Freakboy by Kristin Elizabeth Clark Page B

conscience.

Sunday Night at Andy’s House
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â â€œYou guys doin’ it?”
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â His question out of nowhere.
    My thumbs stab the controller.
    â€œNone of your business.”
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â â€œOh, Dude! That means
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â you’re not,” he says. Laughs.
    The weird thing is that evasion
    might have been the case.    Before.
    I might’ve even implied
    doing the deed.                    Before.
    It’s different now.
    This connection,
    more than physical,
    makes me careful.
    I’m protecting her,
    protecting us
    protecting We.
    I raise my eyebrows,
    shrug, as if to say,
    â€œWhat can I do, she won’t put out?”
    I’m very manly.

Online Before Bed
    I feel even manlier
    when I
    figure out
    a way to
    make it up
    to Willows.
    To that girl.
    I discover
    the cost
    of replacing a window
    that size
    equals
    half my allowance
    for the next
    five months.
    I’ll send money
    every week
    till then.
    And the final payment
    will     wipe
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  my      conscience    clean.

(Angel)
    The Second-to-Last Present I Got
    from the Sperm Donor
    was a pair of boxing gloves
    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 Â  the bite
    five years ago, handed over
    with a sarcasm attitude, I thought,
    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 Â  of the belt
    on Christmas Day
    in the morning
    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 Â  stings but
    That night he caught me again
    this time in heels and eye shadow,
    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 Â  doesn’t cut
    Wilderness camp didn’t work. So he
    beat me one last time. “No kid of mine”
    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 Â  like words —
    and “Don’t come back,”
    the last present I got from anyone
    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 Â  Freedom.

I Showed Up at Tía Rosa’s
    one-bedroom apartment
    on Christmas night.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  “Lo siento,” Mama’s sister
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â crooned over and over—
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â warm washcloth
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â on my cuts. We
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â sat on the edge of
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â the tub.
    My three little cousins
    crowded into
    the steamy bathroom
    around us.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â â€œ Lo siento, Angel.”
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Eyes huge at me,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â my bruises.
    She wanted to call the cops—
    I didn’t let her.
    Lord knows I hate
    the Sperm Donor
    but I love Frankie more.
    And no one needs to see
    their father taken away
    in cuffs.
    I begged my aunt to just
    let me stay with her.
    She