by C. Penticoff
"I know."
"Don't do any private dances. You should have enough just from dancing."
"I know, Tyson."
"We'll I'm gonna have to stop by Jason's house to tell him I can't come." He tossed the diced onions in with the ground beef and olives.
"Is his phone still broken?"
"Yep. It's annoying as fuck."
I shoved the block of cheese over to his side of the counter. "Shred this cheese."
He unenthusiastically began shredding the cheese, while I started quickly cooking the corn tortillas in the pan of oil, then placing them on a paper towel I had set out.
"Just make sure you're back by midnight. That's when I'm leaving, and you need to be here for Coyote,” I explained.
When I said that, I realized I hadn't ever heard back from my mom earlier when I texted her. I swooped my phone from my pocket and unlocked my screen saver. When I opened up our text conversation, there was nothing from her. Only the last I sent, which read you'll have her back at dinner time, right? My heart sank a little. My mother was so fucking irresponsible and I already knew where this was going. She was going to keep Coyote for longer than she was supposed to and I had no clue where the fuck they were.
"Fuck, Tyson."
"What?"
"I haven't heard back from Mom."
"Don't worry. She'll have her here soon."
"Call her, please. If I call, I'll be a bitch. Then she'll be a bitch."
"Then you'll be a bigger bitch. And it'll be battle of the bitches."
"You dickhead," I laughed and softly punched his shoulder.
Tyson called her, but of course she didn't answer.
"Fucking great," I said.
"Izzy, chill. Mom never answers her phone. How many times has it taken days to get a hold of her?"
He's probably right. I just needed to relax. It was five o'clock and she said she'd have her back. Who knew what time "dinner" meant to her. "If I don't see or hear from her by seven o'clock, I'm gonna be pissed."
"Am I done helping?"
"Yeah, thank you." He could've definitely stayed to help me stuff the enchiladas, but I didn't want to hear him whine.
"I'm gonna go finish my show now."
"Where's your girlfriend, by the way?"
"Work."
"Why don't you ask her if we can borrow money for the electric bill? She's always here eating our food and using up our resources."
"I guess I can ask her. How much is the bill?"
"Three hundred fifty nine."
"What the fuck?"
"Two months worth. It's gonna get shut off here pretty soon."
Beep beep.
My cell phone pinged and I saw the name Kent on my notification screen. He texted asking if I was busy. I responded with, Yes, sorry. I'll text you tomorrow.
Prissy walked out with a clipboard with her mouth turned and her eyebrows pursed together. "What's going on?"
Ty and I stared at each other for a second. "Enchiladas are what's going on." I stuffed one corn tortilla with the filling. "Are you okay?"
"It's five o'clock."
"What's your point, Priscilla?" Tyson asked.
Priscilla walked up to the corkboard which had the new schedule she made the week prior.
"We're scheduled to practice our fire drill."
"Okay, Pris, it's gonna have to wait until tomorrow."
"It can't, Izzy. Now the entire schedule is going to be thrown off. At five thirty, I'm supposed to be taking a walk." She began breathing heavily.
I could tell she was in a state of mind where anxiety was taking her over. "How about this--switch the fire drill and your walk." To avoid dealing with a panic attack, I wasn't even going to press the idea of doing it the next day.
"How?" She asked.
"Go on your walk right now. By the time five thirty comes around, the enchiladas will be in the oven and I'll be ready to do the fire drill."
"Oh." Prissy smiled. "That should work just fine." She walked out the door.
I sighed, relieved that it worked. This new obsession with a schedule was going to be the death of me. I wanted to throw the damn thing out the window because of the problems it was causing her. Priscilla was special. She had severe anxiety at times, she was socially awkward, and had some sensory issues. Loud noises or crowds were the worst for her. My earliest memories of her were me holding her tight in her bedroom while our Mom and Dad screamed and yelled at each other. I was only seven or eight years old at the time. This was right before my father died. Every time they fought, she would go into major panic mode. I felt it was the root of her anxiety. To this day, when people started to get in a heated argument, she'd start to panic.
I finished stuffing the enchiladas, stuck them in the oven, and quickly cleaned up. Like clockwork, Prissy walked in at five twenty-five, ready for the fire drill.
"Just enough time for a bathroom break," she said. She came back a few minutes later with her phone in hand.
"I've downloaded an app that simulates a smoke alarm in our house which we'll be using as our fire drill alarm. Follow me to the smoke alarm." We followed her and she demonstrated about testing a smoke alarm to make sure it still works and explained that it needed to be done however many times per month, or year-- or something. All I know is this damn demonstration took ten minutes and Tyson and I were starting to nod out. She's lucky we love her. She was having us do this fire alarm because we had a neighbor a few apartments down whose living room caught on fire. It was small and caused little damage, but it had Prissy all freaked out and paranoid. She put this "training" together, which I was happy to oblige if it would just calm her down about fires.
"Now, the drill begins."
She positioned me in the kitchen, while she made Tyson sit on the couch, like he was playing his video game. She even made me get out the scrub brush and a dish to act as if I was washing dishes. She sounded her fake smoke alarm and we all practiced exiting the front door in a timely fashion. We practiced this a few times, positioned in different areas of the house, then she took us to my bedroom to conduct another drill.
"Now, what do you think we would do in the event of a fire if you were stuck in your room? Say, the fire's right outside your bedroom door."
"We're jumpin' out the window," Tyson said.
"Oh great. So we get to die from jumping out a window rather than smoke asphyxiation," I sassed.
"Wrong." Priscilla pulled something off my bed that I hadn't even noticed was there. It was a window ladder. I wonder how long that's been sitting there. "Does anyone know how to use one of these?" Tyson and I blinked and stared. "Really?" She seemed unimpressed.
Pris went over with us how to use the window ladder when suddenly, a familiar scent crept inside my nostrils. I sniffed. "Prissy, did you get some kind of a smoke simulator?
"Just the alarm," she replied, holding up her phone.
"Do you smell smoke?" I asked, while sniffing loudly. They both did the same, but before they had a chance to respond, I realized something. "The enchiladas!"
As I rushed down the hallway, the smoke detector began screaming and wailing. "Tyson, get a towel and wave it in front of the smoke detector to shut it up!" I turned the corner to the kitchen to see a red blaze hovering over my stove. I immediately realized I left a burner on accidentally and threw a towel on it, thinking it wasn't hot any longer.
"Fuck!" I grabbed the sink hose and began squirting it, but it wouldn't go out.
Tyson rushed in, immediately rushed back out, and came back with a fire distinguisher. He pulled something out of the handle and threw it. My sister reacted to the sound of it hitting the metal fridge. Foam sprayed from the distinguisher and onto the towel. Within seconds, the flame was gone.
We all stood, staring at the stove and didn't say anything at first. My sister was visibly shaking. It was probably from the sound of the fire alarm more than anything else. "It's okay, Priscilla." I gave her shoulder a gentle pat.
"Why didn't
I think of that?" I watched Tyson put the fire extinguisher back. I realized at that moment that I probably needed to learn how to use one of those things.
Peeking into the oven, I noticed the enchiladas were still good and I sighed in relief.
"Let's continue with the lesson, guys."
"Priscilla. Tomorrow, okay?"
She must've known I was serious because she walked off into the living room where Tyson was without giving me a fuss, despite the unfinished training.
I cleaned up the foam and the towel--at least what was left of it. I knew the enchiladas were almost done and I didn't want them to burn too, so I parked my ass right in the kitchen. Leaning with my butt against the warm oven, I thought about rent. I thought about how I had to go dance in a few hours. I was honestly dreading it. Sometimes I wished I had never done it because once you do it, it gets easier after you know you're capable of it. I imagine that's how anything sinful worked--if you believe that kind of stuff.
Sin. I didn't know if sin was a real thing, and if it was, I didn't know if every listed sin was all that bad. I just knew what felt wrong and what felt right. Stripping down didn't feel right. Sure, I may not have judged other women for it, but it wasn't something I wanted for myself.
I just need to pay rent, then I'll never do it again, I told myself for the twelfth time in my life.
Seven o'clock finally came and, just as I worried, there was still no word from my mother.
I had Tyson call her again with no luck. I called her at least twenty times in a row, like a psycho ex.
Tyson kept telling me not to worry, and that was just pissing me off more, so I went to my room, opened up the window and lit a smoke. That's when Priscilla came walking in.
"Is everything okay?" she asked.
"Not really. Mom was supposed to have Coyote back here and she's not answering her phone."
"Oh no. Do you think she's okay?"
"I think she's going to be fine, but mom doesn't make the best decisions, nor does she hang around the best people or places, so I'd like Coyote back here with me to assure she's safe." I rubbed my temples but pulled my hand away quickly to avoid catching my hair on fire. Setting the stove on fire was enough that day.
"Why don't you call the police? If mom was supposed to have her back and isn't answering your calls, then she deserves it." Even though Prissy's heart was softer than cotton usually, she was much like me with our useless mother. She had no patience for Mom. Tyson was the one who still had a soft spot for her...and Grayson. But I tried not to think about him.
"I wish I could, Prissy. But I can't just call the cops and say 'hey, I'd like to report a missing child. She's with her mom.' It wouldn't matter to them what our situation is. She's her mom. Legally, she's allowed to have her whenever and wherever she wants."
Saying that out loud made the sitting butterflies in my stomach start to flutter. Why did I have to worry about this shit? Why couldn't I be just like any other twenty year old girl? If I just had a normal life--a normal fucking mother-- I could be out having fun with my friends and not worrying about my God damn siblings.
"God, I hate that bitch." I flicked my cigarette ashes out the window and dialed my mom's phone number again. No answer. So I called five more times and finally left a voicemail, buzzing with the rage of a thousand angry wasps.
"You really shouldn't be smoking in here, sissy," Priscilla told me as I pulled out another smoke.
"You're right. I'll go out front."
I stepped out onto my front door step, closed the door, and leaned my back against it. I cried as my body slowly descended to the ground until I was sitting on my ass, hugging my knees.
Just then, an older woman with a coffee pot in her hand and a plastic grocery bag hanging off her wrist came walking up the stairs. Gray strands of hair trickled throughout a dark brown color that made her green eyes pop. "What's the matter, sweetie?" She spoke this with an accent. It occurred to me that she was the new neighbor who just moved in.
"Nothing. I'm fine."
She half smiled. "I'd hate to see you when you're not fine," she joked.
She made me crack a little smile.
"Tell me what's really going on."
"Long story."
She opened up her door, then walked in and came back outside without her stuff, and sat down next to me. "I've got time."
She had a calm energy to her. "Just stressed out." I sniffled.
"Stressed out about what exactly?"
"Money. Family."
"The usual, huh?"
"Yeah," I half-laughed through my sniffling.
"You seem pretty young. Why are you stressing about money?"
"I lost my job and I've gotta somehow pay my rent this week."
"Do you have roommates that can front you money until you find a job?"
"My roommates are my siblings." I put air quotes around the word roommates. I knew the next question was going to be about my parents, so I said, "I have custody of my three siblings." I lied to her. I couldn't risk her calling CPS on my mother.
"How old are you?"
"Twenty."
"That's a lot of responsibility for a twenty year old girl."
"Yeah, you could say that."
"How does that make you feel having to care for your siblings?"
"I don't know. I love them and will always fight for them. It's hard, but I wouldn't want them anywhere else. I'm just tired of being piss ass poor and worrying about money so much. I wish I could win the damn lottery so all this anxiety could go away." She raised her eyebrows when I cussed. Maybe she didn't like cussing, but I didn't really care at that moment.
"Hang on." She walked inside and came out with something in her hand. "You see this peach?" She tossed it in the air toward me and I caught it with my right hand.
"Yeah." Why the hell did she bring a peach out here?
"Does it seem extraordinary to you?"
"No. It's a peach." I was trying my best to hide the fact that I was very unamused and slightly concerned for her mental well being.
"Awe, see. You've got it all wrong. This peach is amazing. The ground nourishes a seed, which sprouts into a tree that gives us oxygen. That tree turns around, after already serving a pretty great purpose for us, and gives us these beautiful peaches to nourish the bodies of the very beings walking around taking advantage of their beauty." She closed her eyes and took a bite of the peach. "Mm. Mm. Mm. And the taste is sweet and succulent." She paused with her eyes closed while she seemingly enjoyed the fruit. "This Earth creates some beautiful phenomenons. The fact that we're here and we get to experience it...it's amazing. Life is amazing. We could easily not exist. But, we do. And that in itself is a miracle."
I wonder where I can get the acid she's on.
She must've been able to tell that her lesson wasn't fully landing with me because she said, "What I'm trying to say is that life isn't about money. Life isn't about material items. We could have more and more and more, and guess what? We'll still want more. So, if we can stop wishing we had more, and learn to appreciate the phenomenon of life," she held up the partially eaten fruit, "and the simple taste of a peach... We'll be much happier. You may not have much, but you have family. And you have a heart so big and a soul so wise that your siblings are able to have a chance at life."
"I guess you're right." I nodded my head and pushed my hair out of my face.
"You'll figure the rest out." Someone called her name from inside the house. "I've gotta get the rest of my stuff in." She stood to her feet. "What's your name, mate?"
"Izzy." I stuck out my hand and she shook it.
"Sasha," she responded. "You just remember what I said. Life is all about the peaches, okay?"
I half-smiled. "Okay."
She went inside and I lit my cigarette. I didn't know if I was buying all this “peach” talk. I mean, I understood what she was saying. Appreciate the little things, life isn't about money, blah blah blah. But the reality was this: Without money, I wa
s going to be on the streets and my siblings would be thrown into foster care. So sure, it's easy to say that life isn't about money, but I needed it to survive.
Hours passed and it was finally getting close to time to leave. I still hadn't heard back from my mom, but I had to try and put it in the back of my mind and pray to God my sister was okay.
I sat criss-cross on the ground in front of the mirror and applied my mascara. I wasn't much of a make-up person normally, but, I knew I really needed to slap it on for the vermin waiting for me at the bar.
When I finished applying my mascara and eyeliner, I dipped the application brush onto my smokey eye pallet. The brush against my eyelids felt good, almost like a gentle massage on my eyes.
I kept my eyes closed and waited before opening them. I waited because I knew what I'd be looking at when I opened them. I'd see the same girl wearing the same smokey eye she always did when she was about to grind her vagina on a stripper pole while grown men, old enough to be her dad, stared at her. Time to suck it up, buttercup. I kissed the mirror and stood up.
Tyson's girlfriend, Sarah, walked in the front door simultaneously to me walking out to the living room. "I'm home, Tyson," she said.
"Home?" I said. "You don't live here unless you're paying your way."
"You know what I mean." She flopped down on the couch and put her phone in front of her face.
I ignored her. I knew I sounded like a huge bitch, but when it came to my house, I had to put my foot down and have clear boundaries. No one was living here without contributing. Not to mention, his girlfriend was trash and I really didn't care if she thought I was a bitch. I was pretty sure she sold drugs and sold her body. Plus she had cheated on Tyson too many times to count. She wasn't my cup of tea, to say the least.
"Keep your phone on you in case mom calls," I told Tyson, but his eyes were glued to his video game.
"Fuck you, you little pussy cunt!"
"Tyson, Jesus Christ. Did you hear me?"
"What?" He snapped.
"Whoa. Don't talk to me like shit just because your twelve year old little cyber buddies are pissing you off."
"What, Izzy?" His tone was better.
"I told you to make sure your phone is on in case our good-for-nothing mom calls."