Junk Boy

it
(how I must look
when I read in class)
until the big bright face
that came
when she understood
and her fingers
loosened on the pencil
and went slack
and she sat back
(which never happens
when I read in class)
that was when
a passing train flashed by my face
and I pulled back
twitching until it was gone
she laughed a tinny kind of laugh
I can’t believe you
Live fifty miles
From the capital of the world
And you’ve never
Been on a train.
I love trains
Pictures of them maybe.
after a while I said
you don’t really
want your mom
to be like
dead?
she didn’t look up
from the pad
She can’t see anything
In my drawing. Nothing.
She’s like a blank.
A mean blank.
then she showed me
what she drew

My Face
the ax-blade look
of it
my hair slanted
up on one side
as if I hadn’t combed it
(I hadn’t combed it)
she got all that
all right
as perfect
as a photograph
but
but
I wasn’t scary here
I was what maybe
I thought I might
look like
if I wasn’t me
but this was me
me in the half-light
from the window
sunlight on one side
shade on the other
but not scary somehow
not normal maybe
but still like there’s
something going on
inside me that isn’t
slow or mute or bad
and that she saw
and drew this
inside thing
on the surface
of the paper
making me seem
like I was just about
to talk
to talk!
and while she did all this
the train car
jumped and bounced
and jostled on the rails
I wanted her to tell me
what she did
and what she saw in me
and if it meant
and if I meant
something to her
but all I found to say was
cool
thanks
which was (again)
like I said nothing
because she blurted out
of nowhere
My mother prays for me, you know.
Every day. While I’m sitting there!
Whatever she prays for,
I’m sure it’s nothing good.
then she held
her pencil out
Here, you draw something.
me?
what?
no
I can’t draw
Sit next to me.
Draw her.
I think I blinked
and moved from
my seat up close to her
not a girly girl
but a girl
whose everything
was different
from anything
two rows away
a woman sat
she was middle-aged
maybe what my mother
might be now
(my stupid mind
made me go there)
I started with her head
No.
Rachel took my hand
in her hand
her skin was cold
but her fingers fit
right over mine
and she moved my hand
pressing the pencil
here and lifting there
turning the point
sometimes
almost sideways
on the paper
after some minutes
the woman who
was not my mother
was not only
in her seat
but on the paper
wow
I said
and she said
Eh.


Her Father
was supposed to meet us
at the station
it was the hugest room
roaring with bodies
Rachel looked around
but didn’t see him.
He’ll be in a suit.
a suit?
I laughed
that narrows it
then he trotted up behind her
and she hugged him
he shook my hand
he was okay
a guy a man a dad
whose mind
was only half with us
we walked fast
a bunch of blocks
up and over
or maybe down
there was a park
I don’t know
it was mostly noise
the art academy
was a high school
taking four floors
of an old brick building
with gray stones
on the corners
and a heavy block
of gray stone
over the entrance
we took a tour
a lady showed us
classrooms and galleries
and studios
all through the rooms
and halls the smell of paint
which Rachel said was
Linseed oil and turps.
it stung my nose
but it was sweet too
students not leaning
over books but
over tables
boards and easels
that had long thin legs
spread out
to trip you up
when you walked
between them
and no student
none of them
not one of them
was doing with a pencil
what Rachel’d done
on a bouncing train
what she’d done
for me


Lunch Was Quiet
but loud too
I smelled myself
under the arms
and leaned away
there were four
trim maple trees
in the garden
outside the window
the tops were red
the leaves ready to fall
I thought of gray chalk
and some country songs
and Rusty Gold
and twenty-million-dollar homes
and yards full of junk
and I felt sick in
my stomach because
what the hell am I here for?
I had to use the bathroom
I got up
from the table
I didn’t know
if I should say why
I got up
I have to—
Just don’t get lost, Junk.
her father looked up
from his salad plate
Junk?
she laughed
Nickname.
I almost did get lost
all that tile
and silver and light
when I came back I stopped
her dad was leaning close
to her
and tapping his finger
on the tablecloth
not looking right at her
but saying something
that she shook
her head at
You lied to me!
she said
her face was pink
and raw
her shoulders bunched
against weights falling
I started for the table
but she was up
pulling a corner
of the tablecloth with her
shaking that off
and coming at me
what?
I said
We’re going back.
To the station.
Unless you want to stay
With my father
Except I don’t think
He likes you.
what?
Is that all you can say?
What? What?
Come on!
she grabbed my arm
and pulled me from the room


It Was Five Blocks
before she said
a word
then they came
Weekend classes!
sorry?
He said I could do weekend classes.
That he’s worried about her
If we both leave.
I said he promised me,
But now he’s all about her.
I tried to make my brain
go fast
you mean your mother?
if you move here?
As if she’s my job or something.
I can’t live with her anymore!
She thinks she’s so important,
But she’s not.
then still mad
still burning in her mind
she hooked her arm
in mine her
fingers wrapping mine
why I didn’t know
and once by accident half put
half didn’t
her head on my shoulder
for half a block
and didn’t pull away
as if as if
and I felt something
I can’t say what but
I felt I should
say some words
I like the picture
If I can’t go to that school,
If I can’t go,
I’ll die.
I will.
and she pulled herself
from me unzipped her case
and threw her drawing pad
into a trash bin
and walked on
what the hell?
I pulled it out and
carefully tore out
her drawing
of my face and slid it
in my jacket
from that point
on until the train
she said nothing at all
except
the sputtering
in her veins
made it a loud
nothing


Out of the Tangle
of cars waiting at our station
Maggi
came running
Rache—Rache—
and scooped Rachel in her
arms
Did you get in? Did you?
I missed you.
and their lips met and closed
on each other
as if I wasn’t there
as if no one was there
Maggs—
Rachel said but
a sideways ax blade of a car horn
flung its way across the lot
and screamed
to a stop in front of us
her mother Rachel’s mother
in a fit behind the wheel
and Maggi
her face turned gray
I can’t—
she said and backed up
You can’t?
Rachel said
You can’t what?
then Maggi skittered off between the cars
and Rachel’s mother bounded out
wound so tight
and yelling out
so loud
in the public parking lot
as if
half the town wasn’t there
No, no, not her.
Not any of this.
Living with your father?
Going to that school?
I won’t let you.
You’re already turning into . . .
and Rachel was right
at it
as if she’d been planning for this
on the train ride home
What? I’m turning into what?
You can’t be there alone.
You’ll get yourself killed.
You