House Arrest (11 page)

WEEK
2
2

I robbed a bank yesterday
and ran so fast
no one could catch me.
It was because of these kicks, James.
These shoes you got me.
They were like hurricane-force winds,
blowing me through the streets.
And I even let some of the money
driiiiift behind me
like those streams of exhaust
crisscrossing the sky
when airplanes zoom off to faraway places.
I wanted to say thank you to the police for
being sooooo sloooooow.
I wanted to say thank you to the people for
cheering as I ran past.
I wanted to say thank you to you, James,
for giving me the world's fastest shoes.
Good thing you can't go to juvie for a dream, right?

You know I'm twelve, right?
Seventh grade?
I change trachs in my spare time?
Rob banks in my dreams?
Mom just laughed.
Shook her head.
She rang the doorbell.
I don't need a babysitter.
Mom's eyebrows went up.
Tell that to the judge, T-man.
Don't call me T-man.
José's mom answered the door,
just like always, her smile showing first.
Hola,
mijo.
Her voice smooth,
like a hand on my cheek.
She pulled me into a hug.
I couldn't pull away, so I gave in.
Melted a little, I guess,
feeling her bigness surround me,
her softness protecting me
like those heavy pillows Mrs. B uses,
keeping me still
keeping me calm.
Thank you, Carmen.
Mom's voice sounded smiley but tight.
Levi's clinic appointments can go really long,
three doctors,
physical therapy,
occupational therapy,
speech therapy . . .
José's mom held up her hand.
I'll drop him at school and pick him up after.
No te preocupes.
Mom's hand reached out,
squeezed José's mom's hand.
You're a lifesaver, Carmen.
I can tell by Mom's voice, though,
she's going to be
preocupes
by a lot of things.

Levi doesn't understand.
He squirms.
He fusses.
Marisol is holding him to her chest.
Squeezing him.
Smelling his baby hair.
A tear falls down her cheek.
I look away.
This is all my fault.
Something that seemed so good.
Has turned out terrible.
Yet again.
Keep me updated.
Mom nods.
She has on her I Am Brave and Will Not Cry face.
I'll be back to visit.
Mom nods again.
Timothy.
Marisol puts Levi down.
She turns to me.
Does she hate me?
Does she know this is my fault?
Marisol signs
brother.
She sniffs. She smiles.
Keep teaching him, OK?
I sign
OK
because now it's my throat that's too tight to talk.

Feelings, feelings, feelings.
How is it that
I can have so many feelings
that they all swirl together
until I feel so much all at one time
that it's almost like I feel
nothing at all?
I'm not making sense.
Sorry.

Can I still use your computer?
Mrs. B?
Please?

Tiny curls all over her head.
Gray. Like dishwater.
Her face
like someone with giant fingers
pinched her mouth, nose, eyes
into a point.
Her scrubs
covered in clowns.
Clowns.
Really.
Yes.
Clowns.
And her voice?
Fake, high-pitched.
She talks to Levi like he's a dog.
An especially stupid dog.
Mary.
That's her name.
So close to
Marisol
, but so different.
I hate her so much
my hands shake.
What have I done?

WEEK
2
3

All I'm saying is
you haven't met her
have you, James?
No.
So you can say
hate
is a strong word
and I will hear your words
like Mrs. B says.
I will digest your words
like a chicken leg
bouncing in my stomach.
I will let your words
move through my blood vessels
infiltrate my brain
leave deposits of word vitamins
through my whole self.
But I won't stop saying
hate
because I do hate her.
Also, I do not think Mrs. B agrees with you.
She
likes
feeling words, James.
They are her sunshine.
So don't tell me all these things you know.
You don't know anything.

Dear James,
Mrs. B is making me write this.
You are right and I am wrong.
Mrs. B does, in fact, hate the word
hate
.
Well, I guess she dislikes the word
hate
.
Very much.
Feeling words can be strong.
They can have muscles
and meat on their bones.
They can express your spinning guts,
they can shout your insides to the outside
(but different than throwing up
which you can call
shouting groceries
if you want
because I read it somewhere
so that's a thing I am not making up).
But feeling words should also be
meaningful
.
That's what Mrs. B says.
Hate is not
meaningful
.
Hate is not
productive
.
Hate shouts groceries all over
more complex emotions
.
You know, writing this letter is making me want to
shout groceries.
Mary makes me want to
shout groceries.
A lot of times, James, YOU make me want to
shout groceries.
And Mrs. B.
Oh, you are the queen.
The queen of spinning my guts.
So I'm sorry, James,
for saying you don't know anything.
Because you know everything.
JAMES KNOWS ALL OF THE THINGS.
JAMES IS THE KING OF EVERYTHING.
Mrs. B is reading over my shoulder.
Her cheeks are so red.
Hahaha.
She is really ma—

Levi was wearing cloth trach ties
instead of the chains.
Thick, damp ties
smelling of sour milk,
baby cheese.
What are these?
My voice was loud.
Mary just looked at me
with cow eyes.
Where did the chains go?
More cow eyes.
Then, her high-pitched voice:
The chains are against regulation.
My loud voice just kept coming:
The chains keep him happy.
The chains keep him dry.
The chains prevent infections on his neck.
My face is hot, my breathing hard.
Mom comes in, takes my hand,
pulls me away
and while I stand in the kitchen
hating Mary
(Yes, James. Yes, Mrs. B.
Hating
her.)
I hear Mom say,
He's just a boy, yes,
but he loves his brother very much.
Are we back to Levi being a screaming burrito
so many many many times a day?
Erasing Marisol's smart idea of the chains?
That's when I thought about punching the wall
right there in the kitchen.
Pow.
But I didn't.
I just walked out.

I walked out
and went to the only place I
can
go,
even though technically
I should have told Mom
where I was going,
and even though technically
I should have told José's mom
that I was coming.
But here I am.
I won't stay long.
I just need to catch my breath.

Only ten minutes
ticktock ticktock
until Sofia needed to start writing her paper,
until I needed to go back home.
Isa leaned over my shoulder,
her hair as the curtain next to my face
instead of Mrs. B's curtain.
The Google box was blank.
I couldn't type.
My brain was a black hole
pulling every particle of Isa
into it
and forgetting everything else.

Look.
Isa stood behind me, her arm reaching over my shoulder.
She pointed to the screen
but I looked at her arm,
at the freckle just above the inside of her elbow.
It's a really nice freckle.
Round
but slightly gross.
There's a hair in the middle.
A really long hair.
You're not looking.
My eyes traced her arm to get to the screen.
Isa tapped the monitor.
It's not a touch screen
, I said.
I know, dummy.
She smacked the back of my head with her other hand.
LOOK.
I looked.
Dr. Samuel Sawyer
Cincinnati Children's Hospital
specialty: airway
Accepting new patients
We did it!
We found someone!
But wait.
Cincinnati?
Uuugh.
Might as well be Antarctica.
And of course he's the only doctor
in the whole freaking country
who does this surgery.

I dropped my head on the desk.
A hand patted my shoulder.
I peeked open my eyes
saw the freckle one more time,
so pretty
so gross.
Nothing is perfect, is it?

Reckless
is the word Mom used.
How would I know you were going to José's house?!
she asked, slamming her hand on the table.
How would I know you wouldn't be
wandering the streets
getting into trouble
getting picked up again
getting sent to juvie for real?!
How do we know anything?
That's what I said.
Maybe I should have said
But I found him!
I found the doctor who can save Levi!
But I didn't.
I didn't say anything else.
I just stared at the table
while my mind went crazy
saying Cincinnati
Cincinnati
Cincinnati
over and over and over again.
Timothy!
Mom grabbed my arm.
Are you even listening to me?
You have to be responsible now.
You can't go back to juvie.
You just can't.
And she started to cry.