Rebound, Page 2

Because he was making me a grilled cheese

  Because I told him a joke and he screamed with laughter

  Because the laughing stopped, but the screaming didn’t

  Because I heard him drop the pan on the floor

  Because he said his chest hurt and he dropped to the floor

  Because his eyes were rolling like pinballs

  Because I dialed 9-1-1 but kept pressing the wrong numbers

  Because she said the ambulance was on the way

  Because on the way felt like light-years.

  Today

  I miss the bus

  to school

  because I can’t find

  my library books,

  which are due,

  which I thought

  were on my desk,

  but it turns out

  are under

  my dirty clothes,

  which are under

  a blanket

  under my bed.

  Somewhere between

  eating a strawberry Pop-Tart

  and not calling Mom

  at work

  to let her know

  I missed the bus,

  I decide

  to just skip

  school,

  which means

  I won’t have

  to listen

  to my other best friend, CJ,

  go on and on

  about artificial snow

  or whatever

  wacky experiment

  she’s into now, and

  I won’t have

  to listen to Skinny

  sing

  Michael Jackson songs

  and argue

  with me

  over who’s the best

  baller

  of all time:

  Him: Dr. J

  Me: Kareem Abdul-Jabbar

  Today,

  I skip school

  for the first time ever

  so I won’t have to listen,

  so I won’t have to laugh,

  so I won’t have to pretend

  like the center

  of my universe

  didn’t collapse.

  There’s an old house

  on my block

  that we never see

  anyone coming out of

  or going into.

  Sometimes

  there are empty

  soda bottles

  next to a rocking chair

  on the porch

  that no one ever sits in,

  but in the mornings,

  on the bus,

  we can see

  the chair

  rocking.

  Word is,

  Old Lady Wilson

  lives there

  with fourteen cats

  and her dead husband

  and sits on a

  plastic-covered sofa

  with a shotgun

  and no teeth,

  chewing tobacco

  and waiting for us,

  daring us

  to step one foot

  on her property

  or commit a crime

  (like throw trash

  in her yard

  or play hooky

  from school)

  so she can torture

  and torment us.

  I don’t know

  if I believe it,

  but while I’m walking

  past her house

  on my way

  to playing hooky,

  I swear I see

  her curtains move,

  and since I don’t want

  to risk my life,

  I run.

  Fast.

  Sanctuary

  About a twenty-minute walk

  from my house

  is an old shopping center

  with a new grocery store,

  pizza restaurant,

  Family Dollar,

  and a smelly arcade

  called Flipper McGhees

  where me and Dad

  used to battle

  each other

  in Pac-Man.

  Flipper McGhees

  After six tries

  I finally make it

  to level three,

  about to nail

  the high score,

  when I hear

  Skinny’s voice

  and feel a hard tug

  on my arm.

  CHARLIE. THE COPS ARE HERE!

  Then, I hear an unfamiliar voice:

  Hey, you! KID, COME BACK HERE!

  If you get caught

  skipping school,

  the truant officers

  put you in jail

  overnight

  with bread and water

  and a pot

  to pee in,

  so when Skinny yells,

  RUN,

  I do.

  Fast.

  Me and Skinny

  have been friends

  since we met

  at CJ’s tenth birthday

  roller-skating party,

  where we raced

  each other,

  joked each other,

  and started our own

  Friday-night skate crew

  called

  the Three Amigos,

  but then CJ said

  we had to change

  the name

  because she was

  an amig-A,

  not an amig-O.

  Skinny’s good at skating,

  not so good

  at basketball

  (even though he swears

  he’s a baller),

  and even worse at remembering stuff,

  like the combination

  to his locker

  (good thing me and CJ know it)

  or the keys

  to his house,

  which he can never find

  after school.

  He and his mom

  stay at

  his aunt

  and uncle’s house

  in the basement

  ’cause his father got

  shell-shocked

  in Vietnam

  and now walks around

  their old neighborhood

  mumbling

  to himself

  about Mars,

  whiskey,

  and Hamburger Hill.

  Conversation with Skinny

  You skipping school?

  Yeah.

  Why didn’t you tell me?

  Why didn’t you tell me?

  . . .

  . . .

  That was close, man.

  Yep.

  They caught one dude.

  Dag.

  You like my kicks?

  Yeah, but they’re too big for you? You almost tripped back there.

  They’re my cousin’s.

  He let you wear his Jordans?

  Nope, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

  They’re fresh.

  Fresh to death.

  My mom’s buying me some too.

  No more ZZZZZZZZZips, he says, laughing. About time, Charlie.

  Yeah, I say, lying again, knowing she’s told me no twice already, I’m not spending a hundred dollars on a pair of sneakers, Charlie!

  Me too, Charlie. We’re both gonna be like Jordan.

  Yep.

  Thought

  Why can’t

  my mother

  understand

  that the shoes

  are not just

  for my feet

  but my heart,

  too?

  Who’s Bad?

  I bet you I could dunk in these sneakers.

  Doubt it.

  Jordan did. Remember him in the dunk contest?

  Yeah.

  He was wearing these right here, Skinny says, pointing to his cousin’s (borrowed) sneakers.

  . . .

  You like my new jacket?

  It’s a jacket.

  It’s a Michael Jac
kson jacket. My granny sent it for my birthday

  Your birthday was in January.

  She doesn’t shop when it’s cold out.

  I guess that means she’s cold-blooded.

  Yo, that’s funny. Hey, Charlie, who’s bad?

  You, Skinny, I say, shaking my head.

  You know it! Ready for the skating contest?

  Yeah, I guess.

  ’Cause the summer’s here, and it’s time to par-tay. CJ’s dad’s taking us. He is soooo cool!

  . . .

  Oh—sorry, man. I didn’t mean to bring that up.

  . . .

  I heard you had to get a job.

  No! Why would I—

  Because, you know, what happened, you know—

  That’s stupid. My mom has enough money.

  Yeah, I thought so . . . Hey, can I come over to your house tonight?

  For dinner?

  Nah, to watch MTV. They’re showing DJ Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince’s music video.

  Why can’t you watch it at your place?

  ’Cause my mom cuts off the TV and makes me read.

  A book?

  Yeah.

  Is it a good one?

  Is any book good?

  True. You can borrow one of my comics.

  I wish. She doesn’t like comics.

  But you’re the one reading.

  Sometimes she wants us to read together. It sucks.

  Yeah, that does.

  So, can I come over?

  I don’t know. My mom trips out too much.

  . . .

  . . .

  AW, MAN!

  What?

  I think I left my dollar bill, he says, still checking his pockets.

  Where?

  On the pinball machine.

  What was your dollar bill doing on the pinball machine?

  I was about to get some coins when the cops came in.

  . . .

  That was my allowance for the rest of the week.

  I guess you’re not a smooth criminal, Skinny, I say, smiling.

  Not funny, bro!

  Hooky

  His house

  is empty

  and full of

  cigarette stink.

  My uncle smokes incessantly.

  Huh?

  It means nonstop. CJ kept saying I was talking incessantly, so I looked it up.

  Oh.

  Skinny plays

  video games.

  We eat

  watermelon

  Now and Laters.

  I reread

  The Fantastic Four

  beginning with #1,

  and try

  not to cry

  for the eightieth day

  in a row.

  Memory

  I beat

  Mom home

  go to my room

  shut my door

  and stare

  at the picture

  of Dad

  in front of

  the Welcome to Georgia sign.

  When she knocks

  I pull out

  my notebook

  and pretend

  to do homework.

  Hey there, Charlie. Tell me about your day at school . . .

  I skipped school today

  and drank soda

  and didn’t eat lunch

  and I almost got arrested

  and I hate math

  and tomorrow we have to play basketball in gym class

  and I’m not that good

  and I’m not that good at anything

  and who’s gonna teach me everything?

  and do I need to get a job?

  and why is everybody always sorry?

  and CJ’s dad is soooo cool

  and I’m not taking a shower tonight

  because I didn’t do anything all day

  but read comics

  and play Pac-Man

  and I still don’t feel

  any better

  than I did

  last week

  or yesterday

  or when I woke up

  and I’m tired

  so can I please

  just stay

  in my room

  turn out the lights

  and hide

  inside the darkness

  that owns me?

  Please.

  Charlie, I asked you how was school?

  After dinner

  I turn on MTV

  to watch

  the music video

  for “Parents Just Don’t Understand,”

  which is hot

  and funny

  and the motto

  of my life,

  but I don’t get

  to finish it,

  because someone

  cuts the TV off.

  Oops!

  MOM, WHY’D YOU—

  I told you I don’t want you watching inappropriate television.

  It’s just a video, I say, and turn it back on.

  CHARLES, TURN. OFF. THE. TV.

  Her nostril flares up

  her left eyebrow lifts—the look

  when she’s about to trip out—so I

  turn it off.

  Fast.

  It’s not fair. You can’t just do that.

  It’s my house and I can absolutely do that. I’m concerned about you.

  She tries to hold my hand.

  I pull away.

  I didn’t want to watch the stupid TV, anyway.

  But—

  But, nothin’. I’m outta here, I say, running down the hall, slamming my bedroom door—

  OOPS—

  in her face.

  Conversation (that ends badly)

  HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?

  . . .

  I’M TALKING TO YOU!

  Just leave me alone.

  LEAVE YOU ALONE?! Boy, I am this close to wringing your neck.

  And, I’ll call Child Protective Services, I mumble, just loud enough for her not to hear me.

  What did you say! WHAT DID YOU SAY!

  I’m sick of this place. I’m sick of everything.

  Get used to it, ’cause you’re gonna be even sicker. You’re grounded until further notice. Go to school, come home, no TV, no video games.

  That’s just stupid. Dad would never do that.

  . . .

  I wish he was here and you weren’t.

  . . .

  . . .

  You know what, you think you mean that . . . That’s a cruel thing to say, Charlie.

  . . .

  Put that comic book away, cut off these lights, and go to bed. NOW!

  WHAT?! So now I can’t even read. You’re punishing my brain.

  I don’t want to hear another word from you. Go to bed. I’m done. No bath, just wash your face and go to bed.

  DID. YOU. HEAR. ME?

  Yes.

  Then move. NOW!

  . . .

  Overheard

  I don’t know how to reach him. I know he’s in pain, but—

  . . .

  I know it takes time, I do, but I just don’t know what to do.

  . . .

  He’s got so much anger inside, and then I get mad, and we can’t just keep going like this.

  . . .

  I guess he’s doing okay. He doesn’t talk to me about school.

  . . .

  School’s out in three days, and I really can’t afford it, but I thought we’d go on a vacation, just the two—

  . . .

  Yes, I thought about a psychiatrist, or some sort of camp, but I can’t afford—

  . . .

  I appreciate that. Anything’s got to be better than this, ’cause I can’t handle him. I swear, I’m not going to be able to keep this together.

  . . .

  I’ll think about that, thank you.

  . . .

  Things I Think About Before I Fall Asleep

  What is she thinking about?

  Who was she
talking to on the phone?

  Why can’t I get a real pair of sneakers?

  What am I going to do this summer?

  Will I have to get a job?

  Where is my father now?

  Lunch

  What’s she doing with the magnet? Skinny asks, pointing to CJ, who’s sitting across the lunch table from us.

  Cereal is “fortified with iron,” CJ answers, conducting an experiment on her cereal.

  Forty-five with iron? What’s that?

  Fortified, Skinny. To strengthen, as in—

  AS IN, he interrupts, flexing his biceps, look at these fortified guns I got, right?

  Seriously, haven’t y’all ever wondered why cereal says “fortified with iron”?

  I didn’t know cereal could talk, Skinny says, laughing at his corny joke.

  Nah, not really, I say to CJ.

  Our bodies need iron to carry oxygen to fix our blood. So where does it come from?

  Not from the cereal, stupid, Skinny says, still laughing.

  You’re stupid, Skinny. Plus, I’m done. There’s no metal in here.

  You really thought there was metal in there, CJ? I ask.

  Of course not, Charlie, but science is about proof. Now I know for sure.

  Oh.

  Hey, where were you guys yesterday?

  Me and Charlie cut yesterday, Skinny says, winking at me with a mouthful of Tater Tots.