Dating Down by Stefanie Lyons Read Free Book Online Page A

the front door,
    hop in the recently repaired ’88 Rocket.
    X: sm Afraid if I shut her off, she might not start back up.
    Me:
    X: sm Been in the poorhouse lately.
    Me:
    X: sm Can’t afford another tow.
    Me: sm You’re going to have to meet him eventually.
    X: sm Give me some time. I’m not too good with fathers.
    He gives me that cute boy look.
    I concede, but only because I’m not too good
    with mothers.

Cracks, Pt. II
    We roll down the street
    bouncing along
    split-open car seats
    slightly ripped vinyl
    coils and springs
    years and years of people
    in the passenger’s seat.
    How many girls have sat here with him?
    Jessica?
    Each bump
    every pothole
    lively swerve
    sharp turn
    seems my seat might
    eject me.
    Another bump, another girl?
    Suddenly, so insecure
    I never used to be
    like this with Ted
    or with myself.
    Is this what love is?
    A jerky sm jagged sm jumpy ride?

Cracks, Pt. III
    Out in front of an abandoned warehouse
    sheets like makeshift curtains,
    wave out cracked windows.
    X needs to make one stop.
    The intercom button says sm Big Brother.
    We wait for an answer from sm Big Brother .
    The sidewalk’s
    chipped and uneven,
    weeds fight through
    the broken spaces.
    Big Brother breaking buzzes us in.
    I follow X up
    three flights of stairs
    stepping over old
    bicycles
    beer bottles
    beams of wood
    broken DVD players
    doorknobs
    and banged-up cardboard boxes marked
    THIS SIDE UP.
    At the top is that same guy:
    sm café guy sm park guy sm strung-out guy
    looking a little less frazzled,
    but still creepy, crazy.
    Surprised, I step back
    tripping over trash,
    rotting stench.
    The summer heat begins to burrow
    under my skin.
    X: sm Come on in. Don’t be a baby.
    Big Brother laughs.
    It stings.
    His words slice like paper cuts.
    A baby?
    I’m just a baby.
    A naïve, innocent high school girl to him?
    Me: sm I’ll wait outside.
    Whatever’s going on in there
    baby or no baby
    I don’t want to see
    like I don’t want to know
    about the girls with him
    before me.
    I’m not ready to know,
    not steady, so I go
    clomp clomp
    down the stairs.
    X enters Big Brother’s apartment
    creep creep
    closes the door.

Cracks, Pt. IV
    Clip
    clop
    clomp
    no one’s coming after me.
    Step
    race
    hop
    I rush to get out of there.
    Am I a baby?
    His words burn hot
    truth sears.
    Baby?
    I push open the downstairs door,
    fresh air hits me
    like a muggy pillow
    suffocating and cruel.
    I plop down on a fractured piece of sidewalk
    broken and split
    as a tear falls.
    Why am I crying?
    I’m not standing up for myself.
    I’m not taking a stand.
    I’m just looking the other way,
    walking away, crying.
    Baby?
    If this were a girl in one of my paintings, I’d title it
    The Pouter.
    When X returns, I’ve painted a new portrait
    The Unaffected Female.
    He snaps his fingers,
    claps his hands,
    energy shooting out his palms.
    Says he didn’t mean to say a baby
    meant my baby,
    whispers in my ear,
    his wet lips send chills down my spine.
    I melt right there in his arms.
    A new title for the painting of me
    The Girlfriend.
    X: sm Ready to hear some music?
    He loops his arm in mine,
    I nod.
    He kisses my lips
    gently
    sweetly
    tenderly
    as if I were a baby
    being laid down on a blanket.
    His lips
    pillowy
    dewy
    soft
    smell like Ajax
    and air freshener.

What I See at the Show
    Gavin meets me there.
    We hang while X disappears
    sm returns sm seems distracted sm charged up
    says this show
    will pull him out of the poorhouse.
    The poorhouse.
    A place he mentions a lot lately.
    To get over George
    Gavin and I play the how ’bout game—
    Me: sm How ’bout … him? He looks cute.
    Gavin: sm Bad fashion.
    Me: sm How ’bout … the one by the door?
    Gavin: sm He doesn’t look a day over fourteen.
    Me: sm It’s an all-ages show?
    Gavin: sm No side-bars. Next!
    Me: sm How ’bout … the guy with the fedora?
    Gavin: sm Not gay.
    Me: sm Straight