by Tony Abbott
“Sure, honey. I’m sorry. Come on in, both of you.”
“I’m Jeff, by the way,” I said, moving past them.
“Of course, dear. I’m so sorry, but you’ll both be comfy. What can I get you?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Thanks.”
I didn’t catch her eye. You learn not to do that, make eye contact. I’m not great at it anyway, but I didn’t even try now. Don’t make contact, don’t get close. I knew I was smelling more and more anyway, and smelling is a homeless thing.
Home. Homeless. Funny how it doesn’t take much to go from one to the other.
Erin brought us upstairs. “I made up your beds,” she said, two little kids tramping behind her as if they were leashed to her legs. Then we went up another set of stairs to a small room with sloped ceilings in front and back, two giant toy chests, and a dormer between two tiny beds.
“It’s their playroom,” she said, “but now it’s just for you.”
It was the attic. My throat fell into my stomach, fell into my legs, through the floors of the house and into the ground. You have to be kidding. She was putting us in the attic. Bums in the attic. She was hiding us like Dad wanted to hide Grandpa.
Erin smiled and backed out to the landing. “The bathroom is small, but it’s all yours; we’re on the floor below. Don’t mind the toys. We’ll make sure the boys stay out.”
“Mom?” one boy said.
“Shh,” said his brother. They looked like twins.
“Erin, thank you so much,” Mom said. “You’re a lifesaver.”
Erin left with the twins. Mom carefully didn’t look at me, just lowered her face, rolled her bag to the wall, and slowly unzipped it. She pulled out underwear or something and went off to the bathroom.
I shouldn’t be sleeping in the same space as my mother. The hotel was bad enough, but together in the same room in someone’s house? It was so wrong and weird. While she was in the bathroom, I flopped down on one of the beds, then tried the other, then went back to the first, which was better, then took the other one because Mom needed her sleep more than me. It was then I realized these were really kid beds.
“Seriously?” I said to the ceiling. “I hate my life!”
Nighttime was, no surprise, very special.
The junky bedsprings of my junky kid bed sagged in the middle and squeaked. I found by squeezing myself to the edge and hanging my arm over and not moving, I could actually doze off. The silver lining? It only took a half hour to get the feeling back in my hand.
All night long that first night I dreamed twenty-seven. Everything was twenty-seven. Somebody was announcing it or whispering it every few seconds. There were signs saying it, like highway signs. Chalk numbers on the sidewalk. Football jerseys.
When I woke up, I figured it out. Even without knowing I was doing it, I’d started counting days. It was twenty-seven days since Mom lost her job.
CHAPTER 30
GHOSTING
It went like that through a miserable rainy weekend and into the next week.
Tuesday was a skip-lunch day, but I sat with Colin and Josh because they saw me and it seemed odd not to. I spotted Hannah sitting on the far side of the cafeteria listening to a couple of other girls, back to her quiet self. She didn’t notice me.
Colin dug into his mac and cheese and said, “Are you dying?”
“We all are,” Josh said. “We started the day we were born. My rabbi said so.”
“No, I meant you.” Colin nodded his chin me. “You’re always sneaking off, like my dog before he died. I’d find him hiding in the ivy. Plus you don’t eat much when you are here. Two and two, you’re dying.”
“Can’t argue with the math,” said Josh, raising his hand for a high five, which Colin blew a kiss at, which Josh pretended to eat, which Colin pretended to puke at, like they do it all the time.
“I’m in training,” I said.
“For?”
“Getting older. School food will kill you.”
“So have an apple,” Josh said, then rolled his across the table at me. “Colin puts his fruit in bowls, but I hear you can eat these, too. Also they keep the doctor away.”
“Doctor?” Colin raised his head. “Doctor who?”
“Doctor Fartface, aka, you.”
Then, as if that skit was over, Colin said, “Tough test. Mango.”
I bit into the apple and looked over at Hannah again. “I nearly flunked it.”
“I’m sure she didn’t,” Colin said, seeing me look.
Josh gawked at her, too. “No, dang, she didn’t, not with those amazing legs!”
“You and legs,” Colin said.
“You and farts. You should know. You’re the doctor of them!”
Like everything was a routine.
After school I holed up in the attic like a dying dog, until I suddenly remembered Rich Downing and figured I had to keep doing things with him or everybody would find out everything. Can’t have that, can we?
In my brain I heard my mother snapping at me: Why do you still think about those bums? She was right. Not that they were bums, but why did I still care. I almost didn’t, but I must have, a little.
I passed my old house on the way to Rich’s. Trucks were in the driveway. Someone on the roof tapping at the chimney. I wanted to spit.
Rich blinked at me when he answered his door, like I’d just returned from the Arctic or somewhere. He came out on the step, letting the door close behind him.
“What’s up?” he said.
“Next week is Thanksgiving,” I said. “What presents do you think you’ll get?”
He seemed bewildered. “Presents? Where have you been? I went by your house the other day. All the vans and trucks. What’s going on?”
It was chilly on the step. We were usually inside by now. “That’s for legal stuff.” I blurted this out so easily I might have been practicing it. “The landlord gets to pay less taxes or something if he says the work’s for a new rental rather than just remodeling it for the current people. The sign is just for show.” Then I cupped my mouth and whispered. “He’s secretly fixing it up for us!”
“Cool.” He seemed to mean it. “When will you get back in? And where’s all your stuff in the meantime? It looks empty.”
“Storage. We’re staying in Westport now. By the water. There’s a dock and a motorboat.” This was all just spurting out of me but it sounded good.
“Westport? What about school?”
“What about it?”
“Well, you still go to Fairfield Plains, right? Can you live in Westport and go to school here? Don’t you have to live here?”
A spear of panic hit my chest. “What? No. They said it’s okay, the school people. It’s just for a little while, anyway. So, you want to hang out for a couple of hours?”
He made a considering kind of face. “Nah. I have a big homework thing.”
And just like that, I knew. The way he said it. Nah. I got it. I understood. Homework thing. Church thing. All the same.
I should have turned and just gone away, but where would I go? Back to the hidden attic? Another tired walk to the library? Rich wasn’t the greatest, but outside Colin and Josh, who were practically strangers, he was the last one left.
And now he gives me Nah?
I decided to break it off. I was mad and I wanted to rip it to shreds.
“Homework, huh? I’ve heard that lie before. You think my mom is a drunk.”
“What? No! And it’s not your mom, anyway. It’s mine. What she told me.”
My throat tightened. They all sound alike when they lie to you. I half wanted to wipe the scared look off his face. Half wanted to scream because his mom was right.
“You know what, I don’t even care.”
“Hey, I stuck up for you,” he said. “I told her your mother was just sad.”
“Sad? What does that mean?”
“She said your mom drinks booze, booze, booze! I said I only saw it one time, and everybody drinks and t
hey do, too. She got really mad and said we can’t hang out.”
Perfect. Everyone knows my mom drinks. There was no way out of this. I wasn’t going to beg. He was right, his mother was right. At that instant, I drained myself more empty than I’d ever been. My eyes went out of focus. My blood stopped flowing. I turned and walked down the street toward my old house.
He might have said something, called me back, but probably not and I didn’t hear him anyway. All it took was one word. Nah. And Rich faded like a ghost.
Good for him. He pulled a Mr. Andrade. A Courtney. A Tom Bender. I would have done the same thing. My mom and I were toxic and Rich finally realized it.
The last thread holding me down had been cut, and I understood that Rich wasn’t the ghost, after all. I was.
CHAPTER 31
A MINUTE TO CALM DOWN
The next day I walked to the Petrys’ house after another numb day at school. I wandered slowly from the bus stop, taking over an hour, nearly two, to wind through the streets, not that anyone cared. I had to empty my head of the shrieking. Of people, their faces, their voices, what they wanted from me. But I found it’s hard to be clear of everything, because no matter how much you get rid of, you’re always there, bringing yourself with you wherever you go, cluttering up your own space.
Yeah. Clutter. Thanks, Dad. I’m starting to get it.
It was nearly suppertime when I finally climbed the attic stairs and found my mother rocking on the edge of her bed. Her lips were as tight as if they’d been sewn together, and her cheeks were twitching like a bad reader.
She raised her face. I expected her to speak. She didn’t.
“Mom? You’re looking very weird. What’s going on?”
She reached for my hand and sandwiched it between hers. “It’s… it’s time, Jeffie.”
My veins froze. “For what? It’s time for what? Mom?”
She gave me a dead smile, hoping I’d understand so she wouldn’t have to say.
“Mom?”
Nothing. Just the face.
Sliding my hand out from hers, I tramped down the stairs and searched the rooms until I found odd little Ricky Petry alone in the kitchen.
“What happened?” I said to him. “Why is my mother a zombie? She’s just sitting there in our room.”
He backed away and had flattened his mouth as if to say, I don’t know! when his mother came in.
“Oh, hi, Jeff, I am sorry,” she started, but she must have figured from my face that I didn’t know what was going on, because she said, “Oh, well, it’s that you and your mom—it’s time to think about finding a new place.” She let that hang there for a bit, then added, “It’s been a week, nearly a week, and now we really need you to move along.”
“What happened?”
“Your mom can tell you.”
“No, please. She’s comatose. You tell me.”
Erin breathed in. “She got a call today. Some job. But then she… well, let her tell you. Really, I’m sorry, Jeff. I’m sorry. For you, mostly—oh.”
Mom was standing behind me, her face red. “Erin, please… you’re our…”
Erin shook her head. “No, no, Michelle. It’s only because you’re a friend that… but look, stop doing this, what you’re doing.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
I felt as clueless as weird little Ricky. “What are you two talking about?”
“It is, Michelle. It is that bad. We open our house to you, my husband, my children. You have everything here, and what you said to us? You should think about getting some help. Drink… less. This isn’t working for you, or for your poor son. You know what I mean. Michelle, you know. I mean, look where you are.…”
“What is going on?” I asked.
Mom was quiet for a long while. “Yes. I know. Of course, I know.”
I was horrified for Mom. She was being humiliated by her “friend.” I hated living with people. I tugged her out of the kitchen and back upstairs. I closed the attic door.
“Mom—”
“Jeff, it wasn’t that bad. What I said. I was rude, but I was happy. They should have seen I was happy. I got the job. I think I got the job. A very good call this afternoon. They want to see me again. The other person’s not working out. And I celebrated—”
“Celebrated? This afternoon? How could you do that? Never mind, I know how.”
“I said things. About this. This room. This cramped little… hole. An attic, for heaven’s sake! What are we? It wasn’t nice, what I said. I wasn’t very nice, but still…”
“Mom, you wrecked it for us? Again. I hate this dump, too, I hate it, but you’re wrecking things more than I am!”
“Wrecking things? Jeff, no—”
“You know what, never mind. Never mind! What are we going to do now? Where do we go?”
“I understand you’re angry, but Jeffie, I’m going to get this job. The office manager? I just feel it.”
“You feel it.”
“I think we need to feel good about that. This could be the turnaround we need.”
“Turnaround. Mom, where do you get these things? Where do we go right now?”
Her dumb look again. Then her eyes grew super-huge and she bolted to her feet, nearly fell over, but righted herself with a hand on the dresser.
“Not here!” she shouted. “I can tell you that!”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“Shut—” She stopped, breathed. “Jeff, put your things together. Put them together right now. Not here. Not another word. Not another word in this awful house!”
It only took minutes and we were out in the car. No words, her to me, or us to them. Words were done. The only hint of good-bye was the twins, staring at us from the front window with their mouths gaping at the freaks driving away.
She drove like a machine. No sound. No expression. Barely stopping at corners and lights, weaving and lurching. “Mom, are you okay? Pull over. You need to pull—”
She slammed on the brakes and swung her head at me. “What!”
It was hard looking at her face, red and hanging there. “You’re scaring me,” I said.
Someone honked behind us and she tore off down the street until she swerved into a parking lot, a big one, and kept on swerving, left and right, until she braked and hit a curb. She threw the car into park. There were cars near us, but not many. It didn’t look like anyone had seen our jerky stop, and amazingly we were in an actual parking space.
“I… can’t… see… what…” she mumbled.
I expected her to go on. “Mom?”
“I need to calm down. You’ll let me do that, won’t you, Jeff? Calm down? I need to calm down. I need…” She jerked her seat back, reclining it, then let out a long heavy breath. “Just give me a minute, just one minute!”
The parking lot lights had long ago flicked on. We sat there, the car running, the heat on, her head settled on the headrest. The fuel gauge said we were nearly empty. It was dark, just before six. There were two big box stores in the lot. An office supply and a HomeGoods.
“Perfect, Mom, HomeGoods,” I said, “throw it in our faces, why don’t you.”
Her answer was a snore. I turned to her. “Really, Mom?” The yellow light from the stores gave her cheek a sick color. Her jaw hung on her shoulder, her lips were parted. Grandpa’s lips were open like that when he gave his last breath. I shut off the engine and pushed my hands in my pockets. The heat went away quickly. The only light was the yellow of the store windows and the parking lot lights.
“You really screwed up things this time, Mom. You keep doing it, and now…”
I didn’t finish whatever I was thinking of saying. I opened the door, got out, locked the car, then reopened it and pulled a winter coat from our junk in the back and draped it over her. I locked it again, pocketed the keys, and headed for the store.
In the lobby between the inner and outer doors were three vending machines. I had a dollar. I flattened it, watched it disappear into the slot. Peanut but
ter and orange crackers, right? I wouldn’t get full on them, but with six in the package, they’d take the longest to eat and were probably the most filling food on the menu, if they actually were food and not just chemicals. I wandered the aisles, eating one cracker after the other, slowly, to let them do their work. I took my time, trying not to be noticed. I touched stuff here and there. Cushions, sheets, coats, towels, soft things.
Then I passed a full-length mirror.
A ghost stared back. A sloppy ghost with shirttails dangling below his coat and orange crumbs on his chin. I should have gone as this on Halloween. What the heck! Ashy cheeks, dark eyes with gray around them, a face far off and hazy, a face in the distance. The idea that I’d ever wanted to touch this to Hannah’s face!
The public address crackled and someone came on the microphone. I felt a jolt—had I taken anything? I looked at my hands. Nothing. They were empty.
A cheery voice said, “It is now seven forty-five. In fifteen minutes the store will close. Please bring your purchase up to the registers and have a good evening!”
How did it get so late? How long had I been wandering the aisles?
Someone laughed. A cashier. Sure, they were all going home. I suddenly thought of Mom in the cold car and hurried to the doors. The black night punched me when I pushed through them. I unlocked my door and slid inside. It was cold, but she had burrowed into the coat I’d left on her. I whispered to her. Nothing. I gave her a touch, then a shake; she snored louder. Are you kidding me? She was out cold, snoring like a tractor trying to start. She wasn’t going to do this, was she? Go into a deep sleep right here? Make me sleep here? Cars were starting up around us, backing out, lining up, leaving the lot, driving away. “Mom, Mom, please?” Nothing. I started the car, the heater went on, blowing cold. The gas gauge was so near empty, I had to turn it off. I crawled into the back, kicked our junk to the floor, and huddled in a ball. Stupidly, I thought of Hannah again. What a jerk I am. An idiot. Gross and weird and stupid. I slapped my face. I can’t tell you why. You know why.