Sever; Remain; Robust by Mara Cregan

Sever; Remain; Robust Aaliyah Thomas

Dedicated to My Mother, Father and Bubba To More Love, Happiness and Fun In The Future

Sever; Remain; Robust Aaliyah Thomas The Literary Arts Department Pittsburgh CAPA 6-12, A Creative and Performing Arts Magnet

CopyrightÂŠ2019 Pittsburgh CAPA 6-12, A Creative and Performing Arts Magnet Pittsburgh, PA The Copyright to the individual pieces remains the property of each individual. Reproduction in any form by any means without specific written permission from the individual is prohibited. For Copies or Inquires: Pittsburgh CAPA 6-12 Literary Arts Department Mara Cregan 111 Ninth Street, Pittsburgh PA 15222 mcregan1@pghschools.org Ms. Melissa A. Pearlman, Principal

Table Of Contents

1. Love-Head 2. The Sock 3. Choking Hazard 4. My Therapist Is A Telemarketer 5. Hasted Promises 6. Happy Birthday 7. Consequence 8. Tin Cans 9. “Right Hand” Family Clan

Love-Head Love and the memory of love can’t be drowned. —Leigh Allison Wilson, “Bullhead” You are my worst fear. The thing that makes my spine feeble and ache, the thing that makes my chest feel like sand, the thing that makes my eyes water at just the thought of you, the thing that I love so much but that could break me in a second. You are beautiful—something so perfect to me. Maybe not the world but to me. The reason my lungs fill with air, the reason I still believe in good, the reason my hands can type these letters, the reason I smile at small things. I love you, even if you're drifting from me in a pool of tears. Waving goodbye from a 2001 red mini van. A smile screaming we’ll make it even if your eyes say we won’t. I love you, even if college is tearing us apart. High school is dragging me one way and you another. I love you, even if you decide not to see me on the weekends like you promised to, even if my I love you goes unnoticed sometimes and our calls are being cut short. I love you, even if now, I’m in college and you’re a second year student. Even if we haven't talked in a month and we haven't technically broken up though your parents stopped inviting me to dinners with them and your younger siblings forgot my name. I love you, even if I see you driving down the street and you don't stop to wave or smile. You press a heavy foot on the gas and drive away. My worst fear; my nightmare; you. “I love you Phil,” you say, as my eyes peel open, nightmare lingering on the surface of my tongue.

“I love you too,” I mumble, gripping your shoulders. “Please say, you’ll love me forever.” You smile, grabbing a piece of my hair and pushing it aside. Your fingers trail around the edges of my chin and up the sides of my face. They extend over my cheeks and push down against my lips. Your eyes burn into mine. Love residing in the pupil of your eyes, beaming into my own and you say, “I will forever and always.”

The Sock The older girl’s face, framed by the back window, receded into the darkness, her eyes like glowing stones. —Andrew McCuaig, “The Wallet” My cousin said he left his right sock at our camp before we went swimming. “Phil!” Nathan said. “Can you help me find my sock?” He claimed he looked everywhere and this; our decaying wooden cabin, was the only place it could be. He gave me a half-hearted hug on my festering front porch and told me to come inside my trailer with him, I did naturally. We walked up and down the trailer three times before we both stopped and gave up. But as I went to walk out of the trailer door, he gripped my wrist with a tight intensity and pulled me to him. “Let’s play a game,” he whispered, his hot breath tickling the ridge of my ear. I smiled, glancing at him. “Of course, what do you want to play?” He led me into the living room, parking himself at the table, me across from him. He set his hands on the table and smiled. “This game is called two truths and a lie but with a little twist,” he said. “If I guess right for all of them, then you have to give me one thing I want.” “And if I win?” I asked. “You get what you want then.” I giggled, setting my hands on top of his and closed my eyes. He fingers coiled around the edge of my wrist, his fingers grazing it softly, leaving shots of adrenaline on every inch he touched. I waited for his voice to fill the trailer but it never did.

“I love to swim, I love to eat, I love to dance.” He was quiet for a moment, his fingers gripping my arms a little tighter. I went to pull away but he yanked them back roughly. His fingertips pressing deeply into my skin. They felt like daggers in my skin, his nails beginning to dig deep, his eyes closed too but a malice smile on his lips. I whined for a second, attempting to pull away again but he yanked me across the table. Dropping my arms and wrapped his arms around my head, pushing my cheeks into his chest. “Hey I—.” He let go suddenly, his lips falling into a frown. His hands shoving me across the table just as his mother walked inside. Her lip was split in two, whiteness sprouting out of dried blood. Both her cheeks were discolored, her eyes holding tears back. Nathan’s eyes darkened and he stood suddenly. “You fall off the porch again?” She cracked a smile. “Your Daddy refuses to fix it. I look like I got into a fight with a bobcat.” I laughed. He stepped forward. “I’ll fix it myself if I have to. Geez Ma, your face is a wreck.” Nathan pulled a sock out of his pocket, seemingly being there the whole time and didn't wave goodbye to me as he left. By the time I got outside, they were already gone.

Choking Hazard She had careful children hands, the kind that didn't falter at the sight of pain on a child cheek or cringe when a little boy skinned his knee. The kind that could scoop up her daughter and rush her to the hospital. A tooth on the floor, her mouth gasping for air —princess bandaids couldn't fix this. Dakota’s brother said, “She hit her mouth when she was playing with marbles, her little sister—Lynn, pushed her on the ground and when she stood back up, she couldn’t breath. Blood was falling from her mouth in streams.” The only signs of this trauma were screams that traveled up the steps in waves and crashed against the ripped shower curtains; the first shower the mother had in a week. Her brother—Cole, was suppose to watch the two girls. He failed, mistakenly leaving the room for a moment. His girlfriend texted him, he didn't want the girls grabbing for his phone so he excused himself for one moment. He knew his mother always said stay in the same room, the littlest sister—Lynn, was a little too rough sometimes. The road to the hospital was bumpy, Crafton Heights roads were brittle, often crumbled under the pressure of Mini Van tires. The mother threw her phone towards Cole, anger lingering on the surface of her sharp tongue. She snapped a command, “Call your older brother, get him home right now.” He was late—twenty minutes past curfew, and he would pay. His girlfriend, the girl down the road, often cooked a hefty dinner for him. Maybe the kids new punishment would be no more relationships.

Ohio Valley hospital came into clear, her daughters screams still not filling her ears. She didn’t have time to look for a parking spot, she threw the van in neutral and darted inside. Her daughters hands clutching her shoulders. Tears formed in her eyes as she shouted commands at passing nurses until someone scooped the little girl up and ran off. The mother tried to follow but was stopped by security guards hands. They told her to sit and wait. An hour went by in a short amount of time. All she did was blink and a doctor was in front of her, gripping a clipboard, his knuckles white. He didn't say but rather shook his head once and she knew exactly what had happened. She didn't speak at first but all at once, she sobbed. Choking Hazard She had careful children hands, the kind that could scoop up her daughter and rush her to the hospital. A tooth on the floor, her mouth gasping for air—princess bandaids couldn't fix this. Dakota’s brother said, “She hit her mouth when she was playing with marbles, Lynn pushed her on the ground and when she stood back up, she couldn’t breath.” The only signs of this trauma were screams that traveled up the steps in waves and crashed against the ripped shower curtains. Cole was suppose to watch the two girls. Mistakenly leaving the room for just a moment, his girlfriend texted him. He knew his mother always said stay in the same room, Lynn, was a little too rough sometimes. The road to the hospital was bumpy, Crafton Heights roads were brittle, often crumbled under the pressure of Mini Van tires. She threw her phone towards Cole. She snapped a command, “Call your brother, get him home right now.”

He was late and he would pay. Ohio Valley hospital came into clear, her daughters screams still not filling her ears. She didn’t have time to look for a parking spot, she threw the van in neutral and darted inside. Her daughters hands clutching her shoulders. Tears formed in her eyes as she shouted commands at passing nurses until someone scooped the little girl up and ran off. The mother tried to follow but was stopped by security guards hands. An hour went by in a short amount of time. All she did was blink and a doctor was in front of her, gripping a clipboard, his knuckles white. He didn't say but rather shook his head once and she knew exactly what had happened. She didn't speak at first but all at once, she sobbed. Choking Hazard She had careful children hands, the kind that could scoop up her daughter and rush her to the hospital. A tooth on the floor, her mouth gasping for air—princess bandaids couldn't fix this. Dakota’s brother said, “She hit her mouth when she was playing with marbles, Lynn pushed her on the ground and when she stood back up, she just couldn’t breath.” The only signs of this trauma were screams that traveled up the steps in waves and crashed against the ripped shower curtains. Cole was suppose to watch the two girls, mistakenly leaving the room. He knew his mother always said stay in the same room, Lynn, was a little too rough sometimes. The road to the hospital was bumpy, Crafton Heights roads were brittle, often crumbled under the pressure of Mini Van tires.

Ohio Valley hospital came into clear. She threw the van in neutral and darted inside. Her daughters hands clutching her shoulders. Tears formed in her eyes as she shouted commands at passing nurses until someone scooped the little girl up and ran off. The mother tried to follow but was stopped by security guard hands. An hour went by in a short amount of time. All she did was blink and a doctor was in front of her, gripping a clipboard, his knuckles white. He didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t say but rather shook his head once and she knew exactly what had happened. She didn't speak at first but all at once, she sobbed.

My Therapist Is A Telemarketer I listen and try to hear in their voice the sights they are seeing outside their windows. —John Leary, “What I Know Of Your Country” I often find myself spilling the darkest of secrets to telemarketers who call my phone. The loneliness in my Crafton apartment has gotten to my head. And the more I sit in an intolerable silence, the more my fingers claw at the skin beneath my eyes and peel open soft skin in my mouth. I work a 9 to 5 job. I chose to work those hours because six months ago, I had a social life, a husband and two children who lived within the walls of this very apartment. But James, an attractive new intern at the office seduced me—I gave in. I lost everything. Sometimes I’ll see pictures of my family together on Facebook. Talking about how much they enjoy life and how happy they all are. The only pictures in my apartment now are of Philomena and my daughter; a cute kid that used to play with her at the park. Megan, the only person who kinda stuck with me, tells me working from 7-9 would ease the loneliness and would give me a drive to get work done. I tell her, I don't want more money to keep storing in my bank account, it has no use there. The telemarketer Zac, calls everyday at exactly six o’clock. He calls the house phone, and begins every call with, Hello Joane, how're you feeling today? His voice is always robotic when he says that, something laced in his words I still haven't picked up yet. He tells me of all the amazing things in India, what his wife made him for breakfast and of all the great things his kids did recently. He rants of how angry America and India

makes him sometimes and also, how badly he wants to visit New York City. But most importantly, he gives me advice on things I need help with. Zac is the only man who knows why I cheated on my husband. Why I refused to take him back, and why I ignore all of his calls. He calls once a week on Wednesday night between 5-8pm. I never answer, but he tells me of how much everyone misses me, and asks for us to try and make it work again, even if technically, he doesn't want a relationship, he just wants us to be ‘good role models’ for the kids. But on Facebook, they all say they're happy without you, don’t they, Zac says. Maybe I fibbed with that a little, I say, the pictures they post are ones with me in it. Zac is quiet before he tells me, maybe we should try it out again. I tell Zac, I haven't forgiven myself. Zac tells me everyone else has though. I tell Zac, I’m better off alone. In reality, my pride was too big to give back into my husband—I mean ex-husband. Because deep within me, I knew I would do it all again in a millisecond. Thrill was an addiction I couldn't shake myself of but then again, why would I when I’m living a great life alone in a dusty apartment? Sometimes I think Zac only calls me everyday because he gets international calling money through me. My internet bill has went up twenty dollars a month since his continuous calling starting. But, my monthly bills have went down $400 a month. So I like to compare Zac’s calls to an investment.

Hasted Promises On a cold winter night, when the moon didn’t dare come out, a Princess draped in a black cloak dreaded through the dark forest. She held one thing in her hand, a holy bible. Her eyes kept low, her brown hair hidden under the thickness of her cloak hood. The kingdom just a mile behind her but she still had six to go. She walked for hours it seemed until she found the first sign for the dark lake. Told by old country men of how they became rich off it. They too took a bible with them and asked for one million shillings, even though they could've wished for anything. After wishing, they threw the book in. The next day when they woke from bed, the money was right by their bedside. In a large pile with a note that read, “The Call Of The Wind Will You Tell Its Price.” Those men laughed at that note and burned it, before buying a few acres of land. The Princess couldn’t bare any sons or daughters. She knew this because the love of her life said, “I have tried and tried but we still see no signs of fertility. My dear wife we cannot bear children.” He said he still loved her but the Princess was filled with shame. The only purpose for a woman was to bore a nice Prince and keep the line going. So the Princess ventured from her room. Left her lover unattended and ventured out into the dark night to find the lake. When she reached the sixth mile, she began hearing a song. It tickled the bottom of her toes, made her veins burn, her skin crawl, but her ears yearned to hear more so she followed that song. Eventually she stepped into very thick mud, but her legs still moved, she had to follow it.

She continued on, almost in a trance, her legs moving without command until she became trapped so deeply she could barely speak. She looked around for a moment, her thoughts coming into clear. “You have travelled far and long, oh royal one,” the wind howled. “What brought you forth?” The Princess held her bible high and swayed in a dance. She closed her eyes and whispered, “I just want an heir.” The wind picked up quickly, grabbing the cloak, tugging it into the air, the Princess beginning to shiver. “I have done nothing wrong, nothing bad, I have been a servant to my country,” she said. “I have listened to everything the King said, please just give me one heir.” The wind slowed down, its briskness fading. “Do this one thing for your precious little heir,” it whispered. “Ban all fisherman from entering this lake forever-more.” The Princess shook her head, a smile spreading on her lips. “On my son’s eighteenth birthday, no man shall step foot here again.” The wind laughed, beginning to to pick up again. The Princess felt a strange feeling fall over her body, her eyes beginning to get heavy until they closed. When she opened them, she was in her bed, her lovers arms wrapped around her. Her stomach poking from under the blankets. The Princess jumped up and smoothed her stomach. “Darling, we’ve been blessed with an heir!”

After many moons that came and went, the young Prince was born. And for many years, and many nights, the now Queen vowed to keep her promise. But as her son grew from a boy to a man, she saw he had very different plans. Her son was disobedient, refused to listen to any of this mothers teachings and this only worsened as he grew older, the queen growing older. On the dawn of his eighteenth birthday, the now aged-wrinkled Queen cried to her son, “Oh dear boy, please make the dark lake six miles from here untouchable, for your life depends on it. I swore a promise to the wind that I would make thy lake untouchable.” The Prince disregarded her, calling her an old hag, saying, “Why don’t you do it yourself!” The old Queen cried, “I promised the son I was blessed with would do so!” The soon to be king had no interest in his mothers lies, for he had many other things to worry about. So to stop her blabbering nonsense, he locked her in the dungeon until his betrovement, that was set to happen in just thirty minutes. When the lovely crown was set atop his head, the Queen barely watching, the Prince gripped his chest and fell to the ground, coughing aloud before dying in front of the entire kingdom. The Queen began to sob, grabbing her dead boys’ body and would not let go. “One mustn’t make hasted promises, let you all learn that the dark lake is to be untouched or much worse consequences are to come. Make no promises of fate when one cannot keep those promises,” the window howled, shattering through the glass windows of the ballroom.

And on that day, the kingdom learned to act on a promise with haste. They never did set foot near that lake again and to this day, have not stepped foot near the lake again.

Happy Birthday 1. When you asked your mother why you were an only child and why she didn’t decide to have any more kids, she never had the heart to tell you, your twin brother died in the womb, because of you. Your hands were intertwined with each other when you were birthed, your brother seconds after you. And when they pried him away from you, you cried for three straight days. 2. Your mother doesn't say Happy Birthday to you every year because she doesn't believe its a day that should be celebrated. She calls it the day, “a funeral was born.” That’s also why you never receive gifts. 3. Your mother lies about how much money she has so she doesn't have to give you any, and so your grandpa won't hound her for the cash she owes him. 4. Philomena is the only motherly figure you've ever had, and Max the only fatherly figure. You sometimes daydream about Phil and Max being your mom and dad because they are the only people in your life who have said they love you. 5. Your grandpa loves you more than he loves your mother, but they both have a bad way of showing it. 6. You don’t have a grandma because she died when you were nine, not because she divorced him and didn't want anything to do with you. 7. People get over things faster when people believe they left, both you and your mother believe this. 8. Your dog Guppy doesn't like when you feed him table scraps, he just eats them because your mother yells at you when stuff is on the floor.

9. Your best friend Michelle shares the most gossip about you like the time she told the entire school your house had rats when in fact, it was Jiddy, your very large hamster. 10. The water in your house isn't brown because of the city, its because you mother paid a ‘plumber’ to fix the lines and he accidentally tapped into the sewer pipe. 11. When you told your mother you wanted to live with your grandpa in Crafton Heights, she didn't cry because she was sad, she cried because she knew she wouldn’t have a reason to stay in Pittsburgh after you left. 12. Your mother does love you, it’s just hard for her to show it, she never knew what love was suppose to feel like which made it impossible for her to show you she does. 13. Your grandpa was lying when he said your mother died on the first night you moved in with him, he claimed she jumped from the Liberty Bridge downtown, and her body was never recovered. 14. Your mother left Pittsburgh 5 hours after you moved the last of your stuff to your grandpas house. 15. Your mother lives in Florida now and is a bartender at a restaurant on the bay front. She keeps a picture of you in her wallet and shows you off to her manager a lot. 16. The puppy you seen being put in a box on Christmas Eve by your grandpa and opened on Christmas Day were two different puppies. 17. Your grandpa’s new girlfriend was actually a 42 year old married woman who wanted a little zest in her life. Your grandpa looked young for his age and she was aging faster than she’d like to admit.

19. Your mother secretly blames you for your brothers death, because the doctor told her you were two different membranes that were forced into one. And the reason your brother died was because your embryo consumed his. 21. Your best friend sisters likes you a lot, more than she likes her own sister sometimes. 22. Your grandpa wouldn't let you go on the class trip to Washington D.C. because he hates politics and didn't want you to learn about them while being there. 23. The principal of your school thinks your neighborhood is trashy because her exhusband lives there. She says any kids that live there are trashy too. 24. You got sick because you grandpa bought a half opened package of chicken at the Dollar Store, it was later revealed the chicken was almost two months old. 25. Your grandpa wouldn't give you the antibiotics the doctor prescribed you because your father was a drug head, and he didn't believe in prescribing children opioids. Your father died three years after you were born. He left you and your mother two hundred dollars and his 2001 minivan. 26. Your mother never came home because she knew she would never leave if she came back. She was happy in Florida, even if she didn't want to admit it. And you were happy without her, even if you didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t want to admit it. 27. Your grandpa never opens the door to comfort you when your crying because he hates seeing women cry. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a trait he passed down to your mother. 28. Your mother died from a diabetic coma after drinking one too many bottles of cheap wine. She wrote you a letter you would later get on your eighteenth birthday. It would be the only Happy Birthday wish you ever got from her.

Consequence Artist: Joyner Lucas, Forever I know you don’t understand my words but you will eventually -Joyner Lucas “I just want…I just want to hangout with him! There’s nothing wrong with having guys that are friends! He’s a good person!” Philomena said. “I said no, thats the end of it. You should be spending time with us, your family. Thats all you have is us, the only people who truly love and care for you,” my mother said. Phil rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to be with you people, I hate being here.” My mother shook her head. “Go upstairs Phil.” “No, I want to leave! I’ll only be gone for—.” My mother sneered, pointing her crooked pale finger up the stairs. Philomena shook her head, leaving heavy footsteps behind in her absence. I counted to three; listening to the sound of her doors slamming, vibrating the wall panels, knocking over a few picture frames on the mantle. My mother shook her head, looking around the room before she went into the kitchen. At first, I imagined her in there cutting onions, tears streaming down her face, some from the onions and some from my sisters obliviousness towards my mothers feelings. Then, I imagined her washing dishes aggressively, banging the pots and pans together until her small stubby finger got caught between a frying pan and the bottom of the sink. But when she had the urge to cry, she blocked it out.

Her will to stay strong was one I admired as a little boy growing up. I knew she was crying because my sister had hurt her feelings, sobbing to herself while rummaging through the fridge. Phil and my mother fought a lot, more than they got along actually. It happened a lot after my dad stopped being a dad, picked up more shifts, got too busy to tend to his family or anyone for that matter. He was home for a maximum of 2 hours a day. Between 7 and 9am, the time in which everyone was at school or work. Phil in a way, from what I’m assuming, looked for another male figure in her life. My mother hated it, she despised Max, my sisters boyfriend’s name was Maximum. He lived up the street, they seen each other almost everyday. My mother wasn't just crying because of my sisters ignorance but rather, the reason why my sister had become so oblivious in the first place; the lack of a father—a male figure. My mother was planning on making my sisters favorite, honey mustard chicken with chopped onions and mushrooms. She always looked for a way to make her happy, a way for her to sway her decision to constantly see her boyfriend but also, because her desire for her little girl to be affectionate again ate at her. My mother would say this; You can’t go out tonight! Oh but here’s $20, do you need more? Or; I don’t like Max! Instead of saying that directly she would rather cry to hide the true meaning behind why she was saying no. My mother entered the living room. Her face flushed, puffy maroon eyes and faint red lips. She pointed her finger towards the stairs, stifling a sob that she masked as a laugh.

“She is such an idiot! All I want—all she needs is to focus on school, and do her work. But it’s always, what boy can I hang out with? How long can I stay out until I can't wake up for school in the morning? I just don’t understand! I got pregnant with her at seventeen years old, and raised her without a man or anyone. I could’ve aborted her or dropped her off at the fire station! But I kept her, ruined my life for her and did my best to give her a great life. Does she want that for herself?” There was a truth behind my mothers words but also, a lack of understanding. Philomena loved my mother, and though said horrible things sometimes, she was always looking out for herself. My mother had a child too early, without a father to help raise it and so, she was scarred for life and was trying to shield Phil from the same hurt. They both, just like me, struggled a lot with my father’s distance from the family.

Tin Cans “Sit down, we need to talk,” my father spat. I watch my father, his eyes studying the beads of sweat pushing through my pores and extending down my skin. Sit up. He shakes his head slowly, watching the quivering of my clenched fist, and my continuously tapping foot. Stop fidgeting. He lifts the can of bud light to his lips and takes one long, agonizing sip of his beer before he shut his eyes and smirks. Quit staring. He leans forward, grabbing me by the collar of my shirt and takes one deep breath in my face, his breath burning my nostrils, booze lingering on the surface of my tongue. Tell me what you did in school today Max. I flinch away from his swaying body. Fixing the collar of my shirt, swallowing the massive lump of anger in my throat. Don’t you cry. I go to stand up but my fathers hands wrap around my wrist and yank me back down. Sit down and tell me. I can't find a voice inside my stomach, staring into his unforgiving eyes struck a new type of fear in me. Don’t make me ask again. I look down, studying the ridges of my fingers. “Did my work, seen…a few of my friends.” My father shutters, pointing a crooked finger at me. Don’t lie to me, what friends or should I say girl—friends. I gaze into his eyes, holding my ground, not wanting to give into his persuading language. I knew he knew, I didn't just do my work but also, I skipped first period to see Phil. “Did my work,” I said again though I knew he seen right through me. Look at me. You see, my father had a bad way of praising me, had a bad way of showing me he was mad. He mixed them up a lot of times, all of the time.

“Go upstairs, sit on that creaky bed of yours and wait for me to come up. I don't want a peep—a word, you'll do what I tell you.” He took another long sip up his beer, before crushing the can in his hand and threw it towards me. It hit my forehead before descending to the floor. I stood abruptly, walking towards the steps but my father scoffed. Pick the damn can up. I walked over quickly, clutching the can before walking back towards the stairs. What're you going to drink the few drops inside? Throw the damn can away. My words and anger were beginning to infuse as I walked down the steps slowly, making sure to take careful, silent steps to the kitchen. Before I walked slowly back up the steps. I waited on my bed, listening to the sound of my fathers belt buckle jingle, like he was standing outside of my room just waiting. I felt a bubble of muse tickle my throat. He did this a lot, but I knew, he'd never hit me with. He had a heavy hand. My father entered my room, slamming the door shut, throwing another can of booze at me. Heard you were messing with Phil again, I told you to leave that girl alone. He didn't like her, I knew that, but I never listened.

“Right Hand” Family Clan May 13th, 2017 was the Crafton Heights annual block party, one that brought everyone in the neighborhood together for childhood stories, soggy hot dog buns and screaming children. For four years now, it has been held at Dunbar park, two vast green baseball fields and a spacious park with room for twenty or so picnic tables and lawn chairs. Today happened to be that day. The day I was in charge of one too many games, my mother picked her green house lettuce and tomatoes, and the rest of my family worried about their own roles. We all walked up the cracked city steps to the playground, its image hidden behind a line of houses. When we arrived, my mother and I met with Max’s mother, Christina, and gave her our fresh produce. “Where’s Max” I asked, gazing around. Christina smiled. “He’s coming! His Dad needed his help for something back at the house. You can run by and get him if you want.” My mother scoffed. “I’m sure she can find something else to do until he gets here, you need to take a break from your little boyfriend…right Philomena?” I nodded my head in an irritated trance and walked off towards the direction of the field. I walked along the edges of the dirt circle that made up the pitchers mound and found a peculiar dirt mark that ran all the way across the field to a girl sitting in a mud puddle. She was covered in it. Mud was stuck in the creases of her forehead, on her lips, in her ears, even under her fingernails. I walked towards her, slowly, like she was some sort of mystical creature. She looked up at me, her face registered.

“Clark?” I asked, walking a little closer. “Clark, your grandpa is going to kill you.” She shook her head. “He won’t kill me but he’ll yell. Once I fell in the mud I figured, why not just have a little fun.” I laughed, holding my hand out for her to grab. “Lets get you cleaned up with the —err, flimsy napkins on one of the tables.” Together we walked back, catching the stares of disapproving mothers and their infant children. Clark plopped down on the empty picnic bench and I next to her. “It’s weird to see you without your right hand,” I mumbled, handing her some napkins. “Lynn isn’t coming today—,” she said. “Family stuff came up.” I opened my mouth but was silenced by two arms that snaked around my waist. “You saved me from a nasty bickering battle with my dad,” Max whispered. “He’s in an absolutely horrible mood.” I turned back, looking at him. “How did I save you?” He smiled. “My mom called and said you were looking for me.” I nodded, Max looking at Clark. “What the heck happened to you?” Clark smiled. “Fell in a puddle.” I laughed. “More like dove.” Max sat down next to me and sighed, looking around the park for a moment. “Nothing too crazy this year?” I shook my head. “Infidel-Martha isn't planning on showing, and creep-O Ben and Eileen got pregnant, apparently.” Clark smiled. “Really? ‘Means they won't be wondering around here anymore.”

Max and I smiled, sharing a quick gaze. The comfort between was snatched though by Max’s father storming our way, a wooden spoon in his right hand and in the other, a bud light. “I told you to stay away—,” his voice faltered as he stepped in front of us, his eyes prancing between Max and I before he reached for his wrist. “Come on now.” Max shook his head, yanking his wrist away. “Not here…” Christina and my mom both shuffled in our direction. Max’s mom set her hands on her husbands shoulders, whispering something in his ear. “This is why I said no boys,” my mom mumbled, shaking her head. Christina smiled. “Ahh but having a little fun never stopped anything.” My mom laughed, a calming look spreading on her face. “Only if it’s fun…” Max’s dad shook his head, taking another sip of his beer before stumbling in the other direction. Christina sighed, plopping down between me and Max. “You two really like stirring up trouble, huh?” Max sighed. “Trouble isn't the word.” “I really don't see the issue—with our relationship at all. I mean, this is my family, the only thing I look forward to, who I can trust with anything. They know everything about me. Why am I not allowed to see them? Why are people constantly trying to take them away?” Christina gazed between the two of us for a moment, a slight smile on her lips. She set her hands on mine and Max’s knees.

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Phil, no one, and I mean no one, can take away family. No matter how much time goes past without family, that doesn't change the bond you share. Love and family are the same thing, they both are the things that matter most in life. Its good you realize that now.â&#x20AC;?