Looking for X

by Deborah Ellis

  Then she put her face close to mine and said in her quiet, don’t-mess-with-me voice, “I absolutely forbid you to fight. Do you understand?”

  I nodded. There were very few things Tammy forbade me to do, but when she did, there was no discussion. That was Law. I’d never disobeyed her on anything she absolutely forbade me to do.

  Mom left. I looked at the long list of chores, and got started.

  CHAPTER NINE

  EXILE

  Mom was, as always, true to her word. When I wasn’t cleaning, I was running errands, and when she ran out of chores for me to do at our place, she sent me over to Juba’s to clean stuff there. When I wasn’t cleaning, I was doing school work.

  Tammy didn’t just double my homework, she tripled it. For every page of math the teacher gave me, Mom gave me two more. She gave me long columns of numbers to add up, my least favorite kind of arithmetic. She made me read ahead in history and do pages and pages of grammar.

  For someone like me, who hates work, it was a bleak week.

  “Don’t even think about complaining,” Tammy warned me when she handed me the first list of chores I was to complete.

  I hadn’t thought of complaining. I’d learned from painful experience that complaining about a punishment only brought on more punishment. Besides, Tammy says that one way a person’s character can be measured is by how well she takes her punishment, if it’s deserved. It’s funny but no matter how mad I get at Tammy, I still want her to think I’m a person of good character.

  Mom always told me there’s no shame in being punished for something you did wrong, but there is shame in whining about it. It helped this time that I knew I did the right thing, clobbering Tiffany. Fighting is wrong, but I was still glad I did it.

  When I wasn’t busy with housework or school work, I had to take the twins out, one at a time, one hour each brother, morning and afternoon.

  “You’re confined to the playground behind the building,” Tammy said. “You can go there, and nowhere else.”

  I hated taking the twins to that playground. It was small, with just a jungle-gym in a sand pit. There was no fence around it, and it was right next to a parking lot, so I was always afraid they would get hit by a car. I love my brothers, but spending four hours a day with them in that tiny playground got a little boring.

  The week dragged on. “No radio, no books except school books,” Tammy decreed.

  “What about Monkees records?” I asked.

  She didn’t think that was funny.

  I even had to turn over my atlases to her.

  Then, finally, it was over. Friday night appeared.

  Just before going to bed, I went into the kitchen, where Juba and Mom were having a cup of tea. Since they’ve known each other, Juba and Mom must have drunk an ocean of tea at that table. Sometimes they go to Juba’s, but with the boys, it’s easier when Juba comes to our place. Besides, Juba’s apartment is really tiny. She likes to get out of it as much as she can, she says, so the walls don’t close in on her.

  Juba used to babysit me when I was too young and stupid to look after myself. She was a thousand years old then, and must be almost two thousand years old now, but she has a soft lap, one that’s almost as good as Tammy’s. When I was little and had a fight with Tammy, I’d go crying to Juba. She’d take me onto her lap, rock me, let me cry it out, then dry my tears and say, “It’s time for you to bring a little sunshine into the world.” It sounds crazy, but by the time she said that, I wouldn’t be mad at Mom anymore.

  All my friends are dependable. Juba is always kind, Valerie is always rude, and X is always frightened.

  I put my stack of homework down in front of Tammy. “All done. Spelling checked, math checked, everything checked.”

  Mom thumbed through the pages of school work. “This looks nice and neat.”

  As if I’d waste my time bringing her schoolwork that wasn’t tidy.

  “Let’s hear the poem.”

  For extra English homework, Tammy gave me a poem to learn out of a big book of poetry she found at the Goodwill years ago. Memorizing stuff is easy. You just say it over and over until it becomes as much a part of you as your name.

  I’ve learned a lot of poetry over the years. Lewis Carroll is my overall favorite. Tammy would find a new poem for me to learn whenever I got in her hair. She said she’d do anything that would keep me quiet for more than two minutes at a time.

  I talk a lot because I have a lot to say. People who don’t talk a lot also might have a lot to say. They just don’t know how to get to it.

  What I hate most are people who talk a lot and have nothing to say. They think they have a lot to say, so they keep talking and talking, but when you listen to them, they really aren’t saying anything.

  The poem Tammy gave me to learn during my punishment week was called “The Buried Life” by Matthew Arnold. That’s what I was living that week — a buried life, buried in work.

  The poem is a long one, with twenty verses. It’s about how we live on the surface of ourselves, and rarely get a chance to know what we’re really made of. The day-to-day junk of work or school and chores and doing what you’re supposed to do to be a good citizen doesn’t leave much time to find out how to be a good human being.

  My favorite verse goes like this:

  But often, in the world’s most crowded streets,

  But often, in the din of strife,

  There rises an unspeakable desire

  After the knowledge of our buried life.

  I think it means that in the middle of being busy doing stuff, you can suddenly wonder, “Who am I? What am I doing here?” I’m glad somebody put that into a poem, because it’s happened to me. I guess everybody loses track of where they are sometimes.

  I recited the poem, and I recited it correctly, and when I was done, Tammy said, “Once more, with feeling,” which is an old joke of ours, so I knew I was out of the dog house.

  “Can I have my atlases back?”

  “Well, I should make you wait until I’ve had time to make sure your school work is correct.”

  I held my breath. Juba and Tammy laughed at the expression on my face. Tammy went into her room to get my atlases.

  Mom’s room is different from the rest of the apartment. “I must have one haven of femininity in this apartment filled with boys and explorers!” she says. The room is all pink and yellow, with lots of dainty things she’s picked up at the Goodwill and yard sales over the years. It’s a pretty room, although I wouldn’t like to have one like it.

  In her closet, she keeps some of her costumes from when she was a dancer. I used to play dress-up with them when I was a little kid. Now that I’m too old to dress up myself, I sometimes dress up the boys. Tammy’s old costumes are great dress-up clothes — feather boas, capes, sparkly things. It’s hard to imagine Tammy even wearing that stuff. These days, she wears only jeans and sweaters. She dresses like me, only tidier.

  I don’t go into Tammy’s room without her permission (unless I need her during the night) and she doesn’t go into my alcove. I don’t mess with her stuff unless she says it’s okay, and she doesn’t mess with mine. One of the main reasons I won’t do drugs is that Tammy says any hint of me smoking dope means she gets to “plow through my stuff like there’s no tomorrow.” I like my privacy.

  Tammy handed me my atlases, and I crawled into bed with them. I have three atlases now — a Canadian atlas, a little kid’s atlas that I keep because it has photographs in it of faraway places, and a thick world atlas. They’re a little out of date — we bought them at the Goodwill — but I still love them.

  I plotted a journey across Egypt, following the Nile River from the Mediterranean Sea to Lake Nasser, until it was time to go to sleep.

  Tammy came in to kiss me goodnight.

  “I’m proud of you,” she said. “It was a long, hard week for you, and you came through it really well.”

  “Can we do something tomorrow? All of us? Could we go to Riverdale Farm?” Riv
erdale Farm is a real farm, with pigs and horses and chickens, a few blocks from our place. Tammy lets me go there alone, but it’s more fun to go with my whole family.

  Tammy hesitated. Then she said, “As a matter of fact, we can do something. We can go see the boys’ new home tomorrow.”

  I sat up on my elbows. “What?”

  “The social worker will be by in the morning to drive us there. We’ll be spending the night there, to help get the boys used to it. I was going to leave you with Juba, but I’d much rather you came with us.”

  “You’re still doing that? I said I didn’t want you to.” I sat all the way up. My head bumped the ceiling. If I grew any more, we’d have to get a taller apartment.

  “Lower your voice, young lady. If you wake up your brothers, you’ll be the one sitting up with them all night.”

  “You’re still giving them away?”

  Tammy turned off my light. “Go to sleep, Khyber. I’d love to have you come with us tomorrow, but if you don’t want to, you can go to Juba’s after your job. We won’t be back until late Sunday evening.”

  “I won’t go to Juba’s!”

  “Yes, you will. You’re a pain in the neck sometimes, but you’re basically a good kid. You won’t give me anything extra to worry about. Now, goodnight.”

  She tried to kiss me, but I pulled away from her. She went back to the kitchen.

  I turned my light on again. “I’ll show her,” I grumbled. I half hoped Tammy would hear me and come back so that we could have a fight, but if she heard me, she stayed away.

  Picking up my world atlas, I plotted a course across Russia — a rough, difficult, dangerous trip that I would send Tammy on. One way.

  Once Mom was soundly packed off to Siberia, I turned out the light and settled down into bed, feeling very pleased with myself.

  Minutes later, I got down from my bunk, went into the kitchen and kissed Mom goodnight. She hugged me tightly and kissed me, too. Then I went back to bed.

  It wouldn’t be right to go to sleep without a goodnight kiss from Mom. I’m not even sure the sun would rise the next morning.

  After that, I couldn’t leave her in Siberia. I brought her back, so that she’d be here when I woke up.

  CHAPTER TEN

  DANGER IN THE DARK

  Of course, I did go to Juba’s after my job at the Trojan Horse. I tried complaining to her about Tammy, but she wouldn’t let me.

  Juba tried her best to make me feel better. She took me to Riverdale Farm, even though she says her legs aren’t what they used to be. We played hours of cribbage, drank tea from her special china cups, and she let me stay up, watching television, far later than Tammy would have allowed me to. Juba made a bed for me on her living-room couch so I could watch TV in bed, “just like a rich lady.”

  It was fun, but I kept thinking of Mom and the boys. I had a hard time imagining what sort of place the group home was.

  Mom had said it was like a boarding school, but the only boarding schools I knew about were in British school stories. I couldn’t picture the boys in one of those places, although they would look cute in school uniforms.

  Then I thought they were going to a work house, like in Oliver Twist, but Mom wouldn’t put them in a place like that.

  I was eager for them to get back, but if I showed any interest in the place, Mom might think I was okay with her plan.

  I wasn’t okay with it.

  Mom and the boys returned around eight o’clock Sunday night, just before Juba and I got back to our apartment.

  The social worker with the slime dripping from her fangs was just leaving as we arrived.

  “Hello, Khyber,” she said. She’d obviously been coached by Mom. “How are you?”

  I started to walk past her.

  “Khyber,” Mom said in her warning voice.

  “Fine, thank you,” I mumbled. I wasn’t fine, but that was none of her business.

  “I’ll see you soon,” she said to Mom, then left. I took the boys into the living room. We played with their button collection.

  “How did it go?” Mom asked Juba. She meant, “Did my daughter behave herself?”

  I didn’t have to listen to the answer. Juba doesn’t believe in double punishment. If I had acted like jerk, Juba would have dealt with me herself, and been done with it.

  When Mom kissed me goodnight, she didn’t say anything about her weekend with the boys, and I didn’t ask her.

  The next day was Monday. My suspension was over. I went back to school.

  I timed my walk so I’d arrive at school just before the bell rang. That way I wouldn’t have to talk to anybody in the school yard.

  Miss Melon practically licked her lips with delight when I walked into class. She kept me at the front with her during the singing of “O, Canada.”

  When that was over, the class sat down. Most were tittering and smirking. A few looked like they felt sorry for me. They were the ones who had their own difficulties with Tiffany.

  Tiffany had been told I’d have to apologize, and she, of course, had spread that around.

  “Tiffany, will you come up here, please,” Miss Melon said. “Khyber has something she’d like to say to you.”

  Tiffany’s nose was so high in the air it almost scraped the paint off the ceiling.

  “Keep it simple and keep it dignified,” Tammy had told me. She had practiced it with me, pretending to be Tiffany. “Think of it as a character-building exercise.”

  I’ve got enough character, I thought, as I straightened my back, but I said my apology just as I’d rehearsed it with Tammy.

  Everyone seemed disappointed I didn’t slug her again.

  Miss Melon followed it up with a lecture on the importance of good citizenship, using me as an example of how not to behave. I knew nobody was listening to her, but it made me feel lousy just the same.

  When I got home Wednesday afternoon, Mom and the boys were out. Mom had told me at breakfast they had an appointment at Sick Kids, but I’d forgotten. I was already grumpy, and having them gone made me even grumpier.

  “Come right home after school and stay here,” Tammy had told me. She didn’t like me going out when she wasn’t around.

  The apartment felt empty and lonely. It was raining outside, off and on. There wasn’t any sun to shine in through the windows, and the apartment was as dark and gray as the day outside.

  I put one of Mom’s Monkees records on, just for company.

  Tammy had left out some potatoes for me to peel for supper, but I was too grumpy to do them.

  I picked up my homework, then put it down again. I wandered around the apartment and into my brothers’ room.

  Mom had packed their clothes and toys into boxes.

  I didn’t stop to think about it. I went right to work, unpacked all the boxes, hung up their shirts, put their toys back on the shelves, folded sweaters and T-shirts into drawers. I gathered up all the empty boxes and carried them out to the balcony.

  Looking down from the balcony, I saw X standing in the park, waiting for me. She hadn’t been around all week. It was good to see her.

  Halfway through making X a sandwich, I remembered that I wasn’t supposed to leave the apartment. Could I be back before Mom returned? Yes, probably, and if not, Mom wouldn’t mind me dashing out to give X something to eat. At least, I hoped she wouldn’t.

  By the time I got down to the street, X had gone. It was getting even darker out. Putting the boys’ things away must have taken more time than I’d thought. I could see X a block or so away on Gerrard, heading toward Allan Gardens, and I hurried after her.

  If I’d known her real name, I could have yelled it out, and maybe she would have stopped. I could have handed her the sandwich and rushed back home before Tammy found that I’d left. The whole mess that followed could have been avoided.

  But I didn’t know X’s real name, and even if I had, I couldn’t have yelled it out. She would have thought it was the secret police calling her.

  So
, once I’d decided to take X the sandwich, there was no way to avoid The Trouble. Of course, if I hadn’t taken the empty boxes out to the balcony, I wouldn’t have seen X, and therefore would have been obediently at home when Mom got there. If Mom hadn’t packed away my brothers’ things, I wouldn’t have had to unpack them, and wouldn’t have been carrying the empty boxes onto the balcony, from where I saw X. So, in a way, the whole mess that happened was Tammy’s fault.

  How’s that for passing the buck?

  I caught up with X at Allan Gardens. She was on a bench inside the park a little ways. I sat down at the other end of the bench and passed her the sandwich.

  “I can’t stay very long,” I said. “In fact, I have to get back home right away.”

  X pushed her blue suitcase a bit under the bench with her feet. She didn’t reach for the sandwich. I pushed it toward her a bit more.

  “Here — here’s a sandwich. I’ve got to go!” I stood up. X still hadn’t moved. I started to walk away, then turned back and looked at her. She was hunched down into her trench coat. She looked very sad and very lonely.

  I sat back down. What else could I do? She probably wouldn’t have eaten if I’d gone away, and who knew when she’d eaten last? Maybe not since the last time we’d seen each other.

  Tammy would understand. If she didn’t, I’d be doing chores and extra arithmetic again, but I’d deal with that when the time came.

  I took some deep breaths to calm down, to help X feel comfortable, the way I do with the boys sometimes. I’m never in a hurry when I see her. She probably thought at first that I was someone from the secret police, just pretending to be Khyber.

  I relaxed, then she relaxed, and once I started talking, she started eating.

  “Mom’s got this idea in her head to send my brothers away. How can she do that? Parents don’t send their kids away!”

  I changed the subject then, and rattled on about the best places to find snakes in India, which I’d been reading about lately. By the time I ran out of things to say about snakes, X was almost finished her sandwich.