WEEK 18

What are you feeling today, Timothy?
Mrs. B asks this every week.
Not how are you feeling, Timothy, but what are
you feeling.
I am feeling José’s shirt on my back.
I am feeling my toes pressed against the tips
of my shoes.
I am feeling the squishy couch under my butt.
I am feeling the breeze from the vent
blowing down my neck.
I am feeling the broken pencil in my pocket.
I am feeling the itch of a zit on my nose.
I am feeling the growl in my stomach because
it’s past lunch
and not quite dinnertime.
But what do I say?
I feel nothing, Mrs. B.
I feel nothing.

Feeling nothing doesn’t earn me time on the computer.
You know how that makes me feel?
Sad
Mad
Tired
Grouchy
Frustrated
Those are not dwarves.
They are feelings, OK?
They are like nickels and quarters
jangling, jangling, jangling
buying me time on Mrs. B’s computer.

What are you looking for?
Mrs. B’s hair slides around off her shoulder
trapping her face next to mine
trapping us in a corner
trapping me until I answer.
A doctor.
She doesn’t say anything.
I feel the warmth of her face
near my face.
I smell her perfume or shampoo
that somehow smells tired.
I type subglottic stenosis
and click search.
Mrs. B writes something down.
She slides a piece of paper toward me.
Subglottic stenosis pediatric doctor
I type in the extra words.
There are 35,600 results.
So many links.
Mrs. B stands up
her hair slides back into place.
For one second her hand touches my shoulder
then she moves away.
35,600 results.
That’s a lot of doctors, right?
I suddenly feel a lot less trapped.
By everything.

Yeah.
35,600 is not the number of doctors
who fix broken babies,
it’s just a bunch of studies
and hospitals
and things that have nothing to do with anything.
Uuugh.
Now what?

Mystery bag contents for the week:
Bread
Milk
Cheese
Bologna
Spaghetti
Sauce
Vanilla yogurt
Frozen OJ
And in a second mystery bag:
popcorn kernels
butter
an action movie DVD
with the $4.99 sticker still on it.
When I picked up the bag
off the mat
I looked down the street
like I always do
and this time
this time
I saw something.
A red car turning by the stop sign.
The same color red as James’s car.

Mom and I are watching the movie
upstairs
alone
with popcorn
in her bed!
It’s so weird
hearing the suction machine downstairs
and knowing Levi is down there
but that we’re up here.
Every time I hear it I jump
but Mom’s hand goes to my knee.
He’s fine, she smiles.
Let’s have some you-and-me time, OK?
OK.
I should be used to night nurses by now,
but we hardly ever get one scheduled.
It’s nice.
But weird.
I better put this notebook down
before I get butter all over it.

Are you leaving these bags, James?
Has it been you the whole time?
Even at the hospital?
Because I know how much you hate hospitals.
It must have been hard
to show up there anyway
and pay to park
and go inside
and get buzzed into the ICU
and stay hidden from us
and give a bag to a nurse
and ask her to give it to us.
I mean, that’s a lot of stuff to do
when you’re scared of a place.
Our breath must have been really bad
for you to go to all that trouble
to get us new toothbrushes.
If it was you leaving the bags.
It might not have been.
I don’t know.
Leaving bags of cool stuff . . .
that doesn’t seem like a
Probation Officer University thing.
That seems like just a nice person thing.