Free Blue Plate Special by Michelle D. Kwasney

family
    died right along with him.
     
    what’s that make us?
    i want to ask.
    a table with one
    of its legs sawed off?
    but a timer dings and mam
    returns the tube to the shoebox,
    closing the lid,
    closing down the conversation too.
     
    she slides a casserole out of the oven.
    cheese bubbles on top,
    and my mouth waters.
    looks good
, i mumble.
     
    i’m glad —mam turns to face me—
    ‘cause larry’s coming for dinner.
    it’ll be nice to have the three
    of us together again.
     
    i glance down at the third plate
    set in front of larry’s sometimes spot,
    and reality hits me.
    i bolt toward the door, calling,
    sorry, got other plans!
    * * *
    carol ann’s mom and dad
    insist i call them pete and joan.
    they let me hang out
    whenever i want,
    for as long as i want,
    no questions asked.
     
    bill clinton smiles at me
    from a poster over their disposal.
    before he got elected president
    their kitchen was like a
    freaking museum.
    even the dish towels had
    vote clinton! pins
    stuck through them.
     
    i arrive just in time for dinner.
    joan sets an extra plate,
    loading it with tofu kabobs
    and curried tempeh strips,
    which i pretend to enjoy.
    after dessert—
    tofutti with carob chips—
    me and carol ann wash dishes
    while pete and joan slip out back
    to smoke pot on the porch.
    i glance out the window,
    noticing how their hands touch
    as they pass the joint back and forth,
    how pete winks at joan and
    she leans in to kiss his lips—
    a deep, smoky kiss that
    lasts until the joint burns down
    to pete’s fingernail and he says, ow!
    and joan lifts his finger to her mouth,
    sweetly kissing that next.
     
    tears fill my eyes.
    i’ve gotta pee , i mumble.
    i hurry to the bathroom,
    sit on the edge of the tub.
    i want what pete and joan have,
    those small things bodies do—
    like kissing a burned finger—
    which say i love you
    more than sex ever will.
    * * *
    upstairs, carol ann
    fishes two hard candies out of
    the drawer of her wicker nightstand.
    i chew mine instead of sucking it and
    my mouth fills with hot minty slivers.
    how rude! carol ann snaps,
    imitating stephanie on full house.
    she loads a cd and
    whitney houston’s voice
    fills the room. i moan.
    give me pearl jam, nirvana, metallica—
    music to take me away from my feelings,
    not draw me closer to them.
     
    carol ann sits beside me
    on the bed. check this out.
    she pulls her long hair back,
    showing me a hickey on her neck.
    i make a face. gross.
    hickeys look like what
    they are—skin sucked blue.
    there’s nothing sexy about them.
     
    me and eric are probably
    gonna do it soon , she tells me,
    leaning backward across her spread.
    her hair is a huge amber fan,
    encircling her zit-free face.
    when she stretches, her shirt rides up,
    showing off the navel piercing
    pete and joan signed for.
     
    for our first time , she continues,
    eric and i are going to rent a motel room.
    you know, so it feels more real.
    and i want a bottle of red wine —
    one with a cork, not a twist top.
    oh, and candles.
    loads and loads of them.
    she raises up on one elbow.
    how about you?
    what do you want
    your first time to be like?
     
    i used to wonder that all the time—
    where jeremy and i would be
    when it would happen,
    how it would feel,
    if it would hurt.
     
    carol ann sits up.
    welllll? i’m waiting for an answer here.
    a voice inside nudges: tell her!
     
    my tongue wraps
    around the words:
    something happened …
    but when i open my mouth to speak,
    the phone rings,
    and joan calls up the stairs,
    carol ann, it’s eric!
    and i swallow
    the words down fast.
    * * *
    five minutes after i get home
    jeremy phones to say
    his parents are leaving
    for the weekend
    and he’s having a party.
    i change into faded jeans and
    my favorite nine inch nails tank top.
    on my way through the door,
    mam calls my name.
     
    i follow her voice
    to her tv chair,
    where she’s watching unsolved mysteries,
    pigging out on double stuf oreos.
    desiree, she starts,
    all