“The Mark Made Me”
The scar lingers out of sight
Underneath the collar
No princess-cut from thee,
Right over the mammary
And it still aches to breathe
The silk offends sensibility
Water brings no relief
In a livid red it blazes
Proclaiming agony in every inch
Please don’t touch, don’t look
I curl around it, wishing away
But it never heals
Because you slice the same
And I don’t fight
Everytime
“Maybe Someday” (2003)
Yes, you were the one
To make the wounds all right.
If you wanted to take me over,
I’d go without a fight.
But I’m young.
I don’t think I could have been
The one to make you sigh in delight.
No, not quite.
Someday, when I get older
Maybe I’ll understand.
Maybe someday,
When I get older,
You and I can be lovers.
I had all these misconceptions in my head.
Reality ensued instead.
It wasn’t like the novels I had read.
Where were all the nights alone,
The walks on the beach,
The breakfast in bed?
Could I really be the one
To have your desires fed?
No, I was misled.
Someday, when I get older
Maybe I’ll understand.
Maybe someday,
When I get older,
You and I can be lovers.
Yeah, someday, when I get older
I’ll be out of this fantasyland.
Then you and I can be lovers.
You think I’m the right one for you.
Perhaps someday that could be true.
But right now, I’ve got some growing to do.
“Invisible Woman”
Sliding in from the shadows
A blur in the corner of the eye
She lingers on the peripheral
If you could see her eyes
You would run from the horror
When she attempts to speak
Her words turn into smoke
At her most bare no one detects
The identity she wears like a shroud
Shes the greatest mystery known
This invisible woman
“Gon Learn Today”
Did you hear the news?
Did you hear the tea spillin’ truth?
You see her eyes roll
Neglect has taken toll
When you flee for the telephone
Your cover’s blown
If you didn’t get the point I made
Boy, you gon learn today
Did you see the storm?
Did you see the dark ’cause no one’s home?
You get the dial tone
‘Cause she’s in a different zone
And maybe she’s lil’ wary
Of being your faithful ferry
If you think you’ll pass with nothing to pay
Boy, you gon learn today
Common sense makes smarter men
Smarter men make sense happen
Did you smell the smoke?
Did you see the real under the cloak?
You wonder why she’s ignoring you
But stop and take a slanted view
Perhaps she thinks of moving on
Tired of being lonely when she’s not alone
If you think that it wouldn’t burn
Boy, you gon learn
Tired of looking back
The past is burned in my memory
I focus my attention
On the step in front of me
Four weeks cushion the turn
Of the time we had and the time we’re getting
No turning around
To redo from what we should have learned
I wanna feel the smooth stride
Without novelty acting in spite
On a path of where we do not know the end
Goodbye, January–goodbye
Spring inches near
Waves of verdant fields
We wonder if that herald will promise mercy
On our winter-suffering skin
We button our coats, dreaming
Of the scent of bloom in the air
Every beginning has an end
I wanna feel the sun
Without the wind coming back to bite
Late in the evening when I have time to breathe
Goodbye, January–goodbye
“Man Candy”
(for Della, Margo, Emily, Michelle, and Monique)*
Don’t tug on heart strings
You make my —– sing
You wanna unwrap his sugarcane
See what’s under the cellophane
On display in the sweet shop
You want a taste of his lollipop
And all before prudence says stop
The sweet’s driven you insane
Ain’t no silly love song
So get your purple thong
And sing along
He’s nice and handy
When you need
Some man candy
He’s wicked randy
When you need
Some man candy
He comes in a variety of flavors
With so many textures to savor
You can find one to suit your need
To fit what the craving might be
They promise satisfaction guaranteed
With your desired party favor
Ain’t no silly dedication
So get your purple thong
And sing along
He’s nice and handy
When you need
Some man candy
He’s wicked randy
When you need
Some man candy
Don’t tug on heart strings
You make my —– sing
Sometimes it’s necessary
But the pleasure’s temporary
You can want it later
But it never lasts
You want missionary?
He gives it in the —
Sometimes it’s necessary
But the pleasure’s temporary
You can wish for longevity
But it never comes
Once he’s at his end
The fun is all done
*From Part I of the Payback List:
“As for his looks, I have to say, Adam is fairly good-looking. Sigh. All right fine—if you can overlook his personality, he is one fine piece of man candy. (Wait…but then again, he is merely man candy because of his personality…aw hell, I’ll let Margo and Michelle tell you properly. They coined the phrase and predictably will have a portion of this tale to tell.) He possesses that tall, toned stature of an athlete with dark hair threaded with random strands of gray. Apparently it runs in the family and he will be completely silver haired by thirty-five. Emily gushes that her favorite feature are his eyes, which are a lovely (ech) cornflower blue.
“I had a cat with gray eyes once. Beautiful kitty Oscar was—but you didn’t see me turning a blind eye when Ozzy pissed on my favorite boots now did you? Just saying.”
-Della Henderson
“Walkaway”
You were the one I was waiting for
Survived the frogs to have Prince Charming at my door
You braved the storm to get to my core
And if there was a moment I ever felt low,
You helped me let go
The sun needs the moon
Like I need you
You tear me in two
When you walk away
You treated me like a rarity
Like a mermaid lost at sea without her feet
If I needed someone to put me at ease
Needed someone to cease the fear of being
You were always there for me
A cold hand needs a glove
Like I need your love
You have me sinking under
When you walk away
I try my best to be strong
I had a life before you came along
But what’s the use of making believe
That to me you meant nothing?
It’s all just a lie that covers the truth
How I can live now that you’re gone?
“Battle Cry”
It’s primal
The sensation of rising
The longer I wait
The more I’m finding
I was born
With my heartbeat
Heavy in my throat
Thudding in my ears
Addictive
The taste of fury
Thick on my tongue
Bold like a sharp point
It can’t be stopped, can’t be changed, can’t be cut off
So I yell
Here I come
The air thrums
With the energy
That spills
Directly from me
The chains break
Like brittle glass
Freedom flows
Like sweat down my back
The weaponry fits
like an extra limb
With the grace
Of a wing
It can’t be stopped, can’t be stopped, can’t be cut off
So I yell
Here I come
I am tired of being civilized
When you see the whites
Of my wild eyes, realize
You’re too close to be saved
Let the battle begin
“Living in Your Head”
Chillin on Sunday with shades drawn
World turns but you’re hiding out
Saturday’s whirly mirth is gone
In worship of self you’re the most devout
No visitor is quite worthy
Reaching out will break the spell
Do you bump into yourself everywhere or do you let someone in?
When you’re living in your head, do you remember where you’ve been?
Paranoia missed you at the bar
Holding ya seat, asking, “How ya been?”
He swipes the keys to the car
Steering like you’re old friends
But he imbibed too long
Didn’t notice the obstacle
Do you try to ignore but the deduction is too adamant?
When you’re living in your head, who gets blamed for the accident?
Holed up in your armored fortress
Peeking through the Lego block
All attempts will fail the test
When you leave the entrance locked
Participation will be thin
If we’re on the outside looking in
Do you have to war or are you always free?
When you’re living in your head, who gets to possess the key?
“Blockhead”
Music: “We Are Family” by Sister Sledge, “Bad Reputation” by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, “Cherry Bomb” by the Runaways, “Knock on Wood” by Eddie Floyd
Birth
Sunday, January 28, 1979
Rebecca Thomas Dunne was in a decidedly bad mood.
She’d had a backache the entire week previous, and her husband Griffin had been a total asshole about everything. What she truly wanted was an ice pack and a foot rub. Instead, what she received was reproach in the name of breakfast–poached eggs to be precise. Rebecca just could not get them right this morning. Griffin was unhappy, as he had been for the past six months.
“Para el Amor del Dios,” Rebecca muttered in her native language as Griffin stormed the kitchen petulantly.
“Dammit, Rebecca,” Griffin griped. “It’s the only thing I ask—that you give me fairly adequate meals.” He shoved his plate aside. “As it is, I’m late for my tennis match. I’ll never hear the end of it.”
Too tired to argue, Rebecca sighed and muttered something about making him something different. He huffed and refused her offer, leaving without his coveted breakfast.
The door slammed, shaking the house. She was left with Sister Sledge singing their sibling empowerment anthem on the LP and a growing sense of ineffectuality. She had never felt so low in her life.
Then, without any warning, she found herself standing in a puddle of liquid.
“Shit,” Rebecca found herself saying. Then, mortified that she had sworn so viciously, she covered her face. “Did I just say that?” Another contraction buckled her and her focus was shifted as she clutched her belly. “Oh wow. I’ve gotta call Irene.” Not once did she think about calling Griffin. This labor business had already started off badly.
She hoped the child came out all right or she would never forgive herself.
—
Of course, several hours later, the child dubbed Samantha Brittany came out angrily–and when she was cradled in her father’s dubious arms (Elizabeth and Irene suspected he was merely there because the tennis courts didn’t have reliable lighting at night and he had nothing else better to do), she screeched like a wild monkey trapped in gilt.
That probably should have been a warning. Oh well.
Childhood
1987
Being Jennifer’s big sister dominated Samantha’s early years. Jennifer had come along a little less than eighteen months after Samantha, and she was softer, kinder, and gentler than her predecessor. At first, she followed Samantha like a shadow, mimicking anything she did. It was empowering to have a permanent copycat, and thus was the state to which Samantha had become accustomed. However, as Jennifer grew up, and the sisters started socializing outward (particularly with their cousins—Irene’s daughters), she had begun to change. She preferred Barbies and My Little Pony to the jungle gym. She took pride in her E-Z-Bake and her gang of Cabbage Patch dolls.
To Samantha, that posed a bit of a problem.
Samantha, perhaps molded by those early moments in her mother’s womb, hated anything frilly or domestic. She had more scabs and scars than hair bows. And the word dress made her break out into hives all over. Nowadays Jennifer wore them all the time!
Ack! Gag her with a spoon! She couldn’t stand it.
It was a rainy Saturday morning, and Rebecca was depositing Samantha and Jennifer with her older sister so that she could take care of some important business. Samantha and Jennifer were too young to understand what was going on, and Rebecca didn’t have the heart to tell them about the impending breakup of their parents. If she had been more frank, she would have found that her girls would have been more acceptant of the severance.
Samantha used to enjoy being at her Aunt Irene’s house. She was a fan of the bigger space and of the camaraderie she shared with her female cousins, particularly Jessica and to a lesser degree her little sisters. Well, except one.
Irene had set the girls up in the living room while she did some work on a criminal case in the other room. The girls (their brother Eric was over a friend’s house for the weekend) were fairly self-sufficient, especially with Jessica supervising. Jessica was not a pushover, but she was hardly a tyrant either. Samantha admired her older cousin and hope that she grew up exuding that same amount of power.
It was nearing nine that morning. Irene had produced a sizable amount of pancakes, eggs, and bacon for the girls to consume, and then let them loose to watch some TV. Jessica had originally wanted to watch the VHS of Wildcats (Irene knew nothing of this, however) and no one had openly protested.
That is, until someone had turned it on Muppet Babies, and Samantha felt her heart sink.
Jessica, not quite eleven, sighed in exasperation as she tucked her legs under her on the couch. “Muppet Babies? Really?” She looked over the rumpled masses like an irritated general. “All right, pipsqueaks—who turned it on the Muppet Babies?”
There was a chorus of juvenile denials. Jessica groaned and waved a hand. The voices stopped.
Suddenly, the tallest of Jessica’s little sisters stood and spoke.
“I turned it on Muppet Babies,” announced Daniella Thomas defiantly.
Samantha rolled her eyes. She didn’t like her cousin Danie, with her hair flips and bright nail polish and fluorescent hair scrunchies that somehow ended up at the Dunne house and in her way. But even more—and she would not understand this until she was much older—she didn’t like Danie because she was stealing her baby sister away.
Jessica’s reaction was much like Samantha’s would have been. “You little brat! No one wants to watch that.”
Jennifer fidgeted. “Actually, I—”
“Maybe we should pick something that everyone can enjoy,” Moira-Selene offered, being the eternal peacemaker.
“I think everyone would enjoy the Muppet Babies!” Danie countered.
“I personally wanted to watch PBS,” nine-year-old Claudia-Michelle revealed, flipping through her music maestro book.
Danie rolled her eyes. “You’re such a bore, Claudia-Michelle.”
“Better than being an idiot,” Claudia-Michelle shot back. Danie’s eyes widened then narrowed. Samantha snickered. Claudia-Michelle, even though she was a bit too prim (especially in her lace-trimmed pajamas), had some redeeming moments as well.
“Hey!” Jessica exclaimed. Everyone went quiet again. “We’re gonna watch the movie. Anyone who doesn’t want to watch can go play somewhere else.”
Danie gave a defiant hair toss. “Well I am playing somewhere else. I have a makeup session with Barbie. Anyone else want to come be beautiful with me?”
“Go away, Danie,” Samantha snapped. “You’re just being a show-off. No one wants to play with your stupid girly toy.”
In her French braid and long-sleeved PJs barely hiding her surgery scar, Moira-Selene sighed. “Danie… Sam…”
“You don’t want to play with it,” Danie said, “but Jennifer does.” With smugness in her eyes, she turned to look at Jennifer, who fidgeted in her place as if she had shot J.R.
Samantha gazed at her little sister, cornflower blue stare intense. “Well? What are you gonna do?”
Pause. “I want to play with the makeup,” Jennifer said softly. The smug satisfaction on Danie’s face was enough to turn Samantha’s stomach. Guiltily, Jennifer bit her lip and followed Danie out of the room.
As Samantha watched the opening credits of Wildcats, fuming, little Gretchen Thomas plopped down next to her.
Gretchen was the youngest of her cousins. She had been attached to Jessica much like Jennifer had been attached to her. Jessica, however, was six years older than Gretchen, so the attachment was slightly awkward and short-lived. Jessica had found better entertainment than hanging out with her four-year-old sister.
“You know,” Gretchen began, pigtails swinging, “she is my sister but I really don’t like her.”
Samantha, a little surprised, looked at the little girl sidelong. Gretchen, big green eyes filled with boldness, stared back. After a moment, she leaned as if sharing a secret.
“I know where Eric keeps his spiders,” Gretchen whispered, eyes twinkling with evil. “We could put one in her bed.”
She was small, but she had spunk.
Samantha’s mouth twisted into a grin. She would do. Yeah, she would definitely do.
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