WEEK 11

We don’t take Levi out a lot
because of the germs, you know?
Sometimes we have to, though.
And that’s when we see
Other
People
dun dun duuuuuuun.
First the forehead gets wrinkly,
then the lips turn down in a frown,
the head tilts to the side,
sometimes there’s a tsk-ing noise
or a sigh and a head shake.
A lot of times there’s an “I’m sorry.”
But that’s dumb.
I mean, come on.
Why are you sorry, ugly lady at the grocery store?
Did you give Levi a messed-up airway?
Did you give him a trach?
No.
That’s the one thing I like about you, James.
Maybe the only thing.
You see Levi all the time
And you never say you’re sorry.
You wash your hands,
you ruffle his hair,
you soft-punch his tiny baby shoulder
and say, What’s up, sir.
Did they teach you how to not say you’re sorry?
At Probation Officer University, I mean?
Or is that just a James thing?
Either way, thanks.
Thanks for never being sorry, James.

Should I call social services?
Mrs. B asked me that.
I thought she meant because I’m quiet,
because my social skills are lacking,
like I need a tutor for learning how to talk to people,
but that’s not what she meant.
If your mom is overwhelmed,
if there isn’t enough food,
if it’s not safe for Levi,
you can tell me, Timothy.
There are people and places who can help.
And it was like she hit me.
Right in the teeth.
She meant like Family Cops
who can take away babies
and kids
and put them in other people’s houses.
So I was like NO NO NO NO NO!
And she had to say OK a hundred times
and I’m sorry a thousand times
and I think maybe her eyes filled up with tears.
It was a little bit crazy.
But not crazy enough for social services.
I swear.

José brought over a crumpled picture.
Take one turtle
shoot it with a ray gun
set to ENLARGE,
remove the turtle’s eyes,
replace the turtle’s legs with flat tires,
take out all of the turtle’s guts,
replace with rusted metal.
This is the car José and his dad are fixing up,
a sad and busted turtle
who somehow managed to save his shell
but nothing else.
How am I supposed to know
what a stupid seal puller looks like?
What do you do when your dad yells at you
for no reason at all?
The question came out of his mouth
before he realized what he was saying.
I said nothing
but my eyes told him to shut his pie hole.
My eyes told him to get on back home
with his dad and their busted-up turtle car.
So he did.
And now I feel kind of bad.
But not that bad.

José is here.
Again.
I’m hiding from him.
In the bathroom.
He just . . .
He never stops talking.
How much he hates his dad.
How much he hates that car.
How much he hates his sisters.
How much he hates his lunch.
I just want to punch him in the mouth.
Hard.
At least you can hate your dad to his face.
At least you have time to spend together.
At least your sisters breathe through their noses.
At least you have a decent lunch.
I take back feeling bad yesterday,
when I was grouchy with him.
He just doesn’t even know.
Has zero clues.
About anything.
At least he brought his math book over.
He might not know anything about anything
but at least he remembers to bring his books
home from school
and at least he knows all the x- and y-axis stuff.
Freakin’ José.