What would the diet doctor say?

Or my father,

who hasn’t really seen me

go through this change at all?

It doesn’t matter,

because I like myself.

All of myself.

Cryptozoologist,

mountain survivor,

boogie boarder,

someone with friends

who care about me.

I dig my feet into the warm sand,

Lisa next to me, laughing,

the spray of the ocean,

sudden and alive.

I look back toward the mountains.

I’ve been in there,

and I feel the ache

of my wet feet along the trails,

and out toward the sea,

in the horizon,

is the promise

of becoming

something more

than who I am now

or something else

that I don’t have to ever be again.

Dropping Lisa Off

When we reach Miller Avenue,

she takes my hand,

lifts it up to her forehead.

I don’t waaannnnt to say good-bye,

she cries, in her exaggerated, whiny voice.

We turn onto Throckmorton.

Lisa’s mom is standing outside,

smiling. She runs to the car,

opens the door.

We all get out

in a sea of hugs.

Lisa shows

her the paintings from the summer.

After a while, the Artist

takes Lisa by the arm,

and they walk away for a few moments

beneath the old redwoods.

There’s crying

and a few words not for any other ears,

and as they walk back,

Lisa’s head rests on the Artist’s shoulder.

Then Lisa hugs her tightly,

and the moms go off together

for a little while.

Inside Lisa’s room,

I stare at all the pictures

of Def Leppard,

Foo Fighters, dragons

and Pegasus, and warriors

we’ve drawn together.

I have a million questions

I want to ask her

about the future.

We make plans.

We’ll meet

before school

near the clock tower

by the flower beds.

She looks at me,

You know you will always be my friend,

even when I don’t make it to school.

Don’t forget. She leans in,

kisses me on the forehead.

I feel the perfect weight

of her hand on my neck.

I know,

I say.

Promise? she asks.

I really do.

On the way out, I hear her laughing as she yells out,

You should call Gretchen.

After Summer

Gretchen

We meet at

the vintage record store

in Larkspur.

I know it’s her

in a pea-green

military jacket,

striped leggings,

and brown boots.

It took me one hour

to decide what to wear,

my confidence a little

shaken by gaining back

a few pounds.

I try to find a perfect

combination

but end up with

jeans and a white

Hawaiian shirt

with green flowers.

Her hair is orange,

Pippi Longstocking

pigtails

beneath her fuzzy

black fedora.

She is so tall,

taller than me.

When I walk up to her,

she looks slowly over

and smiles.

Then, without even stopping,

she puts her long arms out

and hugs me right away.

Like, finally!

she says.

She holds up

Purple Rain.