Reckless, Glorious, Girl Read online

  them to myself. “Get to slicing,” she says. “And table set.”

  So I wash & cut thick slices of tomatoes. Their juice

  staining the counter. Load them on a plate & pepper

  & olive oil them up. Waiting for the water to boil,

  we grab chairs to shuck the corn. “Speed never wins,”

  Mamaw says, so I slow it way down. Smooth away

  each sliver of silk sticking to the white & yellow corn.

  When the cooking is done & everything

  is tender & set out, we slather butter, more salt,

  & Mamaw’s special cayenne & garlic on top. We

  feast until we both feel full from our own backyard.

  III.

  For dessert, Mamaw pulls the vanilla ice cream

  from the fridge. Slices the last of the peaches

  & slides them inside our bowls. “Porch swing,”

  we say at the same time. & sway medium high,

  both our legs kicking the same rhythm. Devour

  & tell stories until the sun gets low, low in the sky.

  Some Nights

  Mariella & StaceyAnn

  show up & out. Bring

  loads of cheese puffs

  & soda. Stash them quiet

  in my bedroom, late-

  night craving fixes.

  Mamaw makes dinner

  out of fried okra, rice

  so full of salt & butter

  that our mouths celebrate,

  vegan hot dogs sizzling

  on the grill. “It’s all about

  balance,” she says. Grins

  before turning in for TV

  & her crossword puzzles.

  The backyard is ours;

  we collect mason jars

  with tops, go exploring

  to catch fireflies, fast

  in our palms, swatting

  high fives as they glow

  & shine, their wings wide

  in our hands. “Look, look!”

  we all holler. Name them,

  see who can catch the most.

  StaceyAnn wins this time,

  counting their light; they

  glitter through our grip.

  Our faces full of sweat,

  we laugh while letting go.

  Their small bodies

  look like fireworks

  flying from our fingers.

  How I Feel vs. How I’m Supposed to Feel

  Inside:

  Let’s play dolls

  Let’s play house

  Let’s play chef

  Let’s catch crawdads

  Let’s catch fireflies

  Let’s pretend

  Let’s fight crime & fly

  through the sky.

  Let’s write our own stories

  & comic-book adventures.

  Let’s save the day

  our own way.

  Devour junk food

  Sleep all day

  TV all night

  Play make believe

  Ride bikes forever

  Ride scooters forever

  Roller-skate forever

  Walk downtown forever.

  Not one care.

  Clothes? Don’t care

  Hairstyle? Don’t care

  Makeup? Don’t care

  Fitness? Don’t care

  Fun? Yes please.

  Just be ourselves

  Just be us

  Just be free

  Just be twelve

  Not one worry

  Not one care.

  Outside:

  Let’s be cool

  Let’s be smooth

  Let’s be attitude

  Let’s be different

  Let’s be unique.

  Obsess about hair

  Care about makeup

  Running in place

  Running around downtown

  Obsess over clothes

  Be stylish forever

  Just be better

  Pretend you’re perfect

  Pretend you’re relaxed.

  Don’t play dolls

  Don’t play house

  Stop playing games

  Babies play games

  Be almost thirteen.

  Mariella Says

  Her older sister, Mira,

  swears push-ups work

  for building pectoral

  muscles (her words).

  & we believe her

  ’cause she’s going

  to med school

  when she graduates.

  & we all know

  what bigger pecs

  will mean. So

  that’s how Mamaw

  finds me. Plank

  position. & grins.

  ’Cause she knows

  too. “Sweet Beatrice,”

  she says, seeing me

  already breaking a sweat.

  I sigh. Know the truth

  when I look at Mamaw,

  her small frame. See

  my shape in hers.

  “It’s hard to love

  a thing you can’t have.

  But maybe the truth

  is you don’t really want

  that after all.

  Maybe deep down,

  you’re happy just the way

  you’re s’posed to be.”

  Wrong Again

  Is what I write in my diary. The truth is:

  a bigger bra size is definitely what I want.

  No jokes about it. A figure. You know.

  One that people talk about. Write notes about.

  Put on the cover of magazines.

  Wanting What You Can’t Have

  is the title of my whole middle school life.

  & for seventh grade, I want a whole new me.

  Let’s call it Jackpot: the Beatrice Miller story.

  Or: Gold Medal Life.

  She got all she was asking for.

  & her mamaw was (for once) wrong.

  She loved every glorious & awesome minute of it.

  Dear Diary,

  The other truth is … I just want to be noticed,

  liked, flirted with even. Want people to think

  about me when I’m not around, to miss me,

  to want to know more about me. It’s true,

  I want the girls in my grade to think I’m cooler

  than I really am and want some of the boys,

  but mostly just Rodney, to think I’m funny & pretty

  & want to know more about me. The same way

  I want to know everything about him.

  I feel different than I did two months ago,

  & I want everyone else to see how much I’ve changed.

  Want them to ask questions & be interested

  in the answers.

  Hopeful,

  Beatrice

  Questions for Mamaw & Mom

  “School starts soon. You know this.

  So here are some things I need to know,”

  I say, sitting them both down.

  “Can I get a cell phone? You should realize

  I am almost thirteen, or will be in November.

  I need a cell phone. My own digits. Ways

  to reach & find me. Desperate. You call,

  I answer. Simple. Everyone else has one.

  Please?”

  “Can I get a new computer? One that works,

  one that isn’t built for giants. A laptop even?

  I’ll get better grades; I’ll teach you both

  how the Internet works. Lead you straight

  to the technological future. You can trust me.”

  “Can I get all new clothes? Seriously?

  All my outfits are from Goodwill,

  someone else’s good time. Me,

  I’m stuck in vintage, secondhand.

  Can we go to the mall?

  A real store?

  Anything?”

  “And last but not least. Can I wear makeup?

  Mascara? Lip balm? Eyeliner? I watched
a tutorial.

  YouTube showed me the techniques.

  They promise I will look fresh

  and hip and young. How about

  a highlighting stick?

  Anything to give me just a little

  cover-up. Before I’m completely

  exposed in the seventh grade? Help me?

  Please?”

  Neither of Them Listens

  This is what they have in common.

  A shared interest in ignoring my wants & needs.

  My heart’s every desire (I read that in a book).

  My heart wants to be connected to the world.

  My heart wants to prove I’m getting older.

  My heart wants my face to look thirteen.

  My heart wants a freakin’ personal computer

  where I can google to my heart’s delight.

  My heart wants a cell phone so I can text

  Mariella & StaceyAnn heart emojis

  when I really, really, really love something.

  My heart understands that I will die

  if I can’t get some privacy & space.

  Mamaw Says

  “No seventh grader needs a mobile device.”

  Old-fashioned.

  Doesn’t even call it a cell phone, God forbid.

  “What you need is some strong letter-writing skills,

  penmanship, a solid cursive curl to your letter ‘B.’

  Sharp pencils, smooth pens, sturdy stationary.”

  Too bad my eyes can’t roll into my head,

  ’cause I roll them so hard, they almost disappear.

  Mamaw snaps back. Says, “Don’t act so smart;

  you young people think you know it all. But you

  are just getting started. Brand new in the world.”

  I sigh. Know I’ll never win when she gets going.

  She might be old, but she’s fast. Quick skilled

  & always has an answer to all my arguments.

  Most times, I know she’s right.

  But Lately, I Want

  everything I can’t have. A crush to crush back;

  shiny, smooth hair; no pimples preparing to pop;

  the cool girls to invite me to their parties; parties

  in general; to have a first kiss that’s not awkward

  or sloppy or gross. To have a first kiss at all. To start

  my period already so I don’t have to wait for disaster

  or have it be a disaster. But most of all, I want a phone.

  Ways to communicate with the outside world. More so,

  though, a way to distract myself from all the things

  I want but somehow can’t seem to have.

  What My Mom Can’t Afford

  The pair of fancy jeans I saw at the mall.

  They’re so cool, they don’t even have a brand name.

  Mariella says that’s luxury & I agree.

  A new computer.

  Instead, I’m busy click-clacking

  on an old desktop that’s as big as Mars

  & sits in the hallway for the whole block to see

  what I’m looking up.

  A new phone. Oh! Any ol’ phone at all for that matter.

  A new car. It’d be super awesome to not show on up

  everywhere in a beat-up ol’ brown station wagon.

  She can’t afford avocados every week.

  You know in some places they grow on trees,

  but in landlocked Kentucky, they’re three dollars a pop.

  Yawn is what I think but don’t say out loud.

  Soda, since she says,

  “I’m not paying hard-earned money for your teeth to rot

  right out of your sweet little mouth.”

  She can’t afford big family vacations to far-flung

  destinations (I read the term “far-flung destination”

  in a travel magazine at school & I like the sound of it).

  I’ve never been anywhere.

  Never even been on an airplane before.

  “Saving for the future,” is what she says.

  “College or bust,” is what she says.

  “You wanna travel the world so badly, then you better

  get a part-time job or start reading all them books

  like Mamaw does.”

  “New, new, new, new, all you ever want is new,”

  my mom says, & it’s not that I always want new.

  It’s just that I’m tired of always trying to pretend

  I’m satisfied with old.

  Questions for Dad

  What were you like when you were twelve

  on the way to thirteen? Mamaw says “rowdy,”

  “raucous,” “renegade” would describe you.

  Tells it you were accelerated, raced

  your motorbike on country roads, dust

  in your tracks. Loved dancing & singing.

  Tried anything, tried it twice.

  Your voice is an echo

  I can sometimes hear in my dreams.

  Do you miss me? Do you wish

  you could see me? Almost a teenager?

  Sometimes I wake after seeing you in my sleep.

  Heavy with missing you.

  Someone I didn’t even know.

  Why did you have to leave so soon?

  Mamaw says she sees you in me. My drawl,

  the wave of my hair. Says I have your smile

  & eyes. “Spitting image” is what she says,

  holding me to her. If there’s a heaven,

  & you’re up in it, does it ache to watch me

  grow up without you? & if there’s not one,

  then I think of you in Mamaw’s garden,

  blooming each summer. A peony folding

  out over & over—peeling awake beside us

  in our own backyard.

  Ways to Disappear

  Call StaceyAnn.

  Call Mariella

  from your LANDLINE!

  Tell them you are worried

  your mom & mamaw

  are trying to keep you

  a kid forever. Whine

  as quietly as possible

  in the kitchen, since you

  are on a LANDLINE.

  Old, clunky phone

  connected to the wall

  & available for everyone

  to witness.

  Whisper: Save me!

  Someone, anyone,

  pick me up. Seriously.

  Need an exit plan.

  A getaway. Drive

  in the country? Elizabethtown?

  Louisville? Lexington?

  Ask one of your reasonable

  family members to help me!

  Pick me up

  & take me

  away!

  Bluegrass Diner

  is the absolute best. & here are the reasons why.

  1. It’s StaceyAnn’s dad’s favorite spot. He loves

  the coffee with extra cream & three sugars,

  & if we beg enough, he’ll take us on his day off.

  Paradise.

  2. Waffles are delicious, especially when they’re full

  of pecans & covered in butter & syrup.

  & best of all, Mariella always splits hers with me.

  Perfection.

  3. Salty pickles on my egg & cheese sandwich.

  My favorite waitress gives me an extra plateful

  for free.

  4. Hash browns loaded with sweet onions

  & drenched in American cheese. Glorious.

  5. StaceyAnn puts three pieces of bacon in her grits,

  but the order comes with four.

  Who do you think gets the extra bacon?

  Me. Yes!

  6. Everything else. The talking. Laughing.

  Sharing soda & hot chocolate. Sweet & salty.

  Both at once. Sometimes life is so delicious,

  it feels like I can eat & eat & eat & never get full.

  Singing Sisters

  Sometimes StaceyAnn’s dad let
s us roll the windows

  all the way down & turn the radio all the way up.

  His regular job is in construction, but his side jobs

  include: musician, carpenter, mechanic & car DJ.

  I always imagine him & my dad woulda been the best

  of friends. He raises the volume, & we let the sweet-

  smelling Kentucky air wrap & curl around us. Our voices

  thundering & strong. We throw our arms up, shake

  & dance in our seats. We let loose. In the back seat,

  Mariella throws her arm around my shoulders, pulls

  me in close. StaceyAnn looks behind from the front

  & we all laugh, sing so loud that we shake the trees

  & hillsides with the sound of our song. Let the whole

  dang town & county & state know we’re here,

  know we exist. & we’re ready for the seventh grade.

  Period

  Not the punctuation.

  The real deal.

  The menstruation station.

  Worst word ever.

  My body cramps.

  My back aches.

  Not ready yet.

  Thought I was.

  But still scared.

  Even more so.

  Everything’s always changing.

  Moving too fast.

  School starts soon.

  Tampons & pads arrive.

  Too much talking.

  My brain hurts.

  I’m constantly embarrassed.

  Too much attention.

  My body exists.

  And it’s awkward.

  And also uncomfortable.

  I wanted this.

  I really did.

  I was ready.

  Now I’m not.

  Can’t go back now.

  Full speed ahead.

  That’s what Mamaw says.

  Mom starts crying.

  Mamaw starts celebrating.

  Makes me tea.

  Extra honey everything.

  Heating pad placed.