“You got my ball,” I go.
“What?” the dad says.
“The Nerf ball,” I tell him.
“That’s his,” the dad goes. “We brought it here.” He waits for me to say something and then starts walking again.
“I don’t fucking believe this,” I go.
He turns around again. “What’d you say?” he goes. He walks back towards me. “What did you say to me?”
“That’s my ball,” I go.
“What did you say to me?” he goes.
“I said I don’t fucking believe this,” I tell him.
He gives me a two-handed shove and I go flying.
“You’re just gonna steal my fucking ball?” I yell when I get up.
He comes at me again and I take off. When I get a little ways away, I yell back at him, “It’s not even mine. It’s my little brother’s.”
They keep walking. The kid looks like he’s asking his father something. His towel’s covering his back and trailing in the grass.
“You hear me, you fuck?” I scream.
They keep walking.
I run after them, to follow them home and break every fucking window in their house. But they get into a station wagon outside the gate and drive away. I try to read the license plate and then fall on my butt after they take the corner. I wipe my eyes and kick my feet out, like I’m having a tantrum.
What were you gonna do? I think to myself. Report them to Motor Vehicles?
12
“You’re eating again,” my dad says to me at dinner. “He’s eating again,” he tells my mother when I don’t say anything.
“I see that,” my mom tells him back. She’s made pork chops and a salad and I’m even eating the salad.
“I’m eating, too,” Gus volunteers.
“So you are,” my dad tells him.
“So you almost finished?” my mom asks my dad. Gus spills his milk. My dad lifts his plate and my mom goes to get a sponge.
“Maybe I picked the wrong topic,” he says. “Who really cares about the World Bank?” He turns to me. “You care about the World Bank?”
“Not right this second,” I tell him.
“There you have it,” my dad says.
“Well, Edwin’s going to be in school,” my mom tells him. She finishes mopping the table and squeezes the sponge out in the sink. “So he’s not going to be able to make it anyway.”
My dad puts his plate back down. “What’s the matter with you?” he asks me.
“What do you mean?” I go.
“You’re making little noises,” he says.
“I am?” I go.
He imitates one.
“I’m doing that?” I ask.
My mom nods. Gus makes the sound, too.
“Something on your mind?” my dad asks.
“I don’t know,” I tell him.
“The old glass head,” he goes.
I put my elbows on the sides of my dish and hold my head steady with my hands. I don’t look at either of them, or at Gus.
“After dinner, you have to have your medicine,” my mom reminds Gus.
“No,” Gus goes.
“Is that for his ear?” I ask, and she nods.
Gus complains for a while and we all finish eating.
“So you don’t want to talk about what’s bothering you?” my dad asks me.
“Maybe in a little while,” I tell him.
“Mom?” Gus asks.
“Something at school?” my mom asks me. She’s got her back to me because she’s carried her dish to the sink.
“I don’t know,” I tell her. “We’ll see.”
“Mom?” Gus asks.
She looks over her shoulder at me and makes an exaggerated disappointed face. My dad gets a pencil from the counter and writes some notes on his paper napkin.
“I think your father’s working too hard,” my mom says to me when she comes back to the table.
“Hard but not well,” my dad goes. He draws a line on his napkin from one note to another.
“Mom?” Gus asks.
“Your ear hurt?” I ask him.
“Yeah,” he goes. He tilts his head and puts his hand on it. His hand’s still holding his fork.
“You’re getting pork in your hair,” my mom goes. She clears my plate, and my dad’s.
Gus has to finish before he gets dessert. I sit upstairs on my bed with my hands back on the sides of my face. I can hear my dad talking to himself in the downstairs bathroom. “Nobody flushes in this house,” he says. Gus is singing to himself instead of eating. His new favorite song is “I’ve Got the Whole World in My Pants.”
He quiets down. My dad turns on the TV. Down the street a dog starts doing the same bark for ten minutes in a row.
I find myself squatting over by the bookcase. I stopped flipping through the serial killers book when I got to the picture of Richard Speck. He doesn’t look like anybody I know.
“Where’d you get that book?” my mom asks from over my shoulder. She smiles when I jump. I didn’t hear her come in. “I can’t believe they have books like that for kids,” she says.
“It’s not for kids,” I tell her.
“That’s for sure,” she says. She puts away some laundry she’s folded in my drawer and picks up my green pants. “These are about ready to go out, aren’t they?” she asks.
“Leave them,” I tell her.
“We can try to find you a new pair like these,” she says.
“They’re okay,” I tell her.
She drops them and holds up her hands like I’ve gotten all bent out of shape. “Why’re you crying?” she asks. She kneels down next to me. “What’s wrong?”
“I bit my tongue,” I tell her.
She wants to see, so I open my mouth. “I don’t see it,” she says.
“It’s on the bottom,” I go. I can’t tell whether she believes me or not. She gets to her feet and watches me for a minute, then picks up the laundry basket and heads downstairs. I hear her saying something to my dad.
I lie down and slide under the bed. I push my hands against the planks holding up the box spring. I hear Gus get halfway up the stairs and then stop. “Where’s my ball?” he asks somebody.
“What?” my mom says. She’s in the TV room with my dad.
“Where’s my Nerf ball?” Gus goes.
“I think you left it outside,” she tells him.
“I want it,” he goes.
“Didn’t you leave it outside?” she asks.
“I want it,” he goes.
“Well, we can’t get it now,” she tells him. “We’ll get it tomorrow.”
He’s quiet a minute and then keeps coming upstairs. I can see his feet inside my room. “Edwin?” he says.
He goes back downstairs. “Where’s Edwin?” he asks. “He’s up in his room,” my mom tells him.
He comes back upstairs. “Edwin?” he calls.
I’m crying again. “Edwin?” he calls.
“I’m under here,” I tell him.
He gets down on his hands and knees and looks under the bed. He laughs and crawls under with me. He’s small enough to slide up next to me and roll over on his back. “Are we hiding?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I tell him. We lie like that until my mom comes up to put him to bed.
“Are we sleeping under the bed tonight?” she asks after she sings him his song and shuts his door. Now I can see her feet where his were. She’s wearing her poofy slippers. “Edwin?” she asks.
“I’m just lying here a minute,” I go.
Her feet turn and the bed creaks when she sits on it. The box spring sags closer. “Can I ask you a question?” she asks.
“Uh-huh,” I go.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Nothing,” I go.
“I’m talking to a bed, here,” she goes. “So something’s wrong.”
I’m crying again. I wipe my face so hard it hurts.