missing him
and
acting like
it’s
no
big
THING.
155.
Two important things happen today.
ONE:
All the girls have been pulled
from class to visit the nurse
and talk about
Our Bodies.
Sheila, Angela, and Lana are painting their fingernails.
They must know all this already.
The nurse explains how girls
can get pregnant after starting their periods—and I think
she means to scare us
yet the following stunning revelation floods me:
I can CREATE life one day
if I choose to.
When I’m ready.
It is a gift.
But for now,
ART is my gift,
how I create,
how I cope
with this world.
TWO:
The Trio find Camille in the hall afterward.
Tommy and a few boys loom nearby.
I know because they holler, “Whoa, slow down, Army!”
as I make a beeline for them.
“None of that stuff applies to you, Camille,” they say,
“ ’cause no boy’s ever going to want you!”
That’s when I totally lose it—or find it.
My VOICE!
And I use it:
“Self-worth is NOT
people wanting you.
It’s what’s INSIDE of you!
And Camille is beautiful—
inside and out.
Go!
Examine!
Yourselves!”
So—yeah—perhaps it’s a little over their heads.
“Who does she think she is?” Sheila snips.
Lana and Angela raise their eyebrows
and purse their lips.
But I know.
I know who I am.
And it works. The Trio disperse—
or maybe the bell rings.
Either way
I’m counting it as a win,
since they leave Camille and me alone
to bask in my
long-time-coming
vocally
valiant
victory.
156.
I decide to talk to Mom
about my day, my revelation,
while she’s driving.
It’s less awkward that way,
but I’m having trouble putting into words
how I feel about art and what happened with Camille
when we come to a halt.
A small crowd has formed
on the side of the road.
Signs shout,
thrust above heads:
Choose Peace!
One Tragedy Is Enough!
Not My War!
Chanting voices
Angry fists
Open mouths
now surrounding our car:
WE
DON’T
WANT
THIS
WAR!
Mom drives through it,
and they part
but want to know:
Thumbs up or down?
Honk twice to agree.
With them? Or against them?
Mom doesn’t speak.
She stares straight ahead
biting her lip
gripping the wheel
through the heart of the crowd
where suddenly I spot Camille’s dad,
with a peace sign on his chest
and intent on his face.
We lock eyes
and my hand waves
before I can stop it
from this small act
of betrayal
to Dad.
157.
“There have been casualties,” the news anchor announces.
—or maybe we received the news through a phone call,
or heard it from a family friend,
or maybe it was in the air
like spring pollen
or poison,
or chemicals
of mass destruction.
“Casualties.”
Mom clicks off the TV and radio, and closes out
our computer’s news page.
Casualties.
Am I being punished for waving my hand?
For the doubts I’ve had about war?
Mom grabs the phone, punches numbers frantically,
calling everyone she knows,
then slams the receiver down and sinks to her knees.
“Casualties,” she sobs.
I stare at the walls
which stare back
at me.
158.
The
not knowing
may have lasted
a solitary
dark
hour.
159.
It may have lasted
an eternity of twenty-four.
It may have lasted
several sleepless days.
But it felt like
YEARS.
160.
…until we finally receive word from the base
It’s not him!
161.
It’s no ONE we know.
Knew.
Which is reason to breathe again, smile, even laugh at first
out of relief,
but…it’s someONE.
The names are like anyONE’s,