House Arrest (17 page)

WEEK 34

James.
Stop.
You sound like Mrs. B.
Just stop with the
you get more bees with honey
than with vinegar
.
WHO WANTS BEES?!
Not me.
I want Dr. Sawyer
to write. me. back.
RIGHT NOW.
I'M RUNNING OUT OF TIME.
(P.S. Speaking of
B
s,
Mrs. B doesn't wear any rings
in answer to your question from last week.
I saw zero of them on her fingers.
But that doesn't mean anything, you know.
Mom still wears two rings
on her “I'm married” finger,
just FYI.)

Sometimes we never know why people
do the things they do.
Mrs. B said it with that frown-smile.
You know the one.
Grown-ups do it when they're being
SEEEERIOUS.
Sometimes we never know why people
do the things they do.
But we still love those people.
Even when we're mad.
Mrs. B added in the last part just as she ducked her head
lower and to the side
so her eyes
and my eyes
were even.
And she didn't blink.
And I didn't blink.
And she did the frown-smile again.
And I don't know why, but
I wanted to just cry my eyes out.

Supplies came today.
I watched Mary sort through them all,
her head-shakingness in full force.
So many things
for such a little baby.
She sighed big and fake
like she was on TV or something.
Levi scooted over to her
tried to grab some tubing.
No. Not for you.
Mary snatched it out of his hands
and I said,
Wait.
That tubing is exactly for him.
Why can't he check it out?
Mary didn't answer,
just clicked her tongue against her teeth.
Timothy,
she said,
you're not allowed to be in here.
Then she looked up
and smiled.

You push it with your left foot
then shift into gear.
It's the clutch, dummy.
Isa was laughing at me,
laughing when I asked why the turtle car
has two brakes.
Push, shift, gas.
Or something like that.
I don't know how to drive!
She put her hand on my hand.
She laughed again.
It's the best sound,
Isa laughing.
Way better than the
WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
that José yelled when he came in the garage.
The engine still isn't working
it's not like the car was ON or anything.
Though I'm kind of worried
he wasn't really mad about the car.

Him
You
Can't
Don't
Stop
No
NO
Mom is on the phone.
I may
or may not be
pressing my ear to the door
listening so hard
I can hear my heartbeat
in between her words.
I don't know who it is.
I'm too afraid to ask.

WEEK
3
5

I just want you to know
that little sign Levi did?
When he saw you at the door?
The swoopy thing?
With his tiny pinkie?
That looks like a
J
?
It means
juice
not
James
.
There's no way he would sign
James
before he'd sign
brother.
No way.

That phone call.
That phone call.
That phone call.
Mrs. B is worried about me.
The lines between her eyebrows are deep.
She crosses her arms over her chest
which wrinkles her shirt
without her noticing.
But I notice.
I feel kind of important
to worry Mrs. B so much
that she doesn't notice wrinkles.

How are you?
OK.
Really?
Not really.
I'm sorry.
Don't say that.
I'm sorry for being sorry.
Don't be a dork.
You're a dork.
Isa and I can have a whole conversation with just
our eyes.
We're like superheroes.
Very quiet superheroes.
With very giant eyes.

If I stole his Xbox,
if I tattooed
Dork
on his forehead,
if I superglued his hands to his butt,
if I renamed him Shorty McDingDong,
if I ate his guinea pig,
none of these things would make José as mad as
me admitting I like Isa.

P.S. I'm not admitting anything.
I'm just thinking
out loud
in this journal
right now
so
shhhh.

Mary, Mary, quite contrary
how does your garden grow?
With squinty eyes
and big loud sighs
and nursing notes all in a row.

WEEK
3
6

No, James, I don't want to write nicer things about Mary.
I don't think the judge will send me to juvie
because I think Mary has dishwater hair
and wants to break up my family.
So there.
I hate her. For real.
Don't make me hate you, too.

I know hate is a strong word, Mrs. B.
I know you hate it.
I'm sort of sorry I said it.
But only sort of.
And only about James.
I would never hate James.
At least not
every
day.

Timothy's Big Fat
Hate
Dislike List
Mary
Dr. Sawyer, but only if he doesn't write back soon
The way José looks at me when I smile at Isa
Messed-up tracheas
Dad
Not necessarily in that order

Our favorite flying squirrel showed up today,
all smiles and googly eyes,
cooing at Levi,
telling Mom that everything looks great,
the investigation is closed.
I should be happy.
I want to be happy.
But
But
But
There's always a big but when
Carla Ramirez, the flying squirrel, is involved.
I'm so glad you're seriously giving it some thought,
she said,
and my head whipped around so fast
my brain jiggled.
It's a lovely facility.
We're lucky to have something like it in town.
And with the state benefits
for a medically fragile child
needing nursing home care, well . . .
it would help so much.
At least Mom's smile was weak.
At least she looked like she might throw up.
At least I didn't punch Mary in the face for smiling.
At least I didn't leap on the flying squirrel's back
lucha libre
style.
See, Mrs. B?
I'm learning to control my outbursts.
Ten gold stars for Timothy
as we march closer
to the end of the world.

We could visit any time.
We could even stay with him.
There are doctors and nurses 24 hours a day.
I don't even have words.
She can't be serious.
It has to be the tiredness talking,
the no money talking.
It's not Mom talking.
It's not.
It's Mary talking through her.
It's Carla Ramirez, loudmouth flying squirrel,
using Mom's mouth like a puppet.
Mom.
Look at him.
Levi, hanging on his wedge,
clonking himself in the head
with his bottle
doing his wheezy laugh
signing
more
.
You can't give him to strangers.
You'd kill him.
Everything inside him.
You'd kill it.
Levi stopped laughing
barfed
started to choke
set off his oxygen alarms.
Mom grabbed the suction machine
cleared his airway
gave him oxygen puffs
through the trach.
His color went back to normal.
The alarms stopped beeping.
I'm afraid I'm killing him here.
She whispered it so softly
I thought maybe I didn't really hear it.
But I did.
I'm afraid, Timothy.
I'm afraid for him anywhere.
I'm afraid all the time.
Every day.
I'm never not afraid, Timothy.
I'm never not afraid for him.
And when she looked at me,
really looked at me,
I saw how scared she was
and it scared me.
It scared me a lot.