Turns out dinner isn’t always the same.
When you know a secret,
everything feels like a gesture
a nod
a clue.
Iris is in trouble, see
it doesn’t happen very often.
But when it does it’s
hashtag unfair
and Mom and Dad are
hashtag overreacting.
Dad says,
“No legacy is so rich as honesty,”
and I laugh, not because he’s funny
but because no one
knows
I know the legacy of truth
is a lie.
I am a lie.
So I say,
“Ignorance is the curse of God;
knowledge is the wing
wherewith we fly to heaven.”
And he’s proud, slapping his leg
and laughing.
“Exactly!” he shouts,
and points at Iris.
“Take lessons from Cordelia.”
At the very end of the table
Mom cradles her lifeline wine.
Her smile is empty, studying me
like she also wants to know
which parts of me come
from other people.
To: Cordelia Koenig ([email protected])
From: Bea Koenig ([email protected])
Subject: Re: I miss my sister.
School is fine. I’m hoping to finish this semester with all As and maybe stay on for summer so I can finish up school on time. Switching majors is a pain—try not to do that. Who knew that a degree in Women’s Studies is about as valuable as a degree in English (no offense!)?
I’m glad you’re working on your project. But I’m confused about the ancestry part. Mom said you were doing something with poetry. Do you need me to send you my GeneQuest results?
Also, what has you feeling “misplaced,” or is this just a typical overly-dramatic-Cordelia moment? Honestly, babe, you’ve got to stop being so sensitive or you’re never going to survive college.
Trust me, things will be different when you get to Columbia. You won’t care about the little things you worry about now. Maybe a Skype date next week? Soooooo busy.
Love always,
Bea
Kodiak tells me about his project
like a little sea otter.
Bobbing his head up and down,
breaking it apart like it’s an urchin
full of juicy meat,
tender and fulfilling.
“A modern retelling of Tlingit stories.”
He’s so excited
I almost forget last year happened.
I tell him how mine feels like seaweed,
tangling my toes
and keeping me down.
When he asks, “How can I help?”
I try not to let the pinprick of tears
stain the first time we’ve talked
really talked
in years.
“Don’t cry.”
His hand rises between us,
palm upturned.
He’s an eagle again.
Open.
Secrets.
They are as intimate as going palm to palm.
My hand slips into his,
and it’s calloused and soft at the same time.
Fingers intertwined,
his eyes staring into mine like they might swallow
what is left of me.
“I’m here if you need to talk.”
At night,
when Iris texts her friends from her room
and Dad lies slumped over in an armchair
while Mom sleeps in their bed,
I study our family photos.
I look for the wave in my brown hair
and the same nose my sisters have.
I look through old photo albums in the library.
Thumbing through pictures,
vacations to Disneyland,
day trips to Seward,
nights in Alyeska
where we picked blueberries
and ate them until our fingers
were stained purple.
I find a picture of my mother,
belly fat and full of baby.
She’s smiling at the camera
but her eyes are sad.
Bea hangs from her leg
with pigtails and a T-shirt that says,
I’m 3!
3.
The same age she was when I was born.
There’s lurch in my stomach,
a pit
staining my heart instead of my fingers.
The question bigger now.
How?
What if I’m not adopted?
What if the answer to the question
makes it worse?
Makes the puzzle
unsolvable.
Unimaginable.
What if I’m the history
she doesn’t want me to repeat?
Best Mama
Me: Mom, can I ask you a question?
Mom: Sure.
Me: Maybe I’m not adopted.
But would you tell me if I was, like, from a sperm donor or something?
Mom: Cordelia, I don’t have time for this.
I have 3 showings this afternoon.
You’re not adopted.
I didn’t use a sperm donor.
Do your homework.
We can talk later.
Kodiak Jones
Me: Can I ask you something hard?
Kodiak: Yeah.
Me: Last year.
When everything happened with Liv.
Did you ever feel like it was too much?
Like you were going crazy?
Kodiak: We’re all a little bit crazy.
The eclectic, artist types.
But yeah. It wasn’t exactly the best time in my life.
Does this have anything to do with why you were crying the other day?
What’s going on?
Me: I think my parents are lying to me about something.
Something huge.
And it’s too much.
I can’t believe that they’d lie to me about this.
Kodiak: Cordelia.
I hate to break it to you.
But people lie all the time.
Even parents.
Trust me. I almost was one.
Everyone knows
what happened last year.
Because Liv cried mascara streaks
at school and screamed
his name
like his soul was
being expelled
from her body.
KODIAK!
And he turned,
his face red
eyes glossy
fingers tight
into fists
while Liv spoke.
“I’m sorry.
I just couldn’t.”
In the crowded hallway,
everyone waited
for his reaction,
and Kodiak howled
as if his soul
was being expelled
from his body
too.
“I know,”
he sobbed,
choking on his words.
And when she reached for him
he fell apart in her arms
and he seemed little
and littler still next to her.
And everyone knows what happened after that.
Kodiak got drunk in 3rd period
and took his mom’s new car
for a joyride.
He crashed,
destroying a sign,
a mailbox,
and the car
before coming back
for 5th period.
Kodiak got handcuffed
outside the school
while everyone watched.
Even Liv
who cried
and whispered,
“We’ll never be the same.”