Freakboy by Kristin Elizabeth Clark Read Free Book Online

her boyfriend—lucky.
    But, Girl, we’re lucky ones, too.
    Roof over our heads, even if it’s five
    in a two-bedroom apartment
    and seems like there’s always
    someone in the bathroom.
    Legally employed … mostly.
    Brandy sells a little pot,
    adds to what she
    gets as a telemarketer.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  She’s saving for surgery.
    We’re lucky to be giving thanks
    with the family we’ve chosen.
    Show the world
    your essence
    and you find out
    faster than a
    five-dollar hand job
    who’s family
    and who’s not.
    The ugly-ass
    Sperm Donor
    who beat the crap
    out of you for
    dressing like yourself?
    A cracked rib
    the least of the pain.
    Who sent you to
    â€œHoods in the Woods”
    after your mama died?
    Thinking they’d teach you
    how to be a man—
    like learning to catch fish
    and dig a latrine
    to shit in
    could change your DNA,
    your soul.
    Who You Are.
    The asshole
    who threatened
    to call the police
    after he threw you out
    just ’cause you snuck back
    to see your
    baby brother
    and the little guy used to
    cry and beg for you to stay
    because he lost his mother
    and his sister the same year,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â then he was the lost one?
    No, the Sperm Donor
    is NOT family.
    I count my
    blessings and
    thank God.

(Vanessa)
    It’s the American Way
    of an American holiday.
    Mom jokes that my father and Uncle Michel
    have embraced it too fully since
    moving here twenty years ago.
    Too much turkey, stuffing, gravy,
    mashed potatoes, pumpkin pie.
    Before they settle down
    to snooze in front of the TV,
    Dad waves me over to commence
    the Thanksgiving ritual of gently rapping my leg
    with his knuckles to hear if it’s hollow.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  “Where does such a little girl
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  hide so much food?” he asks,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  eyebrow cocked, fake puzzlement.
    â€œI’m not telling you!” I play along, jerking away
    while he tries to hang on and we tussle.
    Yeah, it’s dorky and we both know
    I’m too old for the game—
    but I think he thinks it’s fun
    to see the disapproval radiating
    off Grand-maman.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  “Lucas! She’s a young lady,”
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  his mother scolds.
    My father catches my eye,
    winks, then shares a smirk
    with Uncle Michel.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  “Strange, no? A young lady
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  with a hollow leg she hides food in!”
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  My father gives me one last tickle.
    I walk back into the kitchen
    to tell Mom I’m going out
    but she’s already (discreetly)
    headed upstairs
    probably to escape Grand-maman,
    who follows me, practically
    catching me with her claws.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â â€œWhere is your young man?”
    â€œHome.
    I thought I’d go hang with him
    for a couple hours.”
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â â€œLet him come to you.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Men chase women, chérie ,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â this is the nice way.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â They run from the ones
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â who get that wrong.”
    I nod (respectfully) and
    sit down at the breakfast bar,
    flip the pages
    of Sunset