Moonwalking, p.14
Moonwalking, page 14
we both know what that means. They’re making plans, shaping our
future like we’re two lumps of clay that need grown-ups to mold us
into happy children. I know it’s only a matter of time before Tony
shows up to claim Pilar but I can tell by the tilt of my sister’s chin
that Pilar isn’t planning on going anywhere without me. Tony’s a
jerk but he loves Pilar and if she went to live with him, she’d have
everything she needs. I love her, too, but I have to do what’s best
for what’s left of my family so when I hear Uncle Lou arguing with
Tía Rosa over who should be the one to go home and take care of
Abuelo, I clear my throat and say, “I’ll go with you. Take me, too.”
ECHO
When we were friends
before I didn’t stand up to the cops
or change Mr. Zullo’s mind
before I lost my guitar
Pie showed me
the cutaway fence
the kid-size gap
between padlocked
McCarren Park pool house doors.
I tagged the basement walls,
he said. It’s dark and echoey
but I wasn’t scared.
If I’m not scared
if I walk the places that Pie walked
see his hieroglyphics like SAMO’s
I can write my song for him
and he will want to be my friend
again.
I tell Dad I have homework at the library
pack keyboard
flashlight
notebook
slip through gap
down
broken
stairs
to
deserted
dark
basement
stinking
of
mildew
and
chlorine
shine light on crumbling concrete walls
listen for voices:
Pie
or other kids
or ghosts
Am I the only ghost down here?
Do I imagine Pie’s spray can?
rattlerattlerattle
HISS!
7/8 time
Crouched against a column
keyboard balanced across my knees
I play through cheap built-in speakers
notes that bounce off metal and concrete.
No voices
guitar
drums
cowbells
or two-by-fours on garbage cans
but some songs need no words
and echo is its own
backbeat.
OUT OF TIME
there’s no time for long goodbyes
and that’s fine by me/a relief even
better to make a clean break so
I can have a fresh start back home
I was born here in Brooklyn but
these days I feel like the bloque
isn’t big enough for who I want
to be
Manny and Oz came by last night
gave me a bunch of comic books
to read on the plane and a brown
paper bag full of Now and Laters
Andres stopped by too to drop off
the tickets I don’t need anymore
thought about tossing them in the
trash but put them in an envelope
instead and tucked it inside my bag
our flight leaves at noon so I get up
early and go to school to clear out
my locker and stop by the art room
one last time to tell Ms. K how much
I appreciate everything she’s done for
me/I’m gonna miss the last few weeks
of art camp and I haven’t finished my
final project but Uncle Lou says there
are museums and plenty of artists on
the island/I’m sure I can learn just as
much from them/maybe even more
the door is open but I knock anyway
Ms. K looks up and smiles at me like
she always does/I try to smile back
but something in my face must tell
her I’m not here to stay/Ms. K points
to the chair next to her desk/I take a
seat and she listens as I tell her about
Mami going to Bellevue and Abuelo
having a stroke/she says, Oh, Pierre
it doesn’t feel like pity when Ms. K
reaches over and gives my arm a
squeeze/then she pulls herself up
grabs her cane and leads me over
to the supply closet/Ms. K tells me
to open my bag and I don’t say a
word as she drops a few brushes/
several drawing pencils/glue/a jar
of gold glitter and several tubes of
paint inside
make something phenomenal she
says/I manage to choke out a thank-
you before the tears start to fall/then
I see the envelope at the bottom of
my bag so I pull it out and hand it to
her/Ms. K looks at the two letters I
scrawled on it and says, he’s really
going to miss you
I just shrug and zip up my bag but Ms. K
isn’t done with me yet/she pushes her
glasses up the narrow bridge of her nose
and says sometimes people come into our
lives for a reason/but only for a season
I nod to show that I heard her words then
I check the clock on the wall and give Ms.
K a quick hug before slipping out of the
school just as the bell rings
PIE’S MESSENGER
I
Pie doesn’t show up at school
on Monday
and when he doesn’t show up
on Tuesday
I think he’s sick
but his two friends
the ones he calls Manny and Oz
are hanging around
his locker
staring at the floor
like I always do.
I take a step backward
flatten myself against
pale cinder-block wall
and listen to their words:
Bellevue
Hospital
mother
II
I never say much to Ms. Kirschbaum
even though
I eat in her art room
every Tuesday and Thursday.
She mainly talks with the art kids
and that’s my time
to listen to music.
But I’m worried enough to ask her
and even more worried
when she brings me
to her office.
She leans her door shut.
“I’m so sorry, JJ,”
she says. “Pierre had to go away.
He won’t be coming back
for a long time.”
A punch to the gut.
Fingers squeezing my throat.
“I heard these other kids
say something.
About his mother
and Bellevue Hospital
wherever that is.
Why didn’t he tell me?
I thought we were friends.
A friend would tell a friend
if he was going away forever
wouldn’t he?”
He told Manny and Oz.
I guess they were his real friends.
Not me.
“Yes. Pierre had a family situation.
He’ll have to tell you
about it
himself.
It’s not my business.”
A family situation?
I have a family situation.
I didn’t tell anyone.
Not even Pie.
“He wanted you to have this.”
She hands me an envelope
with the letters JJ
in Pie’s handwriting.
I drop it into my backpack
rub my face with my sleeve
which leaves my cheeks wet and sticky
and hot with shame
for crying in school.
Ms. Kirschbaum stands with her cane.
She steps toward me
like she wants to put her arm
around my shoulders.
Do I let her?
She tells me
art shines light in the darkness
art gives voice
to what we can’t say in words
art brings us together
no matter who we are.
“Pierre told me you compose music.
He said you wanted to start a band.”
She motions me to follow.
She is young yet moves slowly like Babcia.
At the end of the hallway
she unlocks a door
into a room shimmering
with instruments
guitars
piano
double-deck synthesizer
with full-size keyboard
for my growing hands
for all the songs
I want to write.
“Next semester
you can add music
to your schedule
and every Tuesday and Friday
some kids in a punk-rock band
practice after school.”
I lift an electric guitar
feel its weight in my hands.
“You already know Damaly and Maya.
They eat lunch in the art room with you.”
Yes, I’ve seen them.
Damaly: light-skinned
hair shorter than mine
Maya: medium brown skin
ponytail, pink backpack
I’ve never talked to them.
“Do they really want someone new?”
Will they like me?
Can I fit in?
Be part of something
other people started?
Make new friends
and not lose them
this time?
“They said they did.
But I’m going
to let you talk to them
because it should come from you
and not me.”
Yes No
No Yes
I can
talk
to new
people.
