Capricious Read online

  And sent it to his friends.

  I don’t like the memory

  It seemed so unlike him

  The considerate boy

  I know now.

  What did he think

  At that moment?

  Did he think my art was a joke?

  He apologizes repeatedly

  For the catastrophe he unleashed on me

  Until his remorse gets tiresome

  But still I wonder at the impulse

  That made him do it.

  Like the impulse that Samir got

  To reject me and take me back

  Deactivate and reactivate our love

  Like an email account.

  I’ve told them I forgive them

  And I think I do

  But maybe that’s just

  A misguided impulse too.

  MORE QUESTIONS

  David asks

  Are you ready?

  I mean, are you sure?

  He’s worried about me because

  He knows school is hard to endure.

  And Mom says

  We could finish the year at home

  You’ll pass your exams easily

  She’s worried about me because

  She understands fragility.

  And Kayli says

  Try not to get arrested

  Or cause another revolution

  She’s worried about me because

  She’s seen my trails of destruction.

  And Dad says

  Get on the bus and come to my office

  Anytime you can’t manage

  He’s worried about me because

  He’s the one who pays for the damage.

  And I say to myself

  Get it together this time, for real

  High school is not brain surgery

  I’m not worried because

  Well…not really.

  (SECOND) FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL

  I text Samir first thing

  Public or private?

  And get the answer I expect.

  Private, he texts

  Because someone will blab

  And

  We’ll

  Be

  Back

  Where

  We

  Started.

  Both God and Allah know

  No one wants to be there.

  And I too would rather avoid

  The judgment

  The gossip

  The assumptions

  The jealousy

  And all the other

  Bullshit

  That high school

  L.O.V.E.

  Involves.

  But still

  It sucks that

  Of all the things

  Samir feels

  For me

  One

  Has to be

  Shame.

  THE FREEDOM WALL

  I find it

  The Freedom Wall

  Where my classmates

  Recorded their outrage

  The black scribbles have expanded

  To cover the whole wall

  A bucket of felt pens

  Invites me to add my mark.

  The school endorses the Freedom Wall now

  With reservations:

  No Swearing, a small sign says

  Someone has commented fuck that

  My body, my decision

  Someone wrote Ella Rocks

  And someone else, Ella Sux

  And a third, Who is Ella?

  Good question.

  She’s a bitch and a slut,

  Someone answers

  Helpfully.

  Pretty sure I know

  Who wrote that.

  As for me

  I barely remember being Ella

  Barely remember anything

  Before I was arrested

  And charged

  And acquitted for making pornography

  Before my life fell apart

  Before a piece of art

  Reversed my

  Rebirth and

  Redefined me

  Again

  As Raphaelle.

  THE CENTER PANEL

  I still have it

  That offending

  Offensive

  Photograph

  Of the most

  Intimate

  Part

  Of me.

  I still love it

  Like a Georgia O’Keeffe

  Pink orchid petals

  Hidden

  In the back of my closet.

  I still think

  It’s the best thing

  I’ve ever done

  And it was all worth it

  Because of the Freedom Wall

  Because of Samir

  Because of David

  None of that

  Would have happened

  If it wasn’t for that little word

  That starts with C.

  Now I add

  A curly Celtic C

  In the top left corner

  Of the Freedom Wall

  A bold varsity U

  In the top right

  A scrolled N

  In the bottom left

  A T like a crucifix

  In the bottom right.

  I don’t sign my name

  I’m wicked

  Not stupid.

  PRINCIPLES AND PRINCIPALS

  I get called to the principal’s office

  Before the first bell even rings

  And have to check the mental record

  Of my recent history

  Wondering if anything I’ve done

  Warrants another expulsion.

  My cornerstone embellishments

  To the Freedom Wall?

  My deflowering

  Of a devout Muslim

  On the mudroom stairs?

  I would love to tell

  Principal Pinch Face

  The depths of my depravity

  But he begins with a peace offering

  Such as it is.

  I’d like us to start fresh, he says

  As though you’re just new at this school

  And I know nothing of your record.

  My “permanent record”

  I try not to smirk

  Maybe the threats are all true.

  Maybe that will never leave me.

  Scarlet letters

  AGITATOR stamped on my forehead.

  Traditionally, he continues

  The seniors plan a winter trip

  This coming winter is New York.

  We fundraise for about half the cost

  And students contribute the rest

  About a thousand dollars each.

  It’s his turn to smirk

  As if saying

  I dare you.

  ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS

  My parents could probably afford it.

  But Pinch Face knows I’m proud

  And knows there’s 15 percent unemployment

  In this college town

  And knows how “difficult” I am

  And that everyone knows it.

  He has just done that thing

  That bad teachers do

  When they make it clear

  They think you’ll amount to nothing

  But trouble.

  I could tell him

  To take his New York trip

  And shove it up his ass

  Because it will just be

  A bunch of high-school kids

  Taking tours and shopping.

  On the other hand

  I’m pretty sure

  There’s something

  Greater

  Waiting for me

  In New York.

  WORK

  I try to imagine

  What kind of job

  I could do

  What kind of employer

  Would tolerate me.

  I try to picture myself

  In a blue fast-food uniform
r />   Or Walmart smock

  Or mowing lawns

  Or bussing tables.

  I try to think

  Of a way

  To earn a thousand dollars

  Without breaking laws

  Or losing my mind.

  I try to steel myself

  For the tedium

  The pedantic boss

  The dull-witted co-workers

  The canned music.

  I try to swallow

  The humiliating thought

  That one day

  No matter how hard I try

  I’ll probably turn into my mother.

  THE PRODIGAL DAUGHTER

  In happier moments

  I imagined my return to school

  Like the end of a movie.

  I imagined crowds of new friends

  Drawn to me by notoriety

  Wanting part of my famous wall

  United in scorn against convention

  Expectation and judgment.

  I imagined the ones who sided with me

  Gathering around cheering

  Slapping me on the back

  Maybe even laying palm fronds at my feet.

  I imagined I would slip back into school

  And find it finally fit me

  Comfortable as a pair of worn pajamas

  But more flattering.

  In happier moments

  I imagined a circle of girlfriends

  Who didn’t make me

  Hyperventilate.

  In darker moments

  I pictured slinking in

  Past the smokers

  The gossiping girls

  The leering boys

  Nose pinched against

  The faint smell

  Of failure and fear

  Largely invisible

  To a world where my existence

  Was still mostly irrelevant.

  Take a guess which

  Possibility

  Came true.

  CLASSMATE

  David eats his lunch with me

  Thank God

  Because I’m not sure anyone else

  Would be game.

  Samir watches warily

  But when I catch him staring

  He grins

  A sly, slow grin.

  As the rest of the school

  Stumbles around us

  Mind-numbed by sugar

  And factoids

  And desperation

  Crawling, clawing

  Creeping upward or sliding downward

  On the popularity scale.

  David eats his lunch with me

  Even though he must know

  That in my company

  The only way is down.

  GIRLS

  Sarah

  Who I called “Puffy Blond”

  But only to myself

  Whose mom drove me to the hospital

  On Christmas Day

  And listened when I defended Samir

  From a terrible accusation

  Sarah, who is probably a nice person

  Under it all

  Sarah

  Ignores me.

  Genie

  Who was Sarah’s best friend

  Before she defaced a painting

  With unforgivable slurs

  And blamed Samir

  She is a vengeful manipulator

  Not to be trusted

  Genie

  Has amassed a new entourage.

  Sarah and Genie

  Have divvied up our year

  Into two lip-glossed militias

  Hair-sprayed armies

  Who occupy the halls

  In a fragile cold war

  And they all blame me.

  Me

  Who eschews the politics

  Of girlhood

  I tiptoe around them

  Avoiding their minefields

  And roadside bombs

  I’m a pacifist

  And a bit of a coward

  I

  Would rather not take sides.

  ESSAY DRILL

  It’s the usual waste of time

  The usual crime of taking teenage brains

  And putting them in chains

  We should be in our creative prime

  Instead we’re dwindling and unwinding

  Grinding our ideas into fine dust

  Letting them rust in five neat piles

  With encouraging smiles

  You keep telling us we must

  Think of college, sink all our knowledge

  Into this one stupid essay, S-A

  S-A-T, are you satisfied?

  Half my classmates have anxiety

  Or are stupefied by pharmaceuticals

  Or destined for cubicles

  It is often said that our struggles teach us the most

  Discuss.

  If this were true, half the kids here

  Would be geniuses

  Because in this bubble they struggle

  With every trouble the other kids have

  Only double

  Can’t read, can’t write

  Can’t avoid a fight

  And then there are kids who can’t walk

  Or talk

  Can’t dress themselves, not even a sock

  Kids who drink, who can’t think

  Forget about swimming; with them

  It’s sink or sink.

  PERSPECTIVE

  I know it’s wrong

  To think of Marika this way

  Ms. Sagal’s silent daughter

  Her odd contorted posture

  Frail, unpredictable arms.

  I know the photo I took of her

  Last year, Disabled

  Was supposed to be ironic.

  Because one word

  Could never sum her up.

  Her laugh is infectious

  Her silence is mesmerizing

  Her art blows my mind.

  Wild swirls and fractured words

  Like Basquiat.

  The other girls look at her

  With mournful eyes

  And patronizing smiles.

  She smiles back

  The multitudes of Marika

  But once, I’m pretty sure

  She winked at me.

  Sometimes I think

  I should have her problems

  Her “struggles”

  Could teach me a thing or two.

  DAD

  Dad asks me

  Predictably

  How was your first day?

  One-syllable answers

  Should be enough.

  Fine, I say

  Chill

  Dull.

  The multi-syllables

  Terrifying

  Solitary

  Meaningless

  Discouraging

  Soul destroying

  No different

  From last year.

  A hotbed of

  Temptation

  Irritation

  Oppression

  Subjugation

  Perplexity

  And despair

  I keep to myself.

  Chapter Two

  Unmasked

  RAIN

  Wet snow turns to rain

  Melts the white icing away

  Revealing gray roads.

  This spring, so unlike

  The frayed-edge coastal seasons,

  Is bold, harsh and quick.

  I never thought it

  Possible that I’d ever

  Grow to love winter.

  But spring here explodes

  With gleeful celebration

  Green, fresh and fertile.

  RELIEF

  Speaking of fertility

  My body gives me a break for once.

  My period started,

  I whisper to Samir

  Before art class.

  Alhamdulillah, he replies

  Eyes turned upward

  And we both laugh at the
irony.

  What’s so funny?

  David says

  Trailing into class after us.

  Your haircut, Samir says.

  I frown at him

  But David just shakes his head

  Fake laughing.

  Hilarious, Sam, he says

  You should have a TV show.

  And Samir flips him off

  Then makes a game

  Of picking invisible bugs

  From my hair

  As an excuse to touch me

  Until David says

  Why don’t you get some manners?

  And Samir says

  Why don’t you get a personality?

  And I say

  Why don’t you both

  Just get your dicks out

  And measure them?

  Only I say it so loud

  The whole class hears.

  And Genie says

  Are you planning another artwork?

  Penises this time?

  And Ms. Sagal frowns

  Before gently reminding us

  The phallus is a popular theme

  In modern art

  But for now

  Let’s keep it PG.

  INK

  Ink

  Black lines

  The shape of

  David’s hand

  Strong

  And open

  Like a bed

  I could curl into

  His fingers

  Soft

  And safe

  His hand stained

  With black

  Ink.

  PROCRASTINATION

  The truth is

  Samir and I

  Have gone through that box of condoms

  Since the incident on the stairs

  And I’m still no closer

  To altering David’s friendship

  Into something more.

  The truth is

  I’m

  Afraid

  Of

  Losing

  Him.

  The truth is

  When I say

  “Losing him”

  I’m not sure

  Which “him”

  I mean.

  The truth is

  Part of me

  Wants to run away

  From both of them

  Before they can

  Hurt me again.

  The truth is

  In the dark

  Of my room

  Their outlined hands

  Pinned to my wall

  Look like claws.

  The truth is

  What I say

  About not wanting

  To be normal

  Is not actually

  The truth.

  SPRING FLING

  Kayli twirls

  In the vintage pink chiffon dress

  It’s a twirlish dress, she says

  Tugging at the high neck.

  Don’t twirl too much, I say

  Or the boys will see your underwear.

  You’d know, Kayli quips

  And twirls so fast

  The dress flies up

  And gives me an eyeful