Malia isn’t the best bike rider.
She’s wobbly, and she knows it.
What?!
She looks at me, almost crashing,
but we make it through town,
past the park where everyone
is gathering again
for the third game of the Series.
We reach the community center right at three.
The Covenanteers are there,
hats in full bloom,
welcoming all the talent,
holding big bowls of apples,
Fruit Roll-Ups, and water cups.
We pass by the little gym,
full of chairs lined in perfect rows
all the way to the stage.
In the rec room,
kids and parents are everywhere.
Tiny ballerinas spin
on the slippery floor.
One boy holds up a pickle
while his little dog
leaps in the air,
its jaws snapping.
And then,
I see Jordan there, holding a guitar,
trying to play through chords.
When he sees us,
he smiles, waves.
I wave back.
Hi, Malia, he says. You feeling better?
Malia, her head scarf-wrapped,
sunglasses tight, her Cyndi Lauper
cassette tape wrapped tightly
inside Blankie,
smiles wide. Hi … Jordan.
He stops playing and looks up.
Hey, you guys going
to the park with everyone after this?
First pitch at 5:35?
It’s Candlestick this time.
I bet they are going to wreck the A’s.
We find our own corner of the rec room.
Malia lays out Blankie
like we’re at a picnic.
We sit, open the program.
It says she’s fourteenth, just after Molly,
who’s playing piano,
and before William,
who is doing a monologue
from Shakespeare.
She curls her knees into her arms,
hugs them tightly,
rocks back and forth
to the timing of the music,
the lyrics forming on her lips.