Authors: Carolee Dean
He sets up pens
He orders life
He schedules plans
He sets up pens
The black, the blue
He schedules plans
For both of us
The black, the blue
Words on the fridge
For both of us
Tell where to go
Words on the fridge
Our whiteboard week
Tell where to go
The clock is king
Our whiteboard week
Filled to the brim
The clock is king
And I comply
Filled to the brim
A tight-run ship
And I comply
But it can sink
A tight-run ship
A neat abode
But it can sink
If there are holes
A neat abode
Is not enough
If there are holes
It fills up fast
It’s not enough
He thinks that if
It fills up fast
He’ll keep us both
He thinks that if
He orders life
He’ll keep us both
In nice straight lines
as if to say,
Why
are you back so soon?
I shrug. How can I tell
him I can’t stand
to be around myself
for even five minutes?
Besides, I’m trying to
figure out who
this guy is.
This person
I called
Dad
but never really
understood.
Why wouldn’t you let me
live with Mom?
She would have understood.
She would have known what to do,
after that night, when everything
started spinning out of control.
Why did you insist
that I had to stay with you,
when it was so obvious
you didn’t give a damn
and never had a clue?
She wanted to take me
when she left.
I screamed and cried.
Pleaded and begged.
You locked me in my room.
I didn’t even get to say good-bye.
You said it was for my own good,
though you wouldn’t tell me why.
But there was something more.
I could see it in your eyes.
Were you afraid to be alone?
Did you want to make a point?
Was it about control?
Or about being right?
“If you’re done here,
then it’s time for us
to go to the school,”
Elijah tells me.
“Why?”
“You have to go back where it happened
and make a different choice.”
“No. I can never go up there again.”
“Okay. Not right away.
But remember,
you don’t have a lot of time.”
“Never,”
I say, but then again,
I don’t want to stay
here, either.
Because I can’t stand
to be
in the hospital
for another minute
with my broken body,
with my token dad,
with my pain.
Elijah and I
get to school just after the
tardy bell rings. We
slip into Sci-Tech and then
hurry down the hall to our
physical science
class. Today Mr. M. is
dropping textbooks to
see if they fall faster than
feathers. Or maybe he’s just
trying to make a
noise loud enough to get through
to the kids with i-
Pods. He gave up on sending
them to the office because
they got lost along
the way and usually
didn’t come back. Now
he’s dropping a book on the
desk of a girl who’s asleep.
She jerks her head up
to look at him, turns off her
music, and says, “What?”
“What does Newton’s apple mean
to you?” he asks. “Is it a
cookie filling?” she
answers. He groans and explains
gravity once more.
Drops another five textbooks.
Goes back to his desk and takes
a Valium. It must
get tedious having to
repeat everything
five times per class, six classes
per day, for year after year.
He must feel just like
a robot, but then, aren’t we
robots too? Going
from class to class at the sound
of a bell doesn’t really
make you feel like an
entity with free will. I
never considered
that the teachers were just as
trapped as we are. Maybe more.
Mr. M. has been
here for twenty-five long years.
I could make it out
in four. . . . That is, if I live
long enough to graduate.
Second period and it’s time for
Elijah’s history class in Humanities.
I freeze as we walk toward
the steps leading up to the
second-floor balcony, because
the H Hall is on the other side
of the glass window.
I can’t see the Hangman,
but I know he’s
looking down at me.
“How can you go in there day after day?” I ask.
“There’s a lot of stuff in life
you just have to walk through.
Every time I walk through
that building, it reminds me
of where I don’t want to go.”
I look up on the second floor
and think about
the Hangman in the hallway.
I see
a baby pigeon
fall from the rafters
onto the ground below.
The two black birds are instantly on it,
like Brianna on a salad buffet.
I once wrote a poem
about a dead rapper
with a raven tattoo.
Ms. Lane talked
me into signing up
to perform it
at the school talent show.
She said I could be a great
writer if I stuck
with it long enough.
I told her what I really wanted
was to be an actress, and the real
reason I was taking her class
was so that I could write
better lines for myself.
She said that whether I became
an actress, a writer,
or both,
I needed to remember
that connecting with people
was more important
than outshining them.
But now I’m not sure
I’ll get the chance
to do either one.
and we’re still standing on the steps.
“I’ve got to get to class,” says Elijah.
“If I miss another day, I’m gonna get ISS.”
I look up at the second floor.
“I can’t go in there.”
“You can stay out on the quad.”
“I don’t want to be alone.”
“Go talk to the Bird Man.”
He points to a boy standing
on the circle in the center
of the quad. He’s yelling
at the kids who pass.
“The seniors are gonna beat him up
if they see him stepping on the Raptor,” I say.
“Not if they can’t see him.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s dead.”
I shudder as I look at the boy wearing the school
gym uniform. I wouldn’t be caught dead in that outfit,
and I certainly can’t imagine spending eternity in it.
I’d rather do extra credit than dress up for PE for even a day.
“What happened to him?” I ask.
“Struck by lightning on the soccer field.
Go talk to him. He won’t hurt you. His bark
is worse than his bite.”
So I go out to the quad to talk to a dead guy,
because I can’t stand the thought of going back
into the Humanities building. But all the time
I’m out there, I know there are eight eyes
watching me from the H Hall.
As I approach the dead guy
I see him yelling at a group
of boys walking into the gym.
“That’s right, keep moving, and stay away
from Ronnie if you know what’s good for you.”
“Hello,” I say.
He turns around. “Are you talking to me?” he asks,
even though we’re the only two people left on the quad.
“Is it okay if I hang here for a while?”
He strides across the circle until he’s standing
nose to nose with me. “You’re not dead.”
“No,” I say, and the fact that he realizes this
makes me feel strangely relieved.
“But you’re not alive, either.” He sizes me up.
“I guess you can’t hurt anything. Come on in.”
He moves aside so I can enter the circle. I step
on the tail feathers of the huge black bird and look around to
make sure there isn’t a senior waiting
in the wings to beat me up.
“I don’t get many visitors. Sorry the place is such
a mess.” He tries to kick a Coke can off the circle,
but it doesn’t budge. “Damn freshmen. Someone
needs to teach them some school respect.”
“How long have you been here?” I ask him.
“Since 1985.
I used to stash my weed out on the far side of the track.
Was going to smoke some after PE,
before heading to the locker room,
but then a storm came up.
Have you ever been electrocuted?”
“No.”
“I don’t recommend it.
I was going to be
in the first class
to graduate from
Raven Valley High.
It happened a week before finals.
My grandparents were coming
all the way from Boise and had
already bought plane tickets.
They used them for the funeral.”
A thin little kid carrying
a hall pass comes out onto the quad,
sees the Raptor, and decides to
walk across it while no one is looking.
The Bird Man runs to the edge
of the circle and screams,
“If you touch Ronnie,
I’m gonna rearrange your face.”
The kid jumps back, like he’s been hit,
and runs in fear in the opposite direction.
“Who’s Ronnie?” I ask.
He points at the painted bird.
Then he points
at the sky where a black bird
is circling the school.
“That’s Raptor Ron.
The official school mascot.”
“He’s bigger than the others.
I’ve never seen him before.”
“Been dead for ten years.
Got old and
the hawks ate him.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“That’s high school.
Survival of the fittest.”
I wonder if the two black birds
who circle the school
are descendants
of Raptor Ron’s.
Ms. Lane calls them
Hugin and Munin,
Observation and Memory,
after the two ravens who
belonged to Odin,
the Norse god
of death and poetry.
Their job was to travel the earth
and report what they saw.
“Exactly what a writer does,”
she told me.
I asked her if they represented
all memories,
or just the stuff
you’d rather forget.
She said mostly the latter,
but the birds weren’t all bad.
When a group of settlers
got stuck in the valley
during one long winter,
ravens helped keep them alive
by bringing them dead pigeons to eat,
which is how the town
got its name.
And there once was a prophet
who was fed by ravens
while he was hiding
in the wilderness.
She said the prophet never died;
he just rode to heaven on
a flaming chariot.
But I can’t imagine
ever being desperate
enough to eat anything
that came out
of those nasty black beaks.
And who wants to live forever, anyway?
I don’t want to go back
to the hallway,
but I don’t want to go back
to my old life either.
Maybe I could just stay
as I am right now,
hanging out with Elijah
and Oscar.
That wouldn’t be so bad.
Is it a possibility?
Is there a door number three?
And if I open it, will I find
anyone waiting there
for me?
Elijah comes back for me
for third period and we go
to special ed, where he’s
a student aid in Oscar’s class.
When Oscar sees me,
he starts pressing buttons
on his device that have been
programmed with redneck jokes.
They’re stupid, but I still can’t help
laughing, because he changes the
voice with each joke.
Elijah sets up a chessboard
and they play a game.
I like
how Elijah positions
Oscar’s wheelchair so he
gets the view out the window.
I like
how unobtrusively he wipes
the spot of jam from Oscar’s chin
that’s left over from breakfast.
I like
how he talks casually, to pass the time,
like he’s got all the patience in the world,
as he waits for Oscar to push the pieces
into place with his pencil.
I like
how proudly he says, “Oscar took
first place in the district meet last fall.”
And I like
how when Oscar’s machine says
Checkmate,
Elijah gets a bigger grin than Oscar does.
The kids from special ed
get to go to lunch before
everyone else.
Elijah pushes Oscar outside
with his tray piled high with
pizza and fries. Then we sit
at a table on the quad, where
Elijah cuts everything into chunks
that Oscar can pick up with his fork.
Soon it will be too cold
to eat outside,
so everyone is relishing
the last few days of sunshine.
The bell rings and kids
pour out of the buildings like