My Storied Year

by Katie Proctor

  “Come on, y’all. Let’s go see your mama.” Maya looks up. I can tell she’s calmed down a bit, and she takes Mrs. Washington’s hand. She looks so small, so helpless. I’m determined not to look like that, so I stand up straight, shove my hands in my pockets, and walk a few steps behind her next to Denzel. We walk down a long, wide hallway, passing at least four patients in wheelchairs and one lady who’s walking slowly next to a nurse, dragging a metal thing on wheels that holds a bag of clear liquid attached to a tube in her arm.

  The walls are a faded blue, painted probably forever ago, and there are gaping holes where pictures or signs used to hang. I see a couple of staples with corners of yellowed paper still trapped beneath them. The light in here is dim, not like those bright white hospitals on Mom’s soap operas.

  This place gives me the creeps.

  We finally stop, and a doctor pushes back a curtain before walking away. When I see Mom, I let out a long breath. She’s sitting up, but there are tubes coming out of her nose and one out of her arm and still another snaking out from the foot of the bed. Her skin looks almost yellow, and she has dark circles under her eyes. She gives us a weak smile and says to Mrs. Washington, “Thank you Elisa, for bringing them.” To us she says, “I’m gonna be here a little longer. But I’m okay.”

  I can’t help it. “But Mom, what happened?” I surprise myself, because the question comes out angier than I mean it to. Mrs. Washington puts a hand on my back, about to speak, but Mom says, “No, it’s okay. I got sick this morning, you know, puking and stuff. So I took too much of my insulin. I got a little light-headed and put too much in the syringe. The doctor’s going to fit me for a pump, which will give me exactly as much insulin as I need every day so this won’t happen again.”

  We are interrupted by the door opening and that social worker lady from before comes in, breathing heavily. Miss Stephanie looks a little disheveled. Her skirt is twisted halfway around, and one of her stockings has a long scrape in it, like it got caught on something sharp and she kept walking without noticing. She has a pencil sticking out of a curly mess of hair on top of her head, and her silky shirt is stained around the underarms. “Oh! Hello everyone! I’m glad to see you made it.”

  A stack of papers falls out of her hands when she gives my mom a paper cup full of ice. I realize she’s been here with Mom for a little bit. She turns to Mrs. Washington and introduces herself, giving her name and adding, “social services.” I feel Denzel stiffen next to me. His family is no stranger to social services, either. No one in the trailer park trusts them.

  The doctor pokes his head in and asks to speak with Miss Stephanie. I wonder how and when she even got here. As if reading my mind, Mom mumbles, “The paramedic found her card on the fridge and called her.”

  Maya crawls up in the bed with her like a little kitten, and Mom pats her back lightly. I move over so I can hear the conversation behind the thin curtain. Mom and Mrs. Washington are talking too, so it’s hard to focus, but I hear words like “diabetic shock” and “insulin overdose” and “accidental” and “could’ve been worse.” After a couple seconds of silence, Miss Stephanie pushes open the door and I step to the bed, pretend I wasn’t listening.

  “The good news,” she starts out, “is that you’re going to be just fine. It’s a good thing Dragon found you when he did and knew to call for help.” She smiles at me like this is supposed to make me feel better, like I saved the day, but it doesn’t. I’m waiting for the bad news.

  “However, because of how severe your mom’s diabetes is, she’s going to need to stay here for a few days. Will, ummmm…” she flips a few pages until she finds what she’s looking for. “Carlos be in the home to care for the children during your stay, Ms. Stewart?”

  So that Mom doesn’t have to speak, and Mrs. Washington doesn’t have a chance to say anything, I jump in and say, “Yes ma’am, in fact he’s already there with De-vine.” I’m surprised how easily the lie rolls off my tongue. I guess the more you do it, the easier it gets. Denzel glances in my direction, a question in his eyes, but he stays quiet.

  “Good. Well, everything looks to be in order, here,” Miss Stephanie says, handing Mom another card. “Please call me if you need anything at all.” We all nod and she takes that as her cue to leave.

  Denzel’s mama looks over at Mom. “I know Carlos isn’t around. But I know you gotta say it. Tom is with De-vine now, and me and him will figure out what to do with the kids. How long you gotta stay?”

  “Don’t know yet. But thank you.” She looks at me. “There’s food at the house and some cash in the drawer next to my bed.”

  I nod, and Maya starts to cry. Mom gives her a pat on the back but then gently pushes her off the bed until she’s standing on the ground. “I need you both to be good. Don’t cause trouble, and watch out for De-vine.”

  Mrs. Washington grabs Maya’s hand and says, “You get some rest, now. And come home soon.” Before we leave, Mom touches my arm and says, “You did good, Dragon.” She closes her eyes and we walk away, back down the long hallway to the waiting room and finally out to the car. The sky is dark, and it’s colder than it was just a few hours ago. Maya shivers, so I throw my jacket around her shoulders and rub my arms to warm them up.

  Mrs. Washington drops Denzel at home first, to do his homework and help his sister get the little ones into bed. We find Mr. Reeves and De-vine asleep on the couch, the TV on a low volume. Mrs. Washington goes into the kitchen and finds some mac-and-cheese on the stove. “Come eat, you two,” she says, putting it on plates for us. Mr. Reeves wakes up and tucks a blanket around De-vine before coming in to talk to Mrs. Washington. They must either forget that we’re here or don’t care that we hear their conversation.

  “It was bad, Tom,” she’s saying. “She could’ve died. Social services was there. She was trying to figure out where to place the kids.”

  Place us? I think. That doesn’t sound good.

  “But for now, they think Carlos is here.”

  “Okay. Well listen, I’m happy to stay here with them. She’s got plenty of food and I can sleep on the couch a few nights.”

  “Thank you, Tom. I would do it, but I got my own kids at home that need me.”

  “Of course. No, I got it.”

  Mrs. Washington gives Maya and me a motherly pat on the arm and a smile, and I put our dishes in the sink. “Be good for Mr. Reeves, y’all. I’ll check in tomorrow,” she says before she leaves.

  I don’t think I can stay awake a minute longer, so I grab De-vine and tuck her into bed, Maya follows. Mr. Reeves says, “Goodnight,” before I shut the door and lock it like I do every night; it’s a habit now. I hear him open and shut the front door, and I’m confused, but a few minutes later I hear him come back in and lay down on the squeaky couch.

  I try not to think about where else I could have ended up sleeping tonight.

  I wake when

  sunlight pours

  through dirty windows.

  Dust sparkles in the air,

  almost pretty.

  * * *

  Maya’s curled up with me

  in the recliner

  like a cat,

  a stray,

  one who just wants a warm home.

  * * *

  I don’t remember

  her joining me in the night.

  * * *

  Sweaty ringlet curls

  fall over her face

  and she doesn’t look

  so much like a weirdo now.

  * * *

  She’s scared.

  I’m scared, too.

  21

  My Absolute Meltdown

  Despite what happened yesterday, I get myself and Maya up in the morning as usual, as soon as I hear Mr. Delancy’s hacking coughs from his morning cigarette two doors down. Like an alarm clock, it never fails me. When we walk into the kitchen, though, Mr. Reeves is standing at the stove, stirring something in a pot.

  “Good morning! I made some oatmeal. Is that o
kay?”

  To be honest, oatmeal’s not my favorite, especially when it gets cold—it reminds me of wet silly putty. But I can tell he’s hoping we will eat it, so I grab a couple of bowls and let him spoon some oatmeal into each. Maya sits down and barely lets it cool before she’s shoveling the oatmeal in her mouth with a spoon. I don’t look at Mr. Reeves; I know he has to be thinking that we never eat, the way Maya’s acting like a starved animal.

  I get a small bite on my spoon, and steel myself to swallow it down no matter what. But when I put it in my mouth, I actually make an audible “Mmmmm” sound. This is not like the microwave oatmeal we usually eat, and it’s nothing like the school cafeteria oatmeal.

  “Do you like it?” Mr. Reeves asks, spooning some into a bowl for himself. “I cooked some apples and cinnamon to add to it. It’s how my mom used to make it.”

  “It’s de-ri-shus,” I say with my mouth full. I don’t even care about manners at this point. It’s so good. Before I know it, the bowl’s empty and I can hear the bus coming down the road. I don’t have time to feel guilty about the fact that I just wished Mr. Reeves could make me breakfast every morning.

  Even though we ate at home, Maya and I still head to the cafeteria like always. I get a snack for later since I don’t need breakfast and head to my homeroom. I’m usually the last one in because I’m still eating, but today I’m one of the first ones there. Unfortunately, Travis Beaker is the first to get to his homeroom door right across from mine.

  “Whatsa matter, Smokey?” he jeers. “Not eating breakfast? Isn’t school food the way you survive? I mean if you don’t eat here, wouldn’t you starve?”

  “Shut up, Travis,” I say. I’m definitely not in the mood today.

  “Oh, poor wittle Smokey. You sure don’t look hungry, dude. Your mom must at least keep some junk food around the house. It’s probably all you eat.” Travis nudges another kid who just walked up, one of his football buddies. The other kid smirks.

  At the mention of my mom, who I am now picturing just the way I left her, in a gray hospital bed with gray wires connected to different parts of her gray skin, I turn around to head to the bathroom so I don’t punch Travis Beaker right in the throat. As I turn, though, I smack right into Ms. Luna, who stumbles back. I’m glad she doesn’t fall down, but some of her hot tea spills out over the top of her mug.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Lu—” I start.

  “No, it’s okay. I’m glad you’re here today, Dragon! Can you help me clean this up?”

  I don’t even look over at Travis, who has moved on to fist bumping another one of his buddies who brought the latest iPhone to show off. His face is lucky Ms. Luna showed up.

  The day continues much like Alexander’s Terrible Horrible Day. In math we have to do word problems (I hate word problems) and then we have a special lesson from the counselor at the end of math, and when she asks us to partner up, I get stuck by myself because everyone else has a partner. In PE we play dodgeball (I hate dodgeball), and I spend most of the class period sitting on the sidelines because stupid Travis is in my PE class, too, and has made it his mission today to make my life miserable.

  Reading workshop goes fine because it’s not group day, but when we switch over to writing and I pull out my brainstorming sheet with things on it about my mom, I freeze. My hands start to shake, I can feel the heat on my cheeks, I’m gripping the pencil so hard in my hand that it breaks.

  Erin whispers, “Pssst Dragon! Do your work!” She loves to be the boss of everyone. And sometimes I don’t mind the reminder to stay focused. But today is different. Today my mom is in the hospital and I don’t know what’ll happen if she doesn’t leave and I don’t know how I can take care of De-vine and Maya by myself and I don’t want to be put in a foster home and I don’t want Uncle Carlos to come back.

  So, I do something that I haven’t done in an entire year.

  I yell, “Just SHUT UP, ERIN! Shut your stupid perfect face and do your own stupid perfect work.”

  I shove my chair back from my desk so hard that it falls over with a loud clang! I can feel everyone watching me, but I don’t care. I take my writing work off my desk, rip it into a bunch of pieces, and throw it into the air. I push my desk over and everything spills out among the snowflakes of littered paper, making them float and fly before settling on the carpet. Denzel approaches, but he knows me well enough to see that it’s going to be pretty bad and backs away.

  It takes Mrs. Parkman about five seconds to get everyone lined up and soon they’re out the door and it’s just me, and I completely lose it. I pull books off of shelves and I throw baskets on the ground and I watch with a kind of maniacal glee while glue sticks and crayons fly everywhere and roll to all four corners of the classroom. I don’t even recognize the sounds coming from my own mouth, and I don’t realize I am sobbing until all the energy leaves my body and I sink down into the pile of things that fell out of my desk. I put my head in my hands and I cry and cry.

  Ms. Luna is the first one brave enough to enter the room. The last time this happened, one of the guy teachers at the elementary school had wrapped his strong arms around mine in a way that I couldn’t move or kick or fight back and we’d walked slowly into the principal’s office where I spent the rest of the day kicking at the desk and waiting for the bus. But now, Ms. Luna comes in, quiet as a mouse, and sits right next to me in my pile of crap. She folds her knees up under her chin and doesn’t say anything. She just sits there, watching my chest heave with each sob and the snot and tears fall on my dirty jeans. I wonder how long it’ll be before she gives up, but she stays until my breathing is back to normal. I’m so tired, I want to take a nap.

  “You okay, Dragon?” she asks. I think about pointing out that this is a dumb question because obviously I’m not. But I decide not to. Ms. Luna’s always been so nice.

  “My mom…” I start. But I can’t finish because then I’ll cry again.

  “I know,” she says gently. “Denzel’s mom called to let us know. I’m so sorry, my friend. Do you want to talk about it?”

  I shake my head. Absolutely not.

  “Okay. Well, we need to get you out of this room so the rest of your classmates can come back in, okay? Can you get up and walk down the hall with me?”

  I shrug. “I guess.” It’s then that I realize, with sheer horror, the mess I’ve made. “But this room…” I say.

  Ms. Luna puts a soft hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay, we’ll come back after a little while and clean it up, okay?”

  She takes me to Mr. Mark’s office, but he’s not in there. There’s a soda, a lunch tray, and one of those fried pie things from McDonald’s on his table. Ms. Luna tells me to go ahead and eat and then leaves the room. A few seconds later, Mrs. Parkman walks in and sits down with me.

  “Hey Dragon. Feeling better?”

  I nod. “Sorta.”

  “You’re having a rough day. I know about your mom, and I’m so sorry. I wish there was something I could do to make it all better.”

  “Thanks. I’m just worried, you know?”

  “I know.”

  She opens the soda for me and slides it toward me. I take a sip. It’s really cold.

  “I’m sorry about the classroom, Mrs. Parkman. I’ll clean it up.”

  “It’s okay. We can do it together,” she says. I don’t catch any hint of anger in her voice.

  “Am I in trouble?” I ask, scared to hear the answer.

  She puts a hand on my shoulder, and her eyes look right into mine. “Oh, no, Dragon. What you did wasn’t great, but we all have times where we make not-so-great choices. I know you’re hurting. And I know you didn’t mean to do what you did.”

  “I just lost it, Mrs. Parkman. Travis was mean this morning and I couldn’t think of what to write and then Erin just pushed me over the edge.”

  “I know. It’s going to be okay. You seem like you’ve calmed down a bit. Mr. Mark wants to talk to you for a few minutes, and then go ahead and come to the classroom. The othe
r kids are at lunch so you and I can clean up. Deal?”

  I manage a weak smile. “Deal.”

  Mr. Mark comes in cautiously, not at all like his usual energetic self. “Hey, pal. How’s it goin’?”

  “Okay,” I say. And really, it is. It’s a wonder what a few minutes of quiet and something cold and sweet to drink can do.

  “My mom got really sick when I was about your age, too.”

  I look up, not expecting his words.

  “She almost died one night. She got the flu really bad and didn’t have anything to help her feel better. My brothers and sisters and I found her not breathing, and the ambulance barely made it in time. It was probably the scariest night of my whole life.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “She stayed at the hospital a few days and when she came home, she had to use this oxygen tank and she couldn’t smoke anymore, which pissed her off,” he says with a quiet chuckle.

  “But my dad was so mad at her for not going to a clinic earlier. They fought about it for days. I remember playing outside a lot that week.”

  I nod but don’t say anything. I’m afraid if I do, I’ll cry again or worse, all the truth about Uncle Carlos and De-vine and how Mr. Reeves is staying with us will come out. And I can’t trust anybody with that information.

  Not even Mr. Mark.

  I expect my classmates to walk on eggshells around me for the rest of the day, but they don’t. I don’t know what Mrs. Parkman said to them, but they come in from outside, talking loudly and peeling off their coats and no one mentions that the classroom is now the cleanest it’s ever been. Erin comes up to me and whispers, “Sorry, Dragon.” I nod and give her a weak smile.

  It’s okay now.

  22