Liars

were we to get more scientific;

were we to consider the weight of the body;

were we to consider the height from which it fell;

and the temperature of the water;

the position of the moon;

were we to measure the alcohol in the body;

and were there pills in the body;

were there hands on the body;

Don’t be crazy, they say;

Don’t be like that, they say;

were we to dust the dock for prints;

were we to dust her skin for traces of hair, for traces of other skin;

were we to trust my older brother;

were we to trust his asshole friends;

and our tyrant fathers;

and our weakass mothers;

and all the younger girls;

were we not this tight-knit group;

were we not this pleased with our fancy selves;

and our circular drives and our heavy gates;

and our terraces and our lawns;

but we’re only performing tight-knit group;

our souls despise each other’s souls;

and we don’t even believe in souls;

but were our fathers kind, our mothers kind;

were the neighbors kind and their asshole kids;

were we not always standing on the dock in the spot where she last was;

were we not always standing in that spot to understand that night;

or to understand the girl who drowned;

to feel everything she felt;

our mothers say, Stay away from the dock;

they think they still can save us;

but the body shapes I see in the water;

and the ghost sounds I hear at night;

and the stories they all tell over drinks;

everyone saying she was trashed;

everyone saying she slipped and fell;

You know how she was, they say, as if a person ever can know;

then the power of the word was;

and the subtext before we know the word subtext;

and a look before we know how to read those looks we’ll see again and again;

our mothers shaking their heads and saying, What a waste;

our fathers, at times, with nothing to say, at times, with too much to say;

then it’s, That knockout in her underwear;

it’s, That knockout out of her crazy head;

That knockout sinking like a stone;

And that’s what happens when you drink, they say;

And that’s what happens when you fool around;

and when you walk like that;

and when you look like that;

when you look good enough;

when you look good enough to what;

there are nights we watch my brother and his friends on the dock from up in the trees;

after they leave, we sit on the dock and stare out across the water;

one night, we waited for the sunrise;

not for any reason other than we were up and it was next;

when she appeared, that night, we jumped;

she was standing all crooked, holding her shoes;

she was looking for her friends, she said;

and had we seen her friends, she said;

you’re thinking ghost, but this was before all that;

it was the real her coming from somewhere;

and who knows what she’d been up to;

what asshole guy she’d been with;

perhaps my brother’s friend;

we used to like him too;

we used to fuck him all the time;

but we’re done with him now;

we’re done with them all;

and they’ll pay so big someday;

they’ll wake someday with guilt around them like a cage;

and they’ll remember the details of that night;

and the details of her face;

and the words she said before she fell;

but there’s no point in building her character here;

no point in building the perfect girl you always want;

so here’s any girl holding her shoes;

any girl looking like some kind of ghost;

any girl pointing to the sky;

like your sister saying, Look at the colors;

your sister saying, Look at that;

we didn’t look long at the colors;

we knew what the colors meant;

we knew about light and waves;

so we just looked at her body;

like anyone would have done;

and it could have been us, then, holding our shoes;

it could have been us, nights later;

and do you think we would have been pushed in too;

do you think we would have been held in too;

do you think we would have been flailing too and thinking stop, and thinking you guys, you motherfuckers, then not;

do you think we would have felt that point at which you just give up;

you stop performing for guys, for other girls;

you let your hair go bad;

you let your gut go big;

then it’s only water and always water;

or do you think we’re too good for that;

do you think we’re just too smart;

do you think we’re just too rich;

we swore we would never be like her;

to our mothers, our fathers, we swore it and meant it, but look;

just look at us pushing against the guys;

look how fucked up, how fucking hot;

so imagine a day they’ll stand in a spot on the dock where we last were;

they’ll shake their heads, say things about us like what a fucking waste;

when we ask for details about that night;

when they catch us listening at the doors;

Get lost, they say;

Don’t spy, they say;

It’s not spying, we say;

it’s a full-on investigation;

we’re conducting experiments on the dock;

we like to see how long we can stand on the edge;

we like to see how hard we hit the water when we fall;

we prefer to fall in backward;

to watch the sky move farther away;

to brace ourselves for cold;

to feel the slap against our backs;

to time how long we can stay underneath;

we sometimes hold each other under;

we’ve learned to kick away;

we’ve learned to swim to under the dock;

we press our mouths to between the slats and breathe;

this is only about survival;

about how to survive when it’s us going in;

about how to save our sorry selves;

so we need to know the exact time of;

the temperature of;

the velocity of;

the height from which;

the phase of the moon;

the weight of the body;

the weight on the body;

the weight of the water pressing down;

but there’s nothing more to say, they say;

You’re obsessed, they say;

We’re worried, they say;

End of story, they say and tell us to go;

End of story, we hear through the walls;

but there’s never an end of story;

there’s only the start, a night on the dock;

and all the details we already know;

and x for all we don’t;

x for the one who touched her last;

x for the one who pushed;

and for her body now in the water;

for her body held under the water;

for her body filling with water;

for her ghost on the dock on our wildest nights;

for her ghost in our beds forever;

for the scream stuck in your heads;

and for what you’re about to tell us;

and don’t give us your made-up shit;

your knockout in her underwear;

your knockout with her hair all wild;

your fucked-up girl;

your perfect girl;

there’s no such thing as perfect girl;

you need to stop lying to yourselves;

you need to start looking at yourselves;

you absolutely will get old and die;

no, you won’t absolutely get old;