here's a taste of what filled my notebook's pages minutes before take-off.

dot dot dot
we worried for You're s.a.n.i.t.y.
when Michael Bublé and Metallica
wore matching sailor suits. we warned You.
failed interventions toed the line
between crafted clichés and comprehensible,
misguided attempts to paste bits and pieces
of the Pyramids back together.
You know they were stolen, right?
the pharaohs were pissed — drunk on
the melodies of doorbells and
bits and pieces of clichés crafted at a Metallica concert.
brave the mosh pit.
You may catch a glimpse of
sarcophagi gleaming in torchlight.
don't lift the lid, for the love of
g.o.d.!
those sailor suits have been preserved for centuries.
"Do Not Disturb."
the doorbell
won't work now,
not now that Michael Bublé's bubble burst.
can You blame us for screaming into
microphones? maybe the bits and pieces of clichés You swept
into neat little piles after footfalls die down
torch-lit corridors will
shake the Pyramids.
at the very least, ring a doorbell.

"d.o. n.o.t. d.i.s.t.u.r.b."

Miss
It is Christmas time and she says my name
because she has to. It is part of her job.
Move the line along, address each passenger
by first name.
All that training
just to utter a name. Simple.
Her turtleneck is tan,
her glasses eat her face.
My name,
exotic,
lush,
on her lips. Half-joking.
I suppose half-joking simplicity is necessary after thousands of days
in the Mecca of transitions,
scanning tickets to destinations not her own.
What is there to say but,
"Safe flight, Miss Miranda"?
The moment of contact. The moment of
names.
All that training
for a moment shared through thick-rimmed glasses
at Christmas time.

That Jitterbug Jive We Do
Waiting for Alaskan wings after
the strangest of mid-morning goodbyes,
the sort that loop a noose around throats
and, snakelike, squeeze the syllables until
they trickle through half-parted lips,
all nonchalance and fingers too afraid
to reach, to trace the lines of faces
and possibilities.
It's silly, playing hard-to-get.
They both know it. But
are they playing the game?

Or are they just hard to get?
 

We Live Together

Lights up on a living room in disarray. Board games, textbooks, dishes, boxes of Christmas decorations, and various snack foods are scattered on coffee tables and the floor. LIZZIE and SAM, both on their laptops, sit on the couch. MOLLY sits on the floor, strumming a guitar softly.

LIZZIE

                                    (offhandedly)

Would you break up with Nate if he chopped off your dog’s head on purpose?

                                                MOLLY

                                    (equally offhandedly)

Probably not.

                                    (pause)

                                                LIZZIE

Would you break up with Nate if he had shoelaces for hair?

                                                MOLLY

Probably.

                                                SAM

Priorities.

                                                LIZZIE

My organic chem professor is the devil.

                                                SAM

Also, Molly, you were talking in your sleep again last night. I couldn’t tell if you were laughing or moaning.

                                                MOLLY

Weird. And that’s a pretty serious accusation, Liz.

                                                LIZZIE

                                    (closing laptop)

Screw this crap. Boggle?

                                                MOLLY

As per usual.

                                                SAM

I’m going grocery shopping within the next 7-9 minutes.

MOLLY

                                    (setting up to play Boggle)

Will you buy more milk?

                                                SAM

Yes. No. I won’t be back until late tonight and I don’t want it to spoil in the car.

                                                LIZZIE

Wow, Sam. So selfish.

                                                SAM

As per usual.

AMELIA enters.

                                                LIZZIE

Speak of the devil. Aside from Professor Matthews.

                                                AMELIA

                                    (smiling, bashful)

Ok, so…

                                                MOLLY

Let us guess the Latin lover of the week.

                                                LIZZIE

Juan!

                                                MOLLY

Alejandro!

                                                LIZZIE

Raul!

                                                MOLLY

Javier!

                                                AMELIA

Marco, actually.

                                                MOLLY

My next guess.

                                                LIZZIE

Is he the one who won’t shut up about his pet chinchilla or the one with the profile picture featuring various cans of beer and scantily clad co-eds?

                                                AMELIA

Neither. He’s Roberto’s roommate. He just walked up to me after class and we started talking about how cold it is and how much we both like doing laundry, and then he asked if I wanted to get “delicious hot beverages” sometime. He speaks English pretty well.

                                                SAM

Phewf. That’s a relief.

                       

                                                LIZZIE

Step up from chinchilla boy.

                                                AMELIA

Then he sort of followed me home.

                                                SAM, MOLLY, LIZZIE

WHAT?

                                                AMELIA

I know he lives in one of the apartments down Caroline Avenue but he said he was going this way and followed me all the way to the front door.

                                                SAM

What an appealing array of suitors you have, Amelia Harrison.

KATE enters from another room in the apartment reading a book.

                                                MOLLY

So when will these “delicious hot beverages” be consumed, pray tell? Provided he doesn’t climb through the window tonight and axe you in your sleep.

                                                KATE

Who’s murdering Amelia?

                       

                                                LIZZIE

One guess.

                                                KATE

Julio?

                                                SAM

So close.

                                                AMELIA

Tomorrow afternoon. But here’s the thing. Molly, you know the tall percussionist in jazz band?

                                                MOLLY

Adam?

                                                AMELIA

He’s caught my fancy lately.

                                                SAM

He does acid.

                                                LIZZIE

Ha!

                                                AMELIA

Never mind, then.

                                                MOLLY

That was last year. You never know. People change.

                                                LIZZIE

                                    (to Amelia)

If you date a boy who does acid, I’ll punch you in the face.

                                                AMELIA

I suppose Marco’s back in the number one slot.

                                                SAM

Ah, young love.

                                                LIZZIE

                                    (excited)

Let’s watch “The Sound of Music” tonight.

                                                SAM

 I refuse.

                                                LIZZIE

Oh right. I forgot about your soulless vendetta against all fun ever.

                                                SAM

I have nothing against fun. I have everything against three hours of “Do, a deer, a female deer.”

                                                KATE

                                    (singing)

“Ray, a drop of golden sun. 

MOLLY

                                    (singing)

“Me, a name I call myself.”

                                                LIZZIE

                                    (singing)

“Fa, a long, long way to run.”

                                                SAM

This is the opposite of what I wanted to happen.

                                                KATE, MOLLY, LIZZIE, AMELIA

                                    (all singing in SAM’s face)

“Sol, a needle pulling thread. La, a note to follow so. Ti, a drink with jam and bread. That will bring us back to do, do, do, do.”

                                                SAM

We just experienced all “The Sound of Music” magic we need. No call to watch the movie.

                                                KATE, MOLLY, LIZZIE, AMELIA

                                    (continue to hum the song softly, chuckling)

                                                SAM

                                    (closing laptop and gathering her things)

On second thought, pop that sucker in. I’m off to buy a bunch of food that will most likely give me heart disease in the distant future.

                                                AMELIA

Will you buy more milk?

                                                SAM

I’m currently experiencing some sort of déjà vu-esque sensation…

                                                MOLLY

I’ll get milk tomorrow.

                                                SAM

Be back late.

                                                LIZZIE

Wait! 30-second roommate dance party before you go!

(pause, girls look at each other, then in almost perfect unison, break into a rendition of “Livin’ on a Prayer,” dancing around the room)

                                                SAM

Got to go. Bye, all.

                                                AMELIA

All this groovin’ is making me hungry.

AMELIA exits toward the kitchen.

                                                KATE

So I just finished half of my paper—

                                                LIZZIE

                                    (singing)

“Oh, we’re half-way there!”

                                                KATE

—on how children’s advertisements brainwash our youth and serve as the champagne bottle on the bow of the ship sailing into the wretched depths of consumerist culture.

                                                MOLLY

Attacking the nostalgia of our childhoods again, eh, Kate?

                                                LIZZIE

It doesn’t get much better than the 90s.

                                                MOLLY

 “Leggo my eggo!”

                                                LIZZIE

                                    (singing)

“Hungry, hungry hippos!”

                                                MOLLY

                                    (singing)

“Sock-Em Boppers! Sock-Em Boppers!”

                                                LIZZIE

                                    (singing)

“It’s more fun than a pillow fight!”

                                                MOLLY, LIZZIE

                                    (singing)

“Blow ‘em up, put your hand inside! Get ready to have the time of your life!”

                                                KATE

I never noticed how inappropriate that jingle is.

AMELIA’s cell phone rings.

                                                MOLLY

Amelia, someone’s calling you.

                                                LIZZIE

Antonio!

                                                MOLLY

Jorge!

                                                LIZZIE

Miguel!

                                   

AMELIA  jogs in, looking silly and carrying a floppy piece of sandwich meat.

                                                AMELIA

                                    (monotone voice, jokingly panicked)

Ahhhh! Where’s my phone?

                                                KATE

What kind of meat is that?

                                                AMELIA

I don’t know. It came in a variety pack. (Finds phone but missed the call already) Oh well.

AMELIA exits.

                                                LIZZIE

Molly, come here.

                                                MOLLY

That’s sufficiently sinister.

                                                LIZZIE

Just do it.

                                                KATE

Ugh. If you mention any more ad slogans, my brain might explode.

MOLLY crosses to LIZZIE who begins drawing something on her leg with a pen.

                                                MOLLY

We need to decorate soon.

                                                KATE

I can steal some more Christmas-y paraphernalia from my parent’s house.

                                                MOLLY

Just a little spruce.

                                                LIZZIE

Literally.

                                                KATE

Ha. Ha.

                                                MOLLY

We could cut some paper snowflakes, too. Did you ever do that when you were a kid?

                                                KATE

I think everyone did that when they were a kid, dear.

AMELIA enters with a sandwich on a plate, plops down on couch.

                                                MOLLY

                                    (nostalgic)

Traditions are traditions for a reason, Kate. Something about snow. It just isn’t Christmas without snow.

                                                LIZZIE

Especially large representations of snow made of paper.

                                                MOLLY

Are you done yet?

                                                LIZZIE

Just about.

                                                AMELIA

I’m too exhausted to eat this sandwich. (Slumps down and closes her eyes)

                                               

                                                KATE

                                    (whining)

Do I have to go to work?

                                                LIZZIE

Depends on how much you like having money in your pocket.

                                                KATE

I do like that…

                                                MOLLY

Then yes. You should probs go to work.

                                                KATE

Probs?

                                                MOLLY

I like to abbrev whenev pos.

                                                KATE

You disgust me.

                                                MOLLY

Whatevs, bff.

KATE gathers her things and puts on her coat.

                                                LIZZIE

Finished.

                                                MOLLY

                                    (reading LIZZIE’s inscription)

You would write that on my leg.

                                                KATE

What does it say?

                                                MOLLY

“Put your hand inside, get ready to have the time of your life,” with an arrow pointing directly toward my vagina.

                                                LIZZIE

You’re welcome.

                                                KATE

Alright, I’m off. Enjoy not working, everyone.

                                                MOLLY

Wait! 30-second roommate dance party before you go!

                                                KATE

I’m currently experiencing some sort of déjà-vu-esque sensation.

(another pause, the girls look at each other, then break into a somewhat less perfectly unison rendition of “Dancing Queen,” giggling and dancing)

            LIZZIE

(to KATE)

Go to work! Make money!

                                                KATE

Will do. See you later.

KATE exits.

LIZZIE jumps on AMELIA who is still trying to sleep, sprawls out across her.

                                                LIZZIE

                                    (whispering)

Amelia. Are you sleeping?

                                                AMELIA

                                    (groggily)

Yes.

                                                MOLLY

 We could tape the snowflakes to the windows.

                                                LIZZIE

                                    (still whispering)

Are you sleeping now?

                                                AMELIA

Yes.

                                                MOLLY

And maybe some twinkle lights around the doorframes.

                                                AMELIA

You’re crushing the organs I use to breathe, Lizzie.

                                                LIZZIE

                                    (climbing off AMELIA)

Breathing isn’t necessary.

AMELIA reaches for her sandwich.

                                                MOLLY

We should watch a Christmas movie tonight, instead!

                                                LIZZIE

Someone has a hefty dose of holiday cheer.

                                                AMELIA

Guess who called me earlier?

                                                LIZZIE

Fernando!

                                                MOLLY

Enrique!

                                                AMELIA

Chinchilla boy.

                                                LIZZIE

Should have known.

                                                MOLLY

Don’t you have a date with that what’s-his-face cheeseball this weekend?

                                                AMELIA

Technically.

                                                LIZZIE

One time, my brother ate an entire block of cheddar cheese and then diarrhea-ed all night long.

                                                MOLLY

                                    (singing)

“All night long!”

                                                AMELIA

Lizzie, I’m eating.

                                                LIZZIE

And this other time, he and his friends competed to see who could eat the most White Castle sliders in one sitting and when he came home, he stank up our whole house with his putrid farts.

                                                AMELIA

                                    (ignoring LIZZIE)

Ahhhh, I’m so stressed! I have so much to do and no motivation to do it.

                                                LIZZIE

I’m planning on going to the library to study for my organic chem exam. Want to tag along?

                                                AMELIA

If you promise not to talk about your brother’s putrid diarrhea.

                                                LIZZIE

Cross my heart.

                                                AMELIA

Now?

                                                LIZZIE

You got it.

LIZZIE and AMELIA gather their things and coats, almost out the door.

                                                MOLLY

Wait! 30-second roommate dance party before you go!

(pause, the girls look at each other, then break into a perfect rendition of “Don’t Stop Believin’” in 3-part harmony, dancing around the room)

                                                LIZZIE

What would we do without overplayed, classic, karaoke tunes and our bad dance moves?

                                                AMELIA

Something productive?

                                                MOLLY

Productivity is overrated.

                                                LIZZIE

Be back later, Molly.

                                                AMELIA

Bye, friend.

                                                MOLLY

Have fun, ladies.

LIZZIE and AMELIA exit.

                                    (pause)

The room feels strange and empty. MOLLY looks around. She rummages through the Christmas decorations, picks up AMELIA’s plate and half-eaten sandwich, still looking around, somewhat sad and thoughtful now.

                                                MOLLY

Well.

MOLLY exits, humming “Don’t Stop Believin.’”

Lights down.

Midnight Snack

Fiddlededee days devour the sparks of inspired nights.
Kindling the middle of winter afternoons, end too soon.
Here
and
Now.
Sometimes, it is good.
Ladies linger in the shower, shave their legs but blood is thick.
Paying for the middle of winter afternoons, end too soon.
There
and
How.
Sometimes, it needs enormity.
Yes, yet
Sometimes, it takes too long.
Buts
or
Ands?
Libraries of looks in lieu of winter afternoons, refuse to end too soon.
Libraries of discontent in dirty diaries, dirty living rooms.
Sometimes, it is something.
Whats
or
When's the clean part start?
Sometimes atoms seem enormous as winter afternoons refusing to end too soon.
Showers of sparks scratch bloody demarcations into rickety winter bones.

Sometimes, it is enormously good.

This is a Thought

If I decided to peal paint off the upside-down radiator

for eternity,

I wonder if you would sit beside me  

reading Wallace Stevens.

If I decided to nurse the convent garden bursts of peonies

for eternity,

I wonder if you would smuggle me some

David Bowie tracks.

If I decided to eat only fudge brownies and cherry Starbursts

for eternity,

I wonder if you would google gourmet

recipes for me.

If I decided to paint my own Walden in the Washington wild

for eternity,

I wonder if you would build a nightclub

next to my cabin.

If I decided to leap out airplane hatches and steal rodeo saddles and read my poetry out-loud

for eternity,

I wonder if you would be happily

married in Norway.

A Birthday

But bartenders don't know how to make a sidecar anymore.
Is this what I'm supposed
to do now?
Identities, plastic summaries, explored at the door.
Those little clubs without rules, more like
third grade
than we care to admit.
Smooth, fruity lightning sprints through veins, echoes in eye sockets. All pulses.
Sex and sports and
Smirnoff, culture in cocktails accessible
now.
A bucket of beer and growing older never made us feel so young, so innocent.

Persephone Drinks Hot Cocoa

Mouth
every mouth
every mouth breathes
every mouth breathes autumnal.
Every mouth breathes autumnal investigations.
Every mouth breathes autumnal investigations
     tinged with sepia tones-
Torch trees
live in lazy desperation,
these last cider days
in burrows and blanket caves.
Heat in color - amber, saffron, goldenrod, maize.
Sepia tones
sepia tones tinged
sepia tones tinged with investigations.
Sepia tones tinged with autumnal investigations.
     They see every mouth breathe.

See every mouth.
                Mouths.

You and I (bomb)

promise to fill in the blanks and the stains
on your teeth -
that reckless kind of make-believe.
We'd eat each other if we had to

frame that dirty orgasm or shove
it in
an arbitrary pocket.
We'd eat each other if we had to

wear vital organs on the outside
or choose between burning witches and the books we hate.
We'd eat each other if we had to

dream more words to describe
states of mind
and the juice of a nectarine running down your chin.
We'd eat them if we had to.

The love of being is not enough
to keep you in my bed.
The love of beings is not enough to buy a ticket to Turkmenistan.

I did that thing that everyone with a blog does...

When I started this blog, I promised myself that I'd update it faithfully. Talk is cheap. However, after listening to some friends read their own stuff recently, I'm back on the inspiration wagon. I've written a couple of new things I'd like to share, if anyone still cares even a tiny bit. So here goes.

TRANSIT

Why would I
wear heels on an airplane?
Bathrooms fill with
middle-aged women in tangerine
jackets. Calling Patience and
ordering salads from McDonalds.
I'm not wearing any makeup-
are you disenchanted by the hair
on my upper lip? More hair
than we know what to do with.
Hair
everywhere. Especially
down there. You know the places.
It was the night before I left
forever. Touching breasts
in public places.

Now they're calling daughters in Anchorage and
becoming lactose intolerant.

So many places
to hide. Melting into
corners,
buying shadows from McDonalds.

3 and 1/2 hours, 3 and 1/2 months.
We can only sleep
in transitory places.


JUST TO KILL TIME

Blank journals become
American novels and
pop songs.
Bloody ink commits everything to nothing.

Alone among girls giggling.
I don't want
children.
Those bedtime conversations before I sleep in my sleep.

Nightmare Before
moving words badly organized
come out the mouth
                      mouth
                      mouth and
                      eyes and color
Windy shorthand,
abbrev. days
appetizing crazy
interpreted tattoo
                      And Chinese food.

Walking Home and Not Thinking in Complete Sentences Because Who Really Does That, Anyway?

I'm sick of puddles, just get back to the apartment as quick as you can, it's kind of cold, stop complaining, everything smells wet, good thing I didn't wear those cute little flats today, I don't think that graffiti was there last night, I never know what all those symbols mean, they look stupid, how did I fail to notice my name carved into the concrete of the sidewalk I travel multiple times a day, amazing what you notice when you're looking down, well obviously it's not referring to me, it's some other Mandy, probably a smarter, wittier, prettier Mandy, well, all things considered, you're not that bad, I'm hungry, is there any food in the fridge, the answer to that question is always "no", must trek to Family Dollar soon, the last thing I want to do right now is study for a sociology test, it's weird that all the famous sociologists have beards, facial hair would be really itchy, awkward moment of eye contact as I flash my I.D. to the desk attendant, check, how sad is it that I'm out of breath every time I make it up these stairs, heater, make up your mind, one day it's a bajillion degrees in here, the next, there's icicles hanging from the ceiling, I wonder what it'd be like to live in an igloo, I need chocolate.

Just Another College Drinking Song

VERSE 1

We've got wolf eyes
Without wolf teeth
Pick out chords without words
They speak just the same.
Where we are
Is far, so far
From Tokyo, Amsterdam and Kansas City
But we like to eat Indian food late at night
And we can buy blue vases from thrift stores
To make this house feel like home and
Contemplate this laundry basket life.

VERSE 2

We drink fire
We chew water
We smile harder.
We sleep in
In onion skin
And dream of giving pearl necklaces to the president
We say oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
To fill up empty, awkward spaces in between
Universes that we study
Through telescopes, removed and lost in scientific methods
Doctors' diagnoses: quite unwell, quite unwell
Well, well...

VERSE 3

And when hands are course
When a thousand dishes have been washed
I'll be collecting old medals collecting dust

These knots in
Stomachs, in
Hair and
Tying me to you
We are two
Sparrows in a willow tree.

Finding You (song lyrics)

VERSE 1

I am finding you and you are finding me
Have I been asleep?
Did winter pass, did spring slip in?
You say I'm bleeding

REFRAIN

But all the white inside your operating room,
It makes me dizzy
And I'm frightened of you
A smile and a snarl too
So they say

VERSE 2

If you rode up on a candy-apple motorcycle
Maybe then I'd pay you mind
You slide the fruit between your lips
     when you think I'm not looking
Then offer me the rind

REFRAIN

I can't let you cut me open yet
Because inside, I'm filled with s---
I don't want you to see it

I am finding you (X2)

MONDAY MORNING, 8:47 AM

     The usual order, the usual table, next to the front window—a usual morning. It’s clear, light-jacket weather. And there is a sex goddess in a Led Zeppelin t-shirt across the street.

     I am onboard the U.S.S. Coffee, as usual. They have the best caramel soy lattes and poppy seed muffins around. You just have to ignore the lifesaver-shaped tables, the creepy sea captain statue by the door, eye-patched and giving the thumbs up, the seasonal drinks titled “Don’t Rock the Boat,” or “Ahoy Mateys!” and all the other ridiculous gimmicks. The U.S.S. Coffee is on the corner of Navy Avenue and Harbor Street. Hence, the nautical coffee experience. I live next door. But I might as well live here, surviving on caramel soy lattes and poppy seed muffins. Tina and most of the baristas know my order before I open my mouth. Caramel soy latte and a poppy seed muffin, please. Sometimes I get a double chocolate fudge muffin if I’m feeling restless. Variety is the spice of life.

     Cars and cabs whizz by, multi-colored blurs. I sip my coffee and watch the waves of faces, briefcases, heels and cell phones surge down the sidewalk. They lap against the bricks of the apartment building across the street. The bricks are weathered, the front door painted a deep maroon. The window on the second floor squeaked open a moment ago. The Lois Lane body double is still gazing out and below. Now she turns to the mirror, smoothes her fly-aways, adjusts the baggy Led Zeppelin t-shirt she slept in. She rifles through a few cabinets and peeks in the shower. Not her bathroom? She splashes her face with water, smiles. Her teeth are diamonds.

     I take a bite of my poppy seed muffin. A bit stale today. I knew it felt like a double chocolate fudge day. I can see Clark Kent in the adjacent room, lying in bed, hands clasped behind his head. He’s an action figure, that smirk permanently painted on his lips. His bare chest begs for an entire bottle of oil. He probably inherited his meat-slab jaw line from his father, probably gave a humble Student Body President acceptance speech while silently wondering if the extra responsibility would affect his performance as captain of his high school football team and as Seymour Krelborn in the fall production of “Little Shop of Horrors.” He is the superhero browsing the comedy section at Blockbuster and standing behind you at the check-out counter at Walgreens.

     Lois struts into the bedroom, aglow with sex goddess-dom. Words exchanged, then a tongue-tied giggle. She regains her footing, looks at the bedside clock, plops down on the edge of the bed and scours a pile of rumpled clothes on the floor. She yanks up her nylons, her career-woman skirt. She is late and she says so. She turns her back to search for her I’m-sexy-but-take-me-seriously heels. Clark employs his ninja stealth powers and creeps across the bed, grabs Lois around the waist, hauling her back into bed. A mess of sheets and skin and limbs and smiles like diamonds.

     Last bite of my muffin. A few minutes pass and I should really be going. I take a final peak. Lois has managed to assemble the various pieces of last night’s ensemble, covering the curves of her body in a boxy blazer etched with pink pinstripes. She has tied her hair into a low bun. It doesn’t disguise the love tangles that remain there. Clark shoves empty liquor bottles into a plastic bag.

     Lois hurries out the bedroom door, briefcase in hand, disappears. Clark follows.

     I toss my coffee cup in the trash, still regretting the poppy seed decision. The sea captain winks at me, brisk, street air hits my face. I look up and see Clark in the doorway, skin like caramel against the maroon door. Lois is on the curb, attempting to hail a cab as the waves of faces like hers and briefcases like hers and heels like hers and cell phones like hers buffet her. A yellow and black blur pulls up. She opens the door, glances back. A movie moment, they’re eyes meet. Electricity and butterflies and hearts pounding, one second frozen in time, everything in slow motion. All that stuff.

     Clark lifts a hand to wave goodbye. She gets in and the yellow and black blur speeds down the street. Clark shivers a little, even though he is a superhero. He retreats into the warmth behind the maroon door.  

Band-Aids

SCENE 1

A spotlight illuminates a dining room. ADAM is seated at the far left of the table, surrounded by three empty seats. His eyes are bloodshot. He is disheveled, haggard, slowly eating a bowl of cereal. A spotlight illuminates CORA, sitting cross-legged downstage right. She is about 8, wearing pigtails. She is writing in a diary.

                                   CORA

                         (in a serious tone)

Dear Diary: Today I banged my knee on the monkey bars and had to get a band-aid from Mrs. Hanson. It hurt a lot and Nathan L. said it would scar but Hannah S. said if you put a band-aid on it then it wouldn't scar. She said band-aids make everything better no matter what. She said band-aids have magic powers. The band-aid had butterflies on it, too. I like butterflies. Mrs. Hanson said I could have a band-aid with butterflies on it, or ladybugs. I picked butterflies. Also, Adam came home today. Mom said he's going to live with us, even though he's 26.

(CORA continues to write as SHARON enters with a dishrag. She leans over and kisses the top of ADAM's head, ruffling his hair before moving to clean the table)

                                   ADAM

                         (irritated)

               Mom, please.

                                   SHARON

               What?

                                   ADAM

               I'm not five anymore.

                         (continues eating cereal)

                         (pause)

                                   SHARON

I think Cora's excited to have her big brother back around the house. You should have seen the grin on her face when I told her you were coming home. She's already making big plans for the two of you on her half-birthday. That's Friday. She's got this idea that half-birthdays are just as important as actual birthdays because you're a whole half-year older. "And that's worth celebrating," she told me. She's- she's something else. She wants you to take her to the zoo on Friday. She said she didn't want me or Roger to take her. Just you.

                                  ADAM

                         (biting)

               Yeah, taking my little sister to the zoo is exactly how I'd like to spend my day.

                                   SHARON

               Just think about it, alright? I know it would mean a lot to her... She really does look up to you and-

                                   ADAM

                         (outburst)

Well obviously she needs to find a better role-model, doesn't she? (pause) Mom, next time, will you get Fruit Loops? I can't- this stuff is shit. What is this? Captain Crunch. It's shit, Mom. Will you get Fruit Loops next time? That's usually the only thing I can eat when I'm- after I've just-

                                   SHARON

                         (decisive, ending the conversation)

               I'll get Fruit Loops.

SHARON exists, grabbing the bowl of cereal and the box as she leaves. Lights down.

Lights up on ADAM sprawled on the couch. He aimlessly flips through TV channels and is surrounded by empty chip bags and a box of Fruit Loops. He looks worse than ever.

                                   CORA

Dear Diary: I peeked under the band-aid today. It was still all red under there. Maybe Hannah S. was wrong. It almost fell off when I was chasing Brandon H. at recess. He said it was a scientificial fact that girls can't run as fast as boys. I said it was a scientifical fact that he was a jackass. Adam said it was OK to say that word 'cause it just means "donkey". Adam looked really sad today so I tried to cheer him up with my elephant noises. But he didn't even smile. He always used to smile at my elephant noises. One time at Christmas, he brought this blonde girl named Lisa or Leslie or something like that, and he made me do my elephant noises for her. He laughed really hard that time. But this time he just kept watching TV. He didn't even look at me.

(CORA continues to write as SHARON enters, tidying up the room. She walks in front of the television and gathers up chip bags)

                                  ADAM

               Mom, seriously?

                                  SHARON

               What?

                                  ADAM

                I'm trying to watch.

                          (pause)

                                  SHARON

                          (she can no longer hold it in)

               What were you doing last night?

                           (no answer)

               Last night, in your room. The door was locked. I knocked several times, once at 6:00, once at 

               7:30, once a little after 9:00... What were you doing in there, Adam?

                                   ADAM

               This is ridiculous-

                                   SHARON

                         (losing control)

               What were you doing in there last night, Adam?

                                   ADAM

What do you think I was doing, Mom? Do you think I was doing lines? Is that it? You think I'd lock myself in my room, just down the hall from you and Dad and my little sister and-

                                   (SHARON pulls a big filled with white powder from her pocket)

               Holy shit, Mom. Where did you-

                                   SHARON

               You promised that when you came to live with us-

                                   ADAM

               Why did you go through my stuff?

                                   SHARON

               You promised.

                         (long pause)

(SHARON finishes gathering chip bags and grabs the box of Fruit Loops. She moves to leave)

                                   ADAM

               At least leave the Fruit Loops.

(SHARON looks back, appalled. She exits with the Fruit Loops. ADAM stares at the TV screen)

Lights down.

                                    CORA

Dear Diary: Mom made me change my band-aid today. The new one is brown and boring. I miss the butterflies. When we took it off, the cut had turned into a big scab. It was really gross. But Mom said the scab meant that it was healing. Maybe Hannah S. was right after all. Adam's eyes were all red today, like he hadn't slept in a million bazillion years. I told him he looked like a zombie. Then he looked at me in this scary way like he didn't even see me. He scrunched up his eyes and looked and looked but he still couldn't see me. Mom says he's too sick to take me to the zoo. She says he's making himself sick. Why would Adam want to be sick?

Lights up on ADAM at a bus stop, a duffel bag at his feet. He puts his hands in his pockets, pulls out an envelope. He opens it, pulls a letter out. A pink band-aid falls to the ground. He picks it up, begins to read. CORA's voice is heard)

                                   CORA's voice

Hi Adam. Mom said you were leaving today. I wrote this letter because I like writing letters. I hope that wherever you're going, you won't make yourself sick anymore. I hope you get better soon. And it's OK that we didn't go to the zoo for my half-birthday. It's OK. I hope you like the butterfly band-aid. I asked for another one from Mrs. Hanson. I didn't say it was for you, though. Hannah S. said that band-aids have magic powers and that they make everything better no matter what. I don't know if that's true but maybe it'll help you not be so sick anymore. I hope so. Love, Cora.

ADAM sticks the letter back in his pocket. He continues to wait for the bus. Lights down.