Rebound
Because he was making me a grilled cheese
Because I told him a joke and he screamed with laughter
Because the laughing stopped, but the screaming didn’t
Because I heard him drop the pan on the floor
Because he said his chest hurt and he dropped to the floor
Because his eyes were rolling like pinballs
Because I dialed 9-1-1 but kept pressing the wrong numbers
Because she said the ambulance was on the way
Because on the way felt like light-years.
Today
I miss the bus
to school
because I can’t find
my library books,
which are due,
which I thought
were on my desk,
but it turns out
are under
my dirty clothes,
which are under
a blanket
under my bed.
Somewhere between
eating a strawberry Pop-Tart
and not calling Mom
at work
to let her know
I missed the bus,
I decide
to just skip
school,
which means
I won’t have
to listen
to my other best friend, CJ,
go on and on
about artificial snow
or whatever
wacky experiment
she’s into now, and
I won’t have
to listen to Skinny
sing
Michael Jackson songs
and argue
with me
over who’s the best
baller
of all time:
Him: Dr. J
Me: Kareem Abdul-Jabbar
Today,
I skip school
for the first time ever
so I won’t have to listen,
so I won’t have to laugh,
so I won’t have to pretend
like the center
of my universe
didn’t collapse.
There’s an old house
on my block
that we never see
anyone coming out of
or going into.
Sometimes
there are empty
soda bottles
next to a rocking chair
on the porch
that no one ever sits in,
but in the mornings,
on the bus,
we can see
the chair
rocking.
Word is,
Old Lady Wilson
lives there
with fourteen cats
and her dead husband
and sits on a
plastic-covered sofa
with a shotgun
and no teeth,
chewing tobacco
and waiting for us,
daring us
to step one foot
on her property
or commit a crime
(like throw trash
in her yard
or play hooky
from school)
so she can torture
and torment us.
I don’t know
if I believe it,
but while I’m walking
past her house
on my way
to playing hooky,
I swear I see
her curtains move,
and since I don’t want
to risk my life,
I run.
Fast.
Sanctuary
About a twenty-minute walk
from my house
is an old shopping center
with a new grocery store,
pizza restaurant,
Family Dollar,
and a smelly arcade
called Flipper McGhees
where me and Dad
used to battle
each other
in Pac-Man.
Flipper McGhees
After six tries
I finally make it
to level three,
about to nail
the high score,
when I hear
Skinny’s voice
and feel a hard tug
on my arm.
CHARLIE. THE COPS ARE HERE!
Then, I hear an unfamiliar voice:
Hey, you! KID, COME BACK HERE!
If you get caught
skipping school,
the truant officers
put you in jail
overnight
with bread and water
and a pot
to pee in,
so when Skinny yells,
RUN,
I do.
Fast.
Me and Skinny
have been friends
since we met
at CJ’s tenth birthday
roller-skating party,
where we raced
each other,
joked each other,
and started our own
Friday-night skate crew
called
the Three Amigos,
but then CJ said
we had to change
the name
because she was
an amig-A,
not an amig-O.
Skinny’s good at skating,
not so good
at basketball
(even though he swears
he’s a baller),
and even worse at remembering stuff,
like the combination
to his locker
(good thing me and CJ know it)
or the keys
to his house,
which he can never find
after school.
He and his mom
stay at
his aunt
and uncle’s house
in the basement
’cause his father got
shell-shocked
in Vietnam
and now walks around
their old neighborhood
mumbling
to himself
about Mars,
whiskey,
and Hamburger Hill.
Conversation with Skinny
You skipping school?
Yeah.
Why didn’t you tell me?
Why didn’t you tell me?
. . .
. . .
That was close, man.
Yep.
They caught one dude.
Dag.
You like my kicks?
Yeah, but they’re too big for you? You almost tripped back there.
They’re my cousin’s.
He let you wear his Jordans?
Nope, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
They’re fresh.
Fresh to death.
My mom’s buying me some too.
No more ZZZZZZZZZips, he says, laughing. About time, Charlie.
Yeah, I say, lying again, knowing she’s told me no twice already, I’m not spending a hundred dollars on a pair of sneakers, Charlie!
Me too, Charlie. We’re both gonna be like Jordan.
Yep.
Thought
Why can’t
my mother
understand
that the shoes
are not just
for my feet
but my heart,
too?
Who’s Bad?
I bet you I could dunk in these sneakers.
Doubt it.
Jordan did. Remember him in the dunk contest?
Yeah.
He was wearing these right here, Skinny says, pointing to his cousin’s (borrowed) sneakers.
. . .
You like my new jacket?
It’s a jacket.
It’s a Michael Jac
kson jacket. My granny sent it for my birthday
Your birthday was in January.
She doesn’t shop when it’s cold out.
I guess that means she’s cold-blooded.
Yo, that’s funny. Hey, Charlie, who’s bad?
You, Skinny, I say, shaking my head.
You know it! Ready for the skating contest?
Yeah, I guess.
’Cause the summer’s here, and it’s time to par-tay. CJ’s dad’s taking us. He is soooo cool!
. . .
Oh—sorry, man. I didn’t mean to bring that up.
. . .
I heard you had to get a job.
No! Why would I—
Because, you know, what happened, you know—
That’s stupid. My mom has enough money.
Yeah, I thought so . . . Hey, can I come over to your house tonight?
For dinner?
Nah, to watch MTV. They’re showing DJ Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince’s music video.
Why can’t you watch it at your place?
’Cause my mom cuts off the TV and makes me read.
A book?
Yeah.
Is it a good one?
Is any book good?
True. You can borrow one of my comics.
I wish. She doesn’t like comics.
But you’re the one reading.
Sometimes she wants us to read together. It sucks.
Yeah, that does.
So, can I come over?
I don’t know. My mom trips out too much.
. . .
. . .
AW, MAN!
What?
I think I left my dollar bill, he says, still checking his pockets.
Where?
On the pinball machine.
What was your dollar bill doing on the pinball machine?
I was about to get some coins when the cops came in.
. . .
That was my allowance for the rest of the week.
I guess you’re not a smooth criminal, Skinny, I say, smiling.
Not funny, bro!
Hooky
His house
is empty
and full of
cigarette stink.
My uncle smokes incessantly.
Huh?
It means nonstop. CJ kept saying I was talking incessantly, so I looked it up.
Oh.
Skinny plays
video games.
We eat
watermelon
Now and Laters.
I reread
The Fantastic Four
beginning with #1,
and try
not to cry
for the eightieth day
in a row.
Memory
I beat
Mom home
go to my room
shut my door
and stare
at the picture
of Dad
in front of
the Welcome to Georgia sign.
When she knocks
I pull out
my notebook
and pretend
to do homework.
Hey there, Charlie. Tell me about your day at school . . .
I skipped school today
and drank soda
and didn’t eat lunch
and I almost got arrested
and I hate math
and tomorrow we have to play basketball in gym class
and I’m not that good
and I’m not that good at anything
and who’s gonna teach me everything?
and do I need to get a job?
and why is everybody always sorry?
and CJ’s dad is soooo cool
and I’m not taking a shower tonight
because I didn’t do anything all day
but read comics
and play Pac-Man
and I still don’t feel
any better
than I did
last week
or yesterday
or when I woke up
and I’m tired
so can I please
just stay
in my room
turn out the lights
and hide
inside the darkness
that owns me?
Please.
Charlie, I asked you how was school?
After dinner
I turn on MTV
to watch
the music video
for “Parents Just Don’t Understand,”
which is hot
and funny
and the motto
of my life,
but I don’t get
to finish it,
because someone
cuts the TV off.
Oops!
MOM, WHY’D YOU—
I told you I don’t want you watching inappropriate television.
It’s just a video, I say, and turn it back on.
CHARLES, TURN. OFF. THE. TV.
Her nostril flares up
her left eyebrow lifts—the look
when she’s about to trip out—so I
turn it off.
Fast.
It’s not fair. You can’t just do that.
It’s my house and I can absolutely do that. I’m concerned about you.
She tries to hold my hand.
I pull away.
I didn’t want to watch the stupid TV, anyway.
But—
But, nothin’. I’m outta here, I say, running down the hall, slamming my bedroom door—
OOPS—
in her face.
Conversation (that ends badly)
HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?
. . .
I’M TALKING TO YOU!
Just leave me alone.
LEAVE YOU ALONE?! Boy, I am this close to wringing your neck.
And, I’ll call Child Protective Services, I mumble, just loud enough for her not to hear me.
What did you say! WHAT DID YOU SAY!
I’m sick of this place. I’m sick of everything.
Get used to it, ’cause you’re gonna be even sicker. You’re grounded until further notice. Go to school, come home, no TV, no video games.
That’s just stupid. Dad would never do that.
. . .
I wish he was here and you weren’t.
. . .
. . .
You know what, you think you mean that . . . That’s a cruel thing to say, Charlie.
. . .
Put that comic book away, cut off these lights, and go to bed. NOW!
WHAT?! So now I can’t even read. You’re punishing my brain.
I don’t want to hear another word from you. Go to bed. I’m done. No bath, just wash your face and go to bed.
DID. YOU. HEAR. ME?
Yes.
Then move. NOW!
. . .
Overheard
I don’t know how to reach him. I know he’s in pain, but—
. . .
I know it takes time, I do, but I just don’t know what to do.
. . .
He’s got so much anger inside, and then I get mad, and we can’t just keep going like this.
. . .
I guess he’s doing okay. He doesn’t talk to me about school.
. . .
School’s out in three days, and I really can’t afford it, but I thought we’d go on a vacation, just the two—
. . .
Yes, I thought about a psychiatrist, or some sort of camp, but I can’t afford—
. . .
I appreciate that. Anything’s got to be better than this, ’cause I can’t handle him. I swear, I’m not going to be able to keep this together.
. . .
I’ll think about that, thank you.
. . .
Things I Think About Before I Fall Asleep
What is she thinking about?
Who was she
talking to on the phone?
Why can’t I get a real pair of sneakers?
What am I going to do this summer?
Will I have to get a job?
Where is my father now?
Lunch
What’s she doing with the magnet? Skinny asks, pointing to CJ, who’s sitting across the lunch table from us.
Cereal is “fortified with iron,” CJ answers, conducting an experiment on her cereal.
Forty-five with iron? What’s that?
Fortified, Skinny. To strengthen, as in—
AS IN, he interrupts, flexing his biceps, look at these fortified guns I got, right?
Seriously, haven’t y’all ever wondered why cereal says “fortified with iron”?
I didn’t know cereal could talk, Skinny says, laughing at his corny joke.
Nah, not really, I say to CJ.
Our bodies need iron to carry oxygen to fix our blood. So where does it come from?
Not from the cereal, stupid, Skinny says, still laughing.
You’re stupid, Skinny. Plus, I’m done. There’s no metal in here.
You really thought there was metal in there, CJ? I ask.
Of course not, Charlie, but science is about proof. Now I know for sure.
Oh.
Hey, where were you guys yesterday?
Me and Charlie cut yesterday, Skinny says, winking at me with a mouthful of Tater Tots.