I can’t sleep because
Game 3,
the talent show,
the plan,
my mom,
and everything swirling.
I dream about
Buddy barking wildly
and biting my pants,
trying to tell me something.
Then, all of a sudden, I am
slipping into the muck
of the pool,
the clay pulling me
deep down inside it,
the trees reaching
long wooden arms,
trying to pull me out.
My father wakes me up,
makes me eggs and toast.
Today’s the day, he says. Go Giants!
But I know that I need to tell him
that I am going to the talent show.
Then the phone rings.
It’s my mom,
and she wants to talk to me.
When you don’t talk a lot
I think your ears get stronger.
So now, sometimes,
I feel I can hear the meaning of words,
the shape of their sound.
My mom’s words are light,
silver clouds in a blue sky.
She tells me that she’s coming home soon. Coming home.
Home:
I smell the wood and metal
of my grandfather’s shop,
feel the coolness
of the Sitting Stones
beneath the redwoods,
smell the skin lotion
Malia wears,
like vanilla and sunlight.
But the shape of the word
changes when my mom says it,
like ice cream melting on the cone,
or the soft voice
before going to sleep,
reminding me
that I am made
of just the right stuff.
I whisper everything to her
about Malia and the talent show
and the tickets to the game.
What do I do, Mom?
She’s quiet
for so long
that I wonder
if she’s really okay.
Tell your father, she says.
Tell him I said you could go,
that you should go,
that I promised you
that he would understand.
I love you, Etan.
I will see you soon.
I walk over to the couch,
hand him his coffee.
Dad, I need to tell you something.
And I tell him everything all at once—
about the talent show
and sorry for not telling him sooner
and about what Mom said.
He listens for a long time,
stands up,
walks around the couch once,
goes into the bathroom,
closes the door.
When he finally comes out,
he sits down silently,
puts his arm around me.
I understand.
He lets out a long breath.
I’ll take Mike to the game
straight from work;
we have a job near the city.
I’ll probably be home late,
who knows, maybe
you’ll see me on TV?
I can’t tell if he’s upset
or really okay,
or maybe just surprised
by Mom’s words.
He gets his keys,
and I wheel out my bike.
Tell Malia “Break a leg!”
I will see you guys late tonight.
We can celebrate the Giants
because tonight they are going to win!