WEEK 43

Don’t think I’m not counting the weeks
until it’s been a whole year,
a year of this house arrest.
And as soon as that year is up
BLAMMO.
I’m done with homework.
I’m done with being nice.
I’m back cruising the grocery store,
back stealing fat wallets,
back to ignoring homework . . .
OH WAIT.
Of course I’m doing my homework, James.
Why do you even ask things like that anymore?
You know me by now.
You know what I do.
Jeez.

I don’t want to talk about it.
I don’t want to talk to him.
And if you keep bringing it up, Mrs. B,
I’m just going to shout
SO WHAT SO WHAT SO WHAT SO WHAT
and never stop
like I have that syndrome
that makes people shout things
without being able to help it.
Except I’ll be able to help it
and I’ll do it anyway.

I’m sorry I said that
about the people with the shouting syndrome.
That’s probably not fun,
to yell things when you don’t need to.
Kind of the opposite of Levi . . .
not being able to shout when he wants to.
I only meant it as an example
but I guess it wasn’t all that great of one.
Sorry about that.
I wouldn’t want someone using Levi’s nonshouting
in a court-ordered journal
just as a way to describe
how they were feeling
to a court-ordered psychologist
with blond hair
and too many plants
and crinkly eyes
and a bad habit of dating the court-ordered
probation officer.

Did I just do it again?
Accidentally write something insulting?
Or maybe it was accidentally
on purpose.
YOU’LL NEVER KNOW, SUCKERS.

Do you want to say anything?
That’s what the guidance counselor asked me
about the Carnival of Giving.
She said I could give a speech
if I want
and I was like
nooooooooooooooooooooo
oooooooooooooooooooooo
oooooooooooooooooooooo
oooooooooooooooooooooope
but thank you for asking.

Go on, Levi.
He stood, bounced a little
fell on his butt
smiled.
Go on, show Timothy.
He looked at me,
eyes like inky pools.
(Is there such a thing as an inky pool?
You know what I mean. Dark. Shiny.)
Come on, little dude.
He lifted his hand up
and I thought
finally
finally!
He’s going to sign brother!
You can do it!
He tucked his tiny thumb
in between his first two fingers
like he was making the letter T.
Look at you!
It’s not brother,
but it’s so close.
It’s the start of my name
it’s . . .
He started to rock his hand back and forth.
He wasn’t making a T at all.
He was making the sign for . . .
Potty! See that, T-man? Levi can sign potty now!
Now he can tell us when his diaper needs changing!
Levi clapped.
I patted his head and smiled and sighed.
Yeah. Awesome, little man.
And then to Mom:
Don’t call me T-man. Come on.