What would Mrs. Crow say
if they told her,
“Oh, you are just separated
from Chris”?
Yeah, right.
Some big comfort
separation is.
The Envelope
I stare into the nearly empty fridge.
“Man, Mom. There’s nothing
to eat for breakfast.”
“I’ll fix you and Dale-o some oatmeal.
He’ll be in here looking soon enough too.
I shove the door closed,
flop down at the table,
and wait.
“Can’t we get some
better groceries now?” I whine.
She stops measuring the water.
“What do you mean?”
“Wasn’t that money Dad gave you last night?”
She shakes her head.
“The envelope, I mean.”
“That’s for the house payment
and the utilities, Estele.”
“Can’t we just go grocery shopping instead?”
She flicks the burner knob hard.
“No, Estele Leann, we can’t.
We need this house.”
She bangs the pot down,
and water sloshes out.
“Sorry, Mom,” I say super quietly.
She grips the edge of the stove tight
and nods.
“It’s okay, sweetheart.”
Is it?
Because
Because of my headaches,
I have to visit the school counselor
instead of going out to lunch recess.
Mom told our whole big fat story
to him, I guess.
She said she had to
for my own good.
And of course
she didn’t mention it
till I was getting out of the car
this morning.
At least the counselor is nice and all.
But I can’t even look at him.
He knows
everything.
“How are you, Estele?”
“Fine.”
“I understand
your father came by last night.”
I shrug and swing my legs.
“It was just a stupid visit.
I don’t want to talk about it.”
That keeps him away from asking
me
way too personal stuff.
He should be talking to my dad
anyway
about why
he
left us.
And then I could get out to the playground.
Besides, I’m getting a headache in here,
and Ms. Dryden
has my medicine.
Money
Walking back to class,
I find a dime and pick it up.
Will anyone get the reward
for finding Chris?
Or will there be a ransom
for him?
Will the kidnapper
want money
to give Chris back?
How much?
How much would his folks pay
a kidnapper
to get him back?
A million?
Probably.
I rub the ridges of the dime.
Could I pay my dad to come back?
How much?
A million?
Probably not enough
to make him
want to come back
to us.
Besides,
all I have is this dime.
I stuff it into my jeans.
I gave my piggy bank to Mom
for food.
Idiot
Maybe
someone is paying Dad
to stay away.
Like some TV show
is filming us,
and hell win us a million bucks
if he stays away for a long time.
Maybe a million
is enough for Dad.
If he played the game,
he’d be an idiot.
I look around the hallway.
No hidden cameras anywhere.
He’s still an idiot.
Questions
The note says:
“Message from Starfleet:
So what was that about?
Where were you after lunch?
Wally”
I shrug.
I know he sees it
and that’s enough
for him to know
not to ask
any more questions.
Reading Time
I don’t think we should read any further
in The Wizard of Oz.
Chris will miss out
and not know
how Dorothy really gets back to her family.
I bet Ms. Dryden skipped last week
hoping he’d get back to hear the story.
But today
she opens to the bookmark
and reads aloud anyway.
Lies
Dorothy’s shoes
weren’t red.
They were silver.
In the movie on TV,
they were sparkly red.
Liars.
Maybe the TV
is lying about Chris, too.
Maybe he’s not kidnapped
after all.
Or …
Maybe the TV is right this time.
What if Chris was kidnapped
and now he’s dead?
Deader than the Wicked Witch of the East.
Dead.
The word sizzles through my brain
like the electricity
zoomed through the circuit panel
we made this morning.
It burns and sears.
I yank the battery
out of that thought.
Hats, Coats, Socks
“Everybody remember
your hats, coats, and socks tomorrow.”
Ms. Dryden straightens her desk.
We file out the door.
“Of course, if it was a real snow day,
we’d get to stay home,” says Jarin.
“It’s still fun, though,” says Wally,
shouldering his backpack.
“It’s fun to nail you with snowballs!”
He grins.
“You wish” is all she says back.
We step out into the sunshine.
It must be ninety-five degrees today.
“See ya,” I call to Wally.
“Later,” he says.
Is that what Chris said
to his buddies
when they saw him
last?
He’s Thinking
I give Dale a push
on our swing in the avocado tree.
He flies high.
“You know what, Es?” he shouts.
“What?” I ask.
“I don’t need Daddy to come back.
“Really?”
I push again.
“Really.
I can
be the man
and take care of us”—
he leaps out of the swing
at the highest point—
“myself!”
Dale lands hard.
His legs buckle;
he falls to the grass,
then gets up quick.
“I meant to do that,” he says.
Laundry
Mom turns the socks
right side out
and lines them up
on the couch.
I try to match the pairs.
“If it was an option,”
she starts, then pauses really long,
“would you want to stay
with your dad?”
“What?”
My hand is stuck
in a sock ball.
Is she saying
that she
wants us to?
I yank out my fist.
“I mean if you could?” she says.
“Do you want us—”
“No! I don’t want you
to leave,
but if you had the opportunity—”
“Mom, this
is my home.”
“Our home.” She smiles.
We work quietly
and match up all the socks.
Not one
is left
alone.
Back Massage
Mom lets me stay up late
if I massage her back.
I dig my thumbs into her back muscles
as hard as I can.
She sighs and hits the remote
to run through the channels.
It’s worth making her feel better,
even if I didn’t get to stay up.
It’s one more thing she might stick around here for.
Gone
The message about Chris
doesn’t loop
the bottom of the TV screen anymore.
But that doesn’t mean anything.
Does it?
No.
Except that everyone knows now
who to look for.
Not Going to Be
Whenever Mom cooks now,
she sweats
and rocks from one foot to the other
because her back hurts so much
from being so way pregnant.
Dale holds his sword tight
when he heads off to bed.
I look at myself
in the bathroom mirror
every morning
and say,
“Not a victim,
not a victim,
not a victim.”
Fake Snow
It’s Chris’s grandpa
who owns the ice factory.
So once a year
a giant dump truck comes
and unloads a pile of crushed ice
on the school playground
next to the hibiscus bushes.
Each grade gets a turn to play.
Everyone wears a couple of sweaters
and socks on their hands.
We chuck snowballs at each other
and scream and laugh.
Today, we didn’t see Chris’s grandpa
or his dad,
but two trucks came.
We had more snow than ever.
Wally and I scored two great hits on Jarin.
The ice chunks
stuck in her fake bunny-fur jacket.
But she got me hard
on the back of my head.
Wally checked for blood.
Man, that girl is mean.
Overall, it was still a blast.
But Chris wasn’t there.
And I didn’t get to tell Dad
all about it.
He used to always
want to hear
about Snow Day.
Buzzed Over
“Come on, get in.”
Mr. Paul grins up at me.
I climb into the teensy backseat.
Dale stays on the curb.
“Mom says not to ride with strangers.”
“Come on, Doozerdude.”
“Dale-o, I’m not a stranger.
Get in.”
Mr. Paul pats the front seat.
“Your mother didn’t feel up to driving
so I buzzed over for her.”
“What’s the secret password then?”
“Bufo.”
Dale grins and slides into the car.
“That’s my favorite kind of toad.”
“Me too,” says Mr. Paul.
And he drives us home
while Dale tells him
all about Snow Day.
Pizza
Even if
he ordered in for us
pizza with crab topping,
and played cars with Dale,
and did the dishes,
and helped with my math,
he didn’t
need to sit in Dad’s chair
at the table
or rub Mom’s neck
like that.
Morning News
Mom flicks on the TV
while Dale and I eat our cereal.
“Chris Crow has been missing for over two weeks. His parents maintain hope while the authorities pursue leads. Former clients of Mr. Crow’s law office are being interviewed.”
The camera zooms in on Chris’s mom. “Please give my boy back,” she begs, choking the words out.
A commercial
for a remote-control car comes on.
“Cool I want that!” Dale sputters.
“You make me sick!”
I dump my cereal down the disposal.
“Estele Leann. You apologize
to your brother right now.
He doesn’t realize—”
“Sorry,” I barely mutter,
and I stuff my math book
into my backpack.
Doozerdude still
makes me sick.
Recess Giants
Wally does a giant on the bar.
“Whoa!” he yells.
His body sticks out straight
as he twirls around and around.
He breaks in the middle
and his hips nail the bar.
“Ugh.”
I hold tight
till the bars stop shaking.
“Cool, huh?” he asks.
“Warp speed on that one,” I agree.
“Try it, Essie.”
“No, I like this better.”
I scoot back
and spin.
Over and over.
The bar rocks
against my knees,
then thighs,
till I slow
and end up hanging down.
I look up at Wally‘s dizzy, freckly face.
“I like to spin
all curled up tight.”
“Not me,” he says
and swings out
to do more giants.
“I like to fly!” he yells.
PE
My class gathers closer
around the bars.
Coach Skytema has his stopwatch.
Buffy is shaking
in her flexed-arm hang.
“Keep it up, Buff,” says Juan Carlos.
“Fourteen, fifteen,” counts Coach.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper to Wally.
“Sure you can.” He nudges my shoulder.
That’s what he says
every year.
But I can’t.
I can’t even hang
for three seconds.
Buffy drops to the dirt.
”Excellent endurance!”
Coach high-fives her.
Oh, great.
Coach’s Announcement
”Essie has the qualifying time
in the shuttle run,
the fifty-yard dash,
and the hundred.”
Someone whistles.
I tug my braids.
”All she needs
is fifteen seconds
on the flexed-arm hang.”
”No way,” Jarin says.
”Okay, Essie.” He looks at me.
”Palms away from you.
Step up on the stool,
and then I’ll pull it away.”
I’m shaking,
and I haven’t even
touched the bar.
As Tight As I Can
I space my hands.
Nod to Coach.
Clench as tight as I can.
He pulls away the stool.
And
I drop.
Not even two seconds.
A couple of boys bust up laughing.
Another whispers, ”Loser.”
I turn from Jarin�
��s smirk.
”Told you I couldn’t, Wally,”
I choke out.
He gives me the Vulcan sign
to live long and prosper.
In other words,
it’s okay.
”Sorry about that.”
Coach pats my shoulder.
”Every year you miss
the fitness badge
by the flexed-arm hang.”
”Yeah.”
He crosses my name
off the list,
and I shrink
to the back
of the crowd.
A Shower
With Mr. Paul’s
leftover pizza
and Mom’s rice and black beans,
I’m almost full.
I get a clean towel
from the linen closet
and go to shower.
”Oh, man. Mom!” I yell.
There’s water all over
the bathroom floor.
Floaty toys are scattered everywhere,
and there’s a gray scum ring
in the tub.
Mom comes up behind me.
”What is it now, Estele?”
”Look what that Doozerdude did!”
”Estele, I’m tired.
Just clean it up
and drop the issue.”
”But Mom!”
”Do it.”
She shuffles to her room.
I throw Dale’s towel down
into the slop
and shove it around with my foot.
He gets away
with everything!
Tight
Dale peeks in my room
at bedtime.
”Did you get the fitness award, Es?”
”No.” I refuse
to look away
from my book.
”Flexed-arm hang?”
”Yes.”
”That stinks, Es.”
He doesn’t go away.
”I think you should have
gotten the award.”
He hugs my arm tight
and runs off.
I look up into my dresser mirror.
A little bit of the mad stuff
slips off my face.
Picking Up My Room
Chris gets the fitness award
every year.
He has like four patches.
The boys get to do pull-ups
and he aces those.
He really is fit.
But he didn’t get
to do the pull-ups yet.
Will they save the patch for him?
For when he gets back
or if—
Smack
”It’s Friday.
It’s Friday,”
Dale sings all the way to school.
His big head
balanced on his little neck.
I just want to smack it.
He took the last cereal
the last milk,
and left goops of toothpaste
in the sink that I had to rub out.
”It’s Friday.
It’s Friday.”
Mom joins in the singing.
I glare at my reflection
in the window.
I want
to smack everyone
this morning.
Whacking
Ms. Dryden gives us tasks.
”Only a week until vacation.
Let’s start getting this room in order.”