Anything was better than facing Ma about the Snickers.
But instead of lighting into me like I’d been dreading, Ma was quiet on the walk to the bus stop. And then on the bus, she was still not acting mad when she said, “There’s something I need to explain to you.”
I waited, not sure where this was going.
“You’re eleven,” she said.
It didn’t sound like she was asking this time, but she did have a worried look on her face. Like my being eleven might be a deadly condition. “So?”
“So if something happens to you while I’ve left you home alone, they could take you from me.”
“What? Why?”
“Because here you need to be twelve to be left alone.”
“Why?”
“It’s the law. Ellie told me. I didn’t believe her at first, but I checked, and it’s true. And if social workers found out you were on your own and saw where we’re living…”
“What’s wrong with where we’re livin’?”
Her look threw me back into the zoo. Only instead of making me feel like some freak creature in a cage, this look said I was something cute and cuddly. “Ma! Why you lookin’ at me like that?”
She kissed me on the forehead and sighed. “Oh, Lincoln.”
This was definitely not going the way I’d expected. And something about that made me blurt out, “Ma, I’m sorry for sneaking out, okay? It was just downstairs. That’s all.”
“I’m more worried about the lying.”
“I didn’t lie!”
“You did some pretty fancy dodging, which has the same intention.”
I looked down.
“I’m also worried about where you got the money.”
I frowned and thought hard about how to answer.
“Lincoln. Tell me.”
“You have to promise not to…not to do anything.”
“Do anything like what?”
“Like anything!”
“Child, if you’re gettin’ mixed up in—”
“I’m not. I’m not mixed up in anything. I got three dollars for helping an old lady, okay?”
The rest came busting out like a sack of marbles scattering across the floor. I told her about breaking down a door, taking off a door, and fixing up a door. And I tried to hold back about the kitty litter and garbage and the three dollars being hush money, but that all clattered out, too. By the time I quit talking, my sack of secrets was empty.
I held my breath, watching Ma collect all the things I’d said. She seemed to be picking them up one at a time.
Carefully.
Putting them inside a sack of her own.
“Ma,” I said. “Mrs. Graves doesn’t want folks knowin’. Or interferin’.”
Ma nodded. “Like I don’t want folks knowin’. Or interferin’.”
What she was saying took a second to sink in. “You mean with us?”
“Mm-hmm.” She shook her head. “But with us, you’re getting bigger and stronger. With her…it’s just downhill. And if she can’t even open her bathroom door…?”
“That’s not a problem anymore.” I frowned. “She doesn’t want to wind up at Brookside.”
Ma frowned back. “She’d be lucky to wind up at Brookside. Most places aren’t near as nice as Brookside.”
“So why’s Suzie York always lookin’ for a way out?”
Ma kept quiet.
“Besides, Mrs. Graves remembered my name. And it’s not like she can’t throw out her garbage. She just doesn’t want to.”
“And why’s that?”
“She…she’s waitin’ for the stuff to come in handy.”
Ma leveled a look at me, then shook her head again and sighed. “Lincoln, she needs help.”
“She doesn’t think so!” I leaned back and crossed my arms. “And after today, I’m done with folks meddlin’ in my business, and I sure don’t want to meddle in theirs.” I shot her an arrow-eye. “Or have a ma who does.”
She checked me over. “Does this have to do with that girl?”
I gave a snort, and on the subject of Kandi Kain, that’s all I was spillin’.
—
When we got to the corner market, Levi was not in his spot.
Another guy was.
The new guy was younger but had long stringy hair and watery eyes. His sign said:
WHY LIE? I NEED A BEER!
Ma offered him the wrapped-up leftovers, and he took them but didn’t thank her. And after we’d set off toward the gate, the food came flying at us, hitting Ma in the back. “I ain’t no dog,” he yelled.
Ma grabbed me when I made like I was gonna clock him, and she pulled me along quick, without even looking back.
After we’d ducked through the gate, she held still a minute, then took a deep breath and said, “It’s been a day full of learnin’.”
It seemed crazy to me that she’d say that after being smacked in the back with leftovers.
Then again, it seemed like the only sane way to sum up the day.
It wasn’t until we were eating supper that I thought to ask. “The Psychic Vampire struck again, huh?”
Ma’s head wiggled. “It’s unbelievable.” She lowered her voice like she was afraid Mrs. White might hear. “You know what she said to me?”
“What?”
“ ‘No one’s taking my window seat!’ ”
“She said that?” My voice was whisperin’ now, too. It all seemed so creepy.
“Mm-hmm.” She leaned in a little. “She claims folks come in at night and beat her up so they can get her spot.”
“Beat her up?”
“But she fights them off.”
“She can’t even sit up!”
Ma sat back. “Well, she’s holding on to her window, I can tell you that.”
I gave that a minute, then asked, “So who’s next?”
“There’s talk of leaving the bed empty.”
“Really?”
“Mm-hmm.” She scooped up some stew. “Despite the waiting list.”
“Seems to me there’s a big waitin’ list to get out of that place,” I said. “You should have seen the crazies trying to climb the fence today!”
She frowned. “I heard. Gloria spotted them on the monitor.”
“The monitor?”
“The whole outside’s covered by cameras. You never noticed?”
I shook my head. “So there’s no hope of them escapin’?”
“Hope? What do you mean, hope?”
“They’re never gonna bust free?”
She was quiet, picking around her stew for a minute. “They’re not prisoners, Lincoln.”
I about sprayed my food. “Tell that to Suzie York. Or to that Sergeant Baker guy.”
“Who?”
“The guy giving crazies boosts over the fence!”
She frowned. And when she spoke again, it was quiet, but in a way that was tellin’ me to hear her loud and clear. “You need to stop calling them crazies. They have dementia.”
“That’s just a nice way of saying they’re crazy.”
She went on like I hadn’t said a word. “And if they did get out, they’d be lost or dead in no time. They’re like children, Lincoln. Someone needs to care for them.”
Questions went flyin’ through my head. Like, Well, who put ’em in there? Why don’t they take care of them?
But those questions also sent pictures flying through my head. Pictures of crazies, living with us. Paula at our supper table, tapping. Debbie off in a corner, hollerin’, “WHAT IS YOUR NAME?” Any one of them leaving puddles on the furniture or screamin’ bloody murder in the shower or flingin’ food around the place—all stuff I’d seen at Brookside.
Instead of asking my questions, I said nothing. But Ma was quiet, too, which usually means a talk is brewing.
Sure enough, right before bed Ma came and sat on my mattress. She had some folded papers in her hands and said, “The folks living at Brookside weren’t always crazy.”
&nbs
p; I just nodded, wondering which way this was going.
“I know it’s hard to picture, but they were once eleven, just like you. And I promise you, they never thought they’d be living at Brookside.”
A vision of kids from school all shriveled up and hunched over walkers popped into my head. Colby’s walker was decorated with feathers, and she looked like an old bird, hobbling along. Troy Pilkers was yellin’ stuff and hurling food, Hilly Howard was in a corner, staring at her bracelets, and Kandi was bossing everyone around, teeth clacking and diaper showing.
“I’ve been reading these,” Ma said, pulling me out of my nightmare. “They’ve helped give me understanding and patience when I’m about out.”
“What are they?” I asked.
She handed them over. “Every one of these has a ‘Resident Spotlight.’ That’s the part to read.”
“What’s a Resident Spotlight?”
“You’ll see. Just read.” Then she stood up and went to bed.
When I unfolded the stack, I found myself face to face with the Brookside Bulletin. On top was the November issue, behind it was October, behind that, September and clear back to June—back to before Ma was even working there.
The front page of the November issue had a boxed-in part about Veterans Day, inviting folks to come to a celebration honoring the veterans who were living at Brookside. The date was already past, and I sure hadn’t heard anything about it, but according to the newsletter, the celebration included refreshments and a movie called Flags of Our Fathers.
It sounded like a party.
Outside the box there were three announcements about November activities, with headlines reading FOLLIES TO PERFORM AT BROOKSIDE and EXPERIENCE THE JUNIOR JAZZ TRIO and LORI’S CASUALS FASHION SHOW.
I stared at the page, wondering if this was the same Brookside I’d been going to every day.
Then I turned the page and saw big bold letters announcing RESIDENT SPOTLIGHT—the part Ma had told me to read—and saw that the article was about Paula.
Crazy, tapping Paula.
There was a picture of her looking just like I knew her. But none of that matched a whole page of small print about her. It was written by her two daughters and started with where Paula was born and about her family, where she grew up and went to school—regular stuff. But then it told how she’d worked for thirty years as a civil rights attorney and loved to go rock-climbing.
By the end of the article, my jaw was dangling. I could not picture Crazy Paula rock-climbing. Or working as a lawyer! All I could see was a shriveled-up woman with drooping eyes, tapping.
So…maybe all that tapping came from hearing the judge slam a gavel for thirty years. Maybe that sound was stuck so deep in her brain that it was the last thing to go.
But…an attorney?
What had happened to her? Had she fallen off a rock and hit her head?
I went back to the article and found out that, no, she hadn’t hit her head. She’d just slowly lost her mind.
When I was done with that Resident Spotlight I read the others, and they were all just as flabbergasting. I learned that Peggy Riggs used to teach calculus, Mrs. White had done missions in Africa, Droolin’ Stu used to be a mechanical engineer, and Suzie York had six kids and seventeen grandkids.
“Ma?” I called, and when she didn’t answer, I went to her room. “Ma?”
“What is it?” She was in bed, sounding mighty drowsy.
“Why do some old folks lose their minds and others don’t?”
She propped up a little. “They don’t really know. But they’re trying to figure it out.”
“Who is?”
“Scientists. Doctors. Folks like that.”
“So it’s not from drinking too much booze or hitting your head or eating aluminum?”
“Eating aluminum?”
“Well, drinking soda out of a can. Someone told me once it can give you Alzheimer’s.”
She laughed a little. “Well, I don’t know about that. And liquor and hitting your head won’t help, that’s for sure, but Debbie Rucker’s the only one at Brookside I know of who had something like that happen. A blood vessel broke in her brain.”
“But…why’d that make her want to know folks’ names?”
Ma yawned. “The brain is complicated, Lincoln. I’m not sure anyone can really answer that question.” Her eyes were drooping, but she patted the bed, and when I sat on it, she held my hand and said, “I only want two things from you regardin’ this, okay?”
I nodded, waiting.
“Appreciate being young. I know that can be hard, but you’ll be old soon enough, and there’s no goin’ back.”
I nodded. “And?”
“And quit callin’ them crazies. They can’t help the state they’re in.”
I looked down.
“Is that a ‘Yes, ma’am’?” she asked, and one eyebrow was cocked way up.
I nodded.
“So let’s hear it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She gave me a pat. “Now go to bed.”
Something I was more’n happy to do.
I woke up knowing I had to survive only one day of Troy Pilkers tracking me down and Kandi Kain spreading stories about me at school before having five days off for Thanksgiving break.
Just one day of duckin’ and dodgin’ and five days of ahhhh.
Then Ma went and monkey-wrenched me.
“You’re going to have to come with me tomorrow and Thursday. And Friday,” she said, bustling around the kitchen.
“What?”
She tased me with a look. “Got wax in your ears, child?”
“Ma! You can’t be serious!”
“Where else you gonna go?”
“I’ll just stay here!”
“No, you won’t.”
“But, Ma!”
“Get movin’. I can’t have you missin’ the bus.”
The bus was about to leave when I got to my stop, but the driver saw me coming and flapped the doors back open. And when I ran up the steps, she gave me a wink and a grin. “Good morning, Lincoln,” she said. “We should be smooth sailing for the rest of the year.”
“Ma’am?”
She leaned over a little and lowered her voice. “Our problem is definitely not returning.” She gave me another wink and wagged her head to the back of the bus. “Go on.”
I moved along but my mind was a jumble. Had the bus driver known all year that food was flingin’ in the back of her bus? And if she had, why hadn’t she kicked Troy off the bus a long time ago?
Or maybe she knew something was going on but couldn’t peg what. Maybe she found food splats all over at the end of the day and cursed whoever was doing it. Maybe Kandi tattling was the break she’d been waiting for all year.
As I walked along looking for a seat, I got a sick feeling in my stomach. Not like the one I got every day, knowing I was moving toward the fling zone. This one was from feeling like a coward. I hadn’t stuck up for myself—I’d just taken it. Instead of swattin’ at the bee, I’d let it sting me, over and over and over. Things hadn’t gotten any better with me ignoring Troy—they’d gotten worse.
Until Kandi had come along and stuck her nose in things.
I was smashed between the gears of wanting to throttle Kandi and knowing I should thank her for real. Like I meant it.
It was a terrible place to be caught.
Hilly was waving from the back of the bus. “Hey!” she called. “Back here!”
I moved along, acting like a snake might jump out and bite me, but I did end up sitting next to her.
“So?” she said, twiddlin’ her bracelets.
“So?” I said back.
“How are things with you and Kandi?”
I slid her a look. “Painful.”
“Ooooh,” she said, reading way too much into one word. Then she slid me a look back and said, “Well, you should be nicer to her.”
Her telling me that sent me in the opposite direction. “I’m p
lenty nice to her!”
She crossed her arms and full-on looked at me. And after she got done sizing me up with a frown, she said, “If that’s your idea of nice, then no wonder you don’t have any friends.”
“What? How would you know about my friends? How would you know anything?”
She just shrugged and went back to messin’ with her bracelets, and I turned away from her, feeling hot and mighty angry.
And then Ma’s voice started running through my head.
On our long bus ride escaping Cliff, Ma told me that in fights, nothing makes a person madder than the truth. “Anger won’t change the truth. It just works like a drug that makes you feel better for a while. But no matter how much you yell or blame or how many fists you throw, the truth’ll be there waiting for you when you sober up. The only way out is to face the truth and try and fix things.”
It had started off with her talking about Cliff but had turned into something that felt bigger than him. Her eyes were drilling into me as she spoke, and her voice was powerful in how quiet it was. Even as tired as I was, I could tell she wasn’t just explaining things.
She was warning me.
I didn’t really understand why on that bus, but as I got off this one, it hit home.
I was mad.
I was plenty mad!
But the sick feeling in my stomach was coming from the truth.
A truth that had nothin’ to do with anyone but me.
It was a complicated feeling. One that I sure wasn’t going to be able to sort out before class started. On the one hand, Kandi had gotten Troy Pilkers kicked off the bus. On the other, she had spied on me, followed me, and nosed her way into stuff that was none of her business. And worst of all, she talked. What a mess she’d made, tellin’ folks about my writing. And now that she knew where I went after school, everybody would know!
I headed for the media center to hide out, picturing how the day would go. I could just see it—kids whispering, their eyes scooting around, watching me. That grew into me imagining kids whispering and pointing, with nobody even bothering to do the sly-eye. Soon my mind was in a house of terrors, with kids ballooning in size, pointing and laughing. HHHA-HA-HA! HHHA-HA-HA!
Then a voice broke into my house of terrors. “She’s kidding, right?”
The Secret Life of Lincoln Jones Page 11