Heterochromia

In the 3rd grade I told Tim
“My father’s gay”, because
I liked the way his dimples curled
under his eyes when he laughed,
and I knew he’d laugh a lot
when I told him.

There was an orange silence,
and then the pattering of
recovery out of my mouth as
I told him instead, that I could
count to a thousand and three.

A thousand and three?
A thousand and three I said.
I can also light candles
with my pinky toes, and sometimes
when I think hard enough dogs
go off like car alarms.

I’m a selkie in the water, only salt,
and there are three dots on
my stomach that spell
out “Hello? Is anybody in there?”.

Occasionally I speak italian,
and my sister hums in fluent
violin. I’ve never been to
Montana but I want to live
there when I’m older because
I feel like it’d look nice on paper.

I count constellations in my free time.

Also sometimes, I’m
a werewolf.

A werewolf?
A werewolf.

One time our electricity
and water got shut off for
8 days and I hardly
bathed, not once.

But you’re a werewolf? he said
Yes I’m a werewolf, but
it’s more of an optional
thing for me if law school doesn’t
work out.

Tim nodded his little 10 year old
fingers and scratched under
his eye like he could peel
away his freckles and hide
beneath them.
That’s nice, he said, and
repositioned himself at his
desk as to turn away from
me.

Tim and I never talked
again because I hated
the way his cheeks plummed out
when he laughed, and because
he told our entire 3rd grade class
that my father was gay.