I
I remembered the 1960s
when I would count the seconds
walking home from elementary school
until mom handed me my blue overnight bag
with my favorite flannel pjs and drove me
on Fridays to my girlfriend’s house.
How their home was like ones mom fantasized
about in Better Homes & Gardens magazine.
Upstairs had three bedrooms with full baths for kids,
and downstairs, off a marble foyer with a chandelier,
was a living room half the size of our house.
How ladies in cocktail dresses and high heels
would sit straight-backed on the edge
of puffy sofas and chairs with their ankles crossed.
Husbands in suits & ties would bring them drinks.
How we tiptoed by to gaze at elegance, respectability.
Her mom ushered us to my friend’s bedroom
to play Candy Land or with Barbies.
II
Her younger brother John, alone in his room,
started screaming: No, Dad, please no.
How my friend kept on playing with Barbie,
said, John wants to wear dresses, be called Suzy,
and visit with the party guests. Dad gives him a shot,
lets him sleep it off so no one knows about him. How I lay awake
in her poster bed that night wondering about John,
went home the next morning, told mom.
She struck a match, lit a Tareyton cigarette,
said nothing. She started driving me
to the skating rink to meet new friends.
A few years later, she showed me John’s obit.
No cause listed. We thought—suicide?
III
How I wish my friend and I could have played
dress up with Suzy the night of her parents’ party.
Helped her put bright red lipstick on her lips.
Wear mascara.
Her favorite dress.
 |
| The Advocate, November 7, 2024 |
Janice Lloyd is a former journalist who spent her career at USA TODAY, is a married lesbian and writes poetry she workshops with other poets.
