“Right,” I say. “I need to see if Gloria is changing its diaper and if it has food to eat. Plus if no one is there to make it quiet when Gloria has her man-friends come to—”
I stop talking and look down at my lap. It has a lot of crumbs on it. Then I say, “I need to make sure no one hurts her.”
“I think we can help with that,” says Patrice.
I look up.
“Social Services is going back to the apartment,” she says. “They’re going to send some people over to verify the facts and get some things straight. They’re going to visit the jail to talk with Crystal with a C, as well.”
“What does verify the facts mean?”
“It means some social workers are going to go to the apartment to figure out why there’s no record of Krystal with a K’s birth. Today, actually. We have our suspicions, but we need to hear what Gloria has to say. And they’re going to make sure that little Krystal is safe.”
“Little Krystal,” I say.
“Five years is a long time for Gloria to take care of her, don’t you think?”
I think. I think and I think some more. “Yes,” I say. “Five years is a very long time.”
EXACTLY 12:41 IN THE AFTERNOON,
TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 30TH
“My Baby Doll’s name is Krystal with a K and she was born on November 16th,” I say. “It’s my sister. It still lives with Gloria but you have to trust me that she’s safe. Because she’s fine, okay?”
I take a deep breath and open my eyes. I am at the lunch table in the cafeteria with all the kids from Room Five.
“But I don’t live with Gloria anymore. I live with my Forever Parents at the Blue House. And last night Patrice called to tell me the social workers went to the apartment and found out Gloria had an undocumented birth. Because Gloria gave birth to my Baby Doll in Crystal with a C’s apartment. It doesn’t even have a social security number or vaccinations but they’re going to get it some. I think I need a beverage.”
I pull up my socks as high and tight as they can go. Ms. Carol is sitting next to me listening behind her glasses. “Slow yourself down there, Ginny,” she says.
Brenda Richardson looks at me from across the lunch table. Her eyebrows are wrinkled and her mouth is open. “Wait,” she says. “You have a sister?”
“That’s right,” I say. “Its name is Krystal with a K and it was born in November. It is my Baby Doll. You didn’t forget its birthday, did you?”
“I thought your sister’s name was Wendy,” says Brenda Richardson.
“That’s my Forever Sister,” I say.
“But she’s a baby, right?”
“Yes. Both of them are babies. Real babies with feet. And mouths that open all the way. But I’m talking about Krystal with a K.”
“Where does it—I mean she—live?” asks Larry.
“With Gloria.”
“And where does Gloria live?” asks Kayla Zadambidge.
“At the apartment where the Green Car is parked,” I say. “It’s in Harrington Falls.”
“Is that in California?” Larry asks and then he jumps up and puts his arms out and starts singing a song about waxing up some surfboards.
“Ginny needs a beverage!” yells Kayla Zadambidge.
Someone gives me a chocolate milk with a straw already in it. “The police took me away from Gloria because she wasn’t taking good care of me. But Krystal with a K stayed in the apartment because I hid it in the—”
I stop talking. In my brain I see everything that happened all over again. Then I remember that Crystal with a C found my Baby Doll.
Everyone looks confused.
“Maybe you should tell Mrs. Lomos,” says Kayla Zadambidge.
“Mrs. Lomos already talked with me. She says it explains a lot that my Baby Doll is a real baby,” I say. “It was born on November 16th, you know. Did all of you write that down?”
Larry and Kayla Zadambidge start looking through their bags for pencils and papers. Brenda Richardson takes a bite of her cookie. “I have a sister, too,” she says. “Her name is Peg.”
“Did you carry it around when you were little and take care of it?” I say. “That’s what I did with mine.”
“Peg is older than me,” says Brenda Richardson.
“I want to take excellent care of Krystal with a K,” I say. “I want to wrap it up in my quilt again and give it lots of human milk. Not breast milk. That’s different. It can sleep in my bed under my arm like before.”
“Babe, I know you love your little sister, but I think you should stay here with all of us. You don’t want to move away, do you?”
I pick up the chocolate milk again and take a drink. Then I put it down.
“I don’t know why the social workers are letting it stay with Gloria,” I say. “Gloria doesn’t know how to take care of babies. Plus she gets mad and—”
I stop talking again.
“Is Gloria your mom?” asks Brenda Richardson.
My brain pushes me back up into the conversation. “Don’t you know I already told you that?” I say. “Gloria is my Birth Mom. She’s the only Birth Mom I’ll ever have.” I pick at my fingers. “And Rick is my Birth Dad. He wants me to come spend a weekend at his house after Christmas. He says it will be good to give everyone a break. Plus my Forever Mom doesn’t like me anymore because she thinks I’m a crazy girl. Last night I heard her say to my Forever Dad that she can’t wait until I’m gone. Then they can all breathe again.”
I try to think but I don’t know what to think anymore. Ms. Carol writes something down in a notebook.
“Ginny needs another beverage!” Kayla Zadambidge says again.
Larry puts his hand on my shoulder. I recoil but he just slips out of his arm braces and kneels down and sings to me about a little surfer watching on the shore. Alison Hill giggles. But I can’t pay any attention to Larry. I sink back into my brain. The social workers don’t understand that Gloria can’t take care of my Baby Doll. They don’t understand that she gets mad and hits. They don’t understand that Crystal with a C spent a few hours with them every day.
Which means I have to make sure Patrice tells them not to leave Gloria alone with it. Gloria needs someone with her all the time or my Baby Doll will suffer serious abuse and neglect which is what happened to me.
Someone pushes me another carton of milk from across the table. This time it’s white. I take the straw out of the chocolate milk and drink the whole thing.
EXACTLY 2:48 IN THE AFTERNOON,
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 1ST
My Forever Dad isn’t home. He is supposed to be here when I get off the bus but I don’t see his car in the driveway. He stopped working after the kidnapping so that he could take care of me. Maybe he is at another doctor’s appointment. He goes to the doctor’s all the time now.
I want to tell him that I need to talk with Patrice again. Just on the phone. I need to talk with Patrice now so that she will tell the social workers that Gloria gets mad and hits. I need to tell her that they can’t leave her alone with my Baby Doll.
The bus pulls away behind me. I go inside. I put my backpack down in my room and go to the stairs. And listen.
I hear my Forever Mom’s door close.
I don’t want to go up there but I have to. My Forever Dad said it’s for the best if I just leave my Forever Mom alone. But I have to ask someone to call Patrice. My Baby Doll isn’t safe.
I walk up the stairs as quiet as I can. I stop in front of the door to the bedroom. I knock.
She doesn’t say Come on in or Wait just a minute or anything. I don’t hear any sound at all.
So I open the door.
She is on the bed holding Baby Wendy. Her eyes are thin slits. “Ginny, get out of here!” she growls.
“But I need to—”
“Now!”
I take a deep breath. I have to stay calm. “I need to—” I say again but this time she interrupts me.
With a yell.
“Ginny, get the hell out of here! Stay away from me and my baby!”
So I close my eyes and yell back, “I need to talk with Patrice!”
Then I hear Baby Wendy crying. Right there in front of me.
I step forward. I know how to help a crying baby.
My Forever Mom jumps up fast.
I back up.
But the crying is getting louder so I start saying, “Ush, ush, ush.” I put out my hands to pick up the baby.
Something hits my face. It knocks me onto the floor.
The crying gets softer. It is far away. My head hurts and I hear footsteps. I hear the front door shut. I get up on my knees. My Forever Mom is gone and Baby Wendy is gone and I don’t hear the crying anymore but then I hear the car. When I stand up and look out the window I see it backing up. It backs onto the street and zooms away.
EXACTLY 1:58 IN THE AFTERNOON,
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 4TH
It snowed last night. We are at Wagon Hill and I am going sledding with my Forever Dad. I don’t know what time it is exactly because I am wearing gloves and I can’t see my watch. I’m wearing my big sunglasses over my regular glasses and when I get out of the car I say, “I know what you’re thinking—I am the spitting image of Michael Jackson.”
And he says, “You’re right. That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
Wagon Hill is a lot of fun in the winter because it’s a great place to go sledding. We went sledding here last winter too before my Forever Mom knew she was pregnant. It is the best sledding hill in the world. It is longer than the football field at the high school except it’s slanted. You can go really fast on it. It is extremely distracting which is great because things were a little intense yesterday at the Blue House. That was what my Forever Dad said when he told me we were going sledding. Then I said I had to talk with Patrice and he said he would call her right away. And he did. He even let me talk with her on the phone and she said not to worry, the social workers were already visiting Gloria every day. Even on the weekends. So I was happy. Patrice said she will give me an update when I go to see her on Wednesday and that I should try not to obsess so much about it.
We already went down the hill once and it was great but when you get to the bottom of a hill you have to walk back to the top. There’s no one to bring you back on a bus or to pull you. I ask my Forever Dad if he will pull me back to the top and he says no. There are other dads pulling their kids so I say, “Well why not?”
His breathing is loud. His face is red. “Because you weigh a hundred twenty-five pounds, and those little kids are only four or five years old,” he says.
But I still see lots of kids getting pulled. “This isn’t fair,” I say. “Look at all those kids. They don’t have to walk. This is tedious.”
My Forever Dad keeps walking. The top of the hill is far away. Sometimes he stops to rest and breathe and I see lots of clouds coming out of his mouth. I’d rather be home watching a video or listening to Michael Jackson or reading a book for exactly thirty minutes. Or organizing my backpack for the respite. Walking up the hill is no fun at all. “Can’t you just pick me up in the car or something?” I say. “I’m not having any fun.”
He turns around. “Did we get hot chocolate on the way here?”
“Yes. From Dunkin’ Donuts,” I say. “It was too hot so we said we should probably leave it in the car to cool a little so that it doesn’t burn my tongue.”
“And haven’t you been looking forward to going sledding since summer?”
“Yes.”
“Then can you maybe try to be just a little bit grateful?”
I know that sometimes you have to pretend that you’re grateful or you get hit. But my Forever Parents don’t hit. They say that they don’t believe in it which means I don’t have to pretend. But on Wednesday which was three days ago my Forever Mom hit me when I tried to pick the baby up. So maybe she hits now but my Forever Dad still doesn’t.
Plus grateful means you’re happy about something or that you like it or that you maybe don’t mind. But I mind walking up the hill. “This is so, so tedious,” I say.
My Forever Dad puts his hands up and lets them fall against his legs. “Come on,” he says. “We’ll get to the top faster if we keep walking.” I follow him.
“Isn’t there something more fun we can do?” I say.
He turns around again. “Are you crazy?” he says. “We are here because you want to go sledding, and now you don’t even want to go? Do you have any idea how much bullshit we go through for you? Do you have any idea how high my blood pressure is? Your mother won’t come out of the bedroom and I’m missing a ton of time at work. This isn’t routine, Ginny. This is pretty much unbearable. I’m trying to be as gracious and generous as I can, but I don’t know how much longer we can keep it up.”
Bullshit means poop that comes out of a cow but sometimes it’s an expression. “You’re joking me, right?” I say. I look at him over my glasses.
But my Forever Dad doesn’t laugh or smile like he usually does. “We’re going home,” he says. “No more sledding today. I just can’t do it.”
“But I want to go down one more time!” I say. And I stomp my foot.
“The car is over there,” he says pointing to the side of the hill. “We’ll get there faster if we cut across the trails. Watch out for all the sleds, all right?”
He starts walking across the sled trails. A little girl comes down right in front of him in a blow-up sled shaped like a donut. He waits for her and then crosses. But I still don’t want to go home so I stay where I am. He sees that I haven’t moved and starts coming back toward me. Two more sleds zoom past. When he gets over to me his breathing is really, really hard. “Ginny, you have to come back with me to the car. If you don’t, you won’t be allowed to watch any videos or listen to Michael Jackson for a whole week.”
I cross my arms and start walking next to him. “This is not fun!” I say. I stomp across the snow. “I will not be treated this way! I want to go live with Rick!”
“Ginny!” my Forever Dad shouts. “Look out!”
But I am not listening because I have more to say. “I am going—” I say but then my Forever Dad grabs my arm and pulls me down onto the ground. Some little kids start yelling and laughing. Their voices are right in my ear and then they slide away. From where I am lying in the snow I see a big long wooden sled with four kids on it. It goes down the rest of the hill fast.
I sit up. Then I stand. Snow is on my pants and coat. “I am angry!” I say. Some people stop walking up the hill. They look at me.
My Forever Dad stands up too. “Ginny, that sled almost hit you! And you’re complaining that I moved you out of the way? Let’s just get to the car,” he says and takes my arm.
I recoil. “You are not allowed to touch me,” I tell him when I stand up straight again. “This is my body! Patrice said so! No one is allowed to touch my body unless I say it is okay! And I do not say it is okay!”
Because I don’t like it at all when men touch me. They should all stay upstairs with Gloria in her bedroom and leave me alone.
He puts his hand on his chest and breathes some more. “If you don’t start walking to the car, you can use that damn body of yours to walk home,” he says. “And if I get to the car before you do, I’m going to drink your hot chocolate.”
“Oh no you’re not!” I say. I start walking fast. I go right past him and move out of the way when three more sleds come down the hill. I keep walking and walking and then I get to the place where all the cars are parked. I stand next to ours until my Forever Dad gets there. He unlocks the door and I climb insid
e. I put my seat belt on and grab my hot chocolate. It is warm, not hot, so I am happy.
EXACTLY 3:55 IN THE AFTERNOON,
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 8TH
“So the date will be Friday, January 7th,” says Patrice. I want to ask her for the update but she said a real date and dates are important. When I hear a date I have to put it in my brain and think about it. A lot.
Plus I am excited. January 7th is when I’ll go to Rick’s house. For a respite. He will have a bedroom all set up for me but I’m hoping I don’t have to go see it. I’m hoping he brings me straight up to Canada instead. I will talk with him about it as soon as we get in the car. The social workers will visit Gloria every day to keep my Baby Doll safe and then Gloria will drive it up to Canada to meet us. Then I will take over and take excellent care of it again.
“He’ll pick you up right from school,” says Patrice. “All your things will be in the backseat, ready to go.”
“Will my quilt be there?” I ask. Because if my secret plan works out I won’t be coming back to the Blue House. I’m okay leaving everything else there but not my quilt because my Baby Doll likes my quilt and I’ll need something to wrap it in at night.
“Of course,” says Patrice. “Remember, you’ll help your dad pack everything the night before.”
“On Thursday night,” I say.
Patrice nods. “On Thursday night. You’ll only need enough clothes for two days, but you can certainly bring your quilt. Now, let’s talk about your Forever Mom. I understand that something happened between the two of you this last week. Maura called to explain it.”
“She hit me,” I say.
“Why did she do that?”
“Because I was going to pick up the baby.”
“Did she say not to pick up the baby?”
“No.”
“What did she tell you, then?”
“She told me to get the hell out of here.”
“It’s wrong to hit people, Ginny. It’s completely unacceptable and it’s never, ever okay. And I know you know that. What your Forever Mom did was wrong, and I’ve already talked with your parents about it. But I still need you to do something for me. I need you to remember that we need to keep some space between ourselves and people who are yelling at us. They just aren’t safe. It wasn’t safe to walk toward your Forever Mom when she was angry. Can you remember that? I mean, can you keep a safe distance from your mom if she gets angry and yells again?”
Ginny Moon Page 15