Peter
If I had to describe her in one word, it would be beautiful. Naturally beautiful. Wait, that’s two words…and it’s cliché…and it’s quite…strange? Incestuous? Is it incestuous to think of your own mother as beautiful? No, no…it’s not that.
It’s not just the way she looked. It was the aura about her. The way the ends of her hair brushed lightly over the back of her shoulders while she worked…and the way she was just so…unaffected. She would gather up each strand of her hair into a loose bun using only one hand so that she didn’t need to stop whatever task she worked on. It was effortless…she was effortless. I didn’t get that from her. I make everything I do look difficult, trying, exasperating, daunting, complicated, long-winded—What am I, a thesaurus? This is exactly what I mean.
I hear a loud bang and subsequent shatter come from the kitchen. Something’s broken. Can I take any more of this? I stand from my bed and walk directly there. Danny is kneeling in front of the refrigerator with its door wide open. The top shelf fell again. There’s broken glass and pickle juice all over the floor.
“Jesus Christ, Mary, and Joseph.”
“Not my fault the freakin’ bolt is missing on this shelf.”
“OK? But I told you not to put anything glass on it. This is exactly why.”
He gets off his knees and sits on his bottom. He covers his face with the palms of his hands. Is he fucking kidding right now?
“Are you serious, Daniel?!”
With that he slams his hands to the ground. Pickle juice splashes all around.
“What?! What do you want, Peter?!”
“Not only is pickle juice all over the floor and your knees, now you’re sitting in it and splashing it around? Stand up. Just stand up.”
He gets back on his knees and pushes himself up. He nearly slides back down but grabs onto the countertop.
High school is hard. It’s even harder when you’ve gone through the trauma he has…and when you’re covered in pickle juice.
“Go change please. Put your clothes in the laundry basket. I have to clean this up.”
I grab the roll of paper towels, unravel a bunch, and throw them onto the floor.
He takes a deep breath and then looks down. “This smells disgusting.”
“Yep,” I say as I get onto the tile and collect big shards of glass in my hand.
“Can the caseworker not come today?”
I sigh. “That’s not how it works, Danny. I can’t cancel an appointment with CPS.”
“I just don’t feel well.”
I stand back up and walk slowly toward the garbage pail. I drop the glass into it.
“I know… We’re almost through it though, right? This could even be the last visit. Go now, or you’ll be late for school.”
“OK,” he says. He walks out of my sight. I grab the vacuum cleaner from the storage closet and walk back to the kitchen. I hear the shower start. I like the sound of the shower…white noise. I turn on the vacuum and add to the loud silence.
I never wanted to teach Danny to lie…but I had to, right? Too risky otherwise.
That’s it. That’s the one thing I make look effortless: lying.
I think of all the lies I’ve told in my life. Goddammit. There are so many.
Danny
It’s like they broke something in my head. My brains are like the pickle juice, leaking out everywhere and it fucking stinks.
I slam my locker shut and walk toward class. I’m yanked back by my hoodie. FREAKING LOCKER. The end of my sweatshirt is stuck in the door. I punch the locker as hard as I can. It doesn’t open. I enter the combination quickly. 24-38-17. It doesn’t open again! FUCK! I look up to the ceiling and kick, and kick, and kick, and kick. 24-38-17. 24-38-17. 24-38-17. 24-38-17.
“Something wrong, Mr. Marcello?’
I jump, then take a deep breath.
“Did I startle you?” Mr. Blaine asks.
24-38-17, I think, but I say, “I’m OK.”
“Then why are you beating on the lockers?”
I turn toward him and point angrily toward the bottom of my hoodie, which is still being freakin’ EATEN by this stupid freakin’ stupid LOCKER which won’t OPEN.
“Let me help. What’s your combination?”
I don’t want to say it out loud…and it’s not because I’m scared someone will hear. It’s because well, I’m fucking weird now, OK? I don’t know. Like something bad will happen if I say those numbers? Terrible? That makes no freakin’ sense and I know it.
“I don’t know,” I say with a sigh.
“You don’t know your locker combination?” Mr. Blaine raises his eyebrow at me. I hate when adults do that. Like I’m stupid or something. Everyone thinks I’m so freakin’ stupid. I probably know more than he does. All he teaches is health. Wow, big freakin’ deal, he knows how babies are made and that fast food makes you fat. 24-38-17.
“What’s going on at home, Danny?”
Here we go again. It’s all my fault.
“Nothing! Everything is fine at home! I’m mad because my hoodie is stuck in this freakin’ locker, OK? This has nothing to do with anything else.”
“I was just asking. I want to help you.”
He really is dumb.
“How? By sending more caseworkers to my apartment? Them threatening to put me back in foster care? You think that helps?”
“Mr. Marcello, I prefer we talk about this privately inside my classroom once we get your sweatshirt out of this locker.”
Oh hell no.
I do a fucking wiggle worm, escape artist dance to get out of my hoodie. I leave it just dangling from the locker, and fix my hair with my hands, “No. No, no, no, no, no. No talking. I don’t want to talk.” I walk backwards.
“Well, if you change your mind.”
I turn away from him and keep moving. Everyone’s always judging me around here. I feel like they’re watching me. They know CPS is coming to my house. I know they do. Schools know that type of stuff, and they tell all the teachers. They do that so each one can make sad eyes at you in class, and call CPS anytime you drop your freakin’ pencil the wrong way.
I was so close to screwing it all up. Today could be the last time I have to see that caseworker’s face. I’ve gotten this far already.
Peter
The CPS case will be closed. I love it. It’s music to my ears. My heart stops racing and I smile. I lean back in my chair and breathe.
“Peter,” she says after she stands from our dining room table.
“Yes? I’m sorry. I’m just so happy to be finished with all of this. I know Danny is too.”
“Yes, he’s made that very clear to me.” She nods her head with a ‘if you only knew’ kind of laugh. Then she pushes in the chair and heads to the door. When she gets to the top of the staircase, she turns back to face me. “You’re doing just fine. Remember, you won’t have any more issues as long as you don’t have any more drug—”
“I won’t. I don’t do those things. I was never the problem.”
“I’m aware. Your urine tests have confirmed that,” she says as she walks down the stairs.
I follow close behind her. She opens the door.
“Right,” she says. She turns back to look at me. She stares for a moment.
“Yes?” I ask uncomfortably. What is she looking at?
“Your face is looking much better.”
“Thanks…” I say, followed by a singular laugh. “You know, I still won’t go near that parking lot. I’m just terrified of it. That’s quite embarrassing.” I cover my mouth with my hand as in shame. I lean my back against the door frame.
“Which one was it again?”
“Big lot on 112. Got mugged right after work. Never again. Won’t step foot in the place now. Had to quit my job.”
“Have you found anything else yet?”
Shit! That probably wasn’t the smartest thing to say to a CPS caseworker.
“Oh, well—erm. I’m still looking. Doing some odds and ends…Door Dash…However many hours are needed to pay the bills, even if I have to work all day! I make sure that I have enough to pro—”
“I’m not concerned with Door Dash. Anyway, you’re sure you don’t want to file a police report? That’s something I can help with.”
“About the— uh— mugging? Oh, no…No. I’d rather keep our lives drama-free right now, for Danny’s sake…but thank you for the offer.”
“You’re welcome. Hold onto my card.”
“Will do.” I don’t stop smiling as I close the door. Happy family. We are a happy, happy family…Well, at least that’s what I wanted her to think.
I still smile as I stand staring, wide-eyed at the closed door. I shake my head rapidly as if to wake myself up from a trance and lose the grin. I did it. I somehow did it again.