House Arrest (14 page)

WEEK
2
8

Thanks for the milk shake, James.
I mean, it's not going to change the world or anything.
But it was nice.

Mrs. B.
Her eyes always give her away.
She says she's disappointed.
She asks if I'm disappointed with myself.
She talks about breathing and
staying calm.
She talks about impulse control and counting.
But her eyes dip down,
her eyebrows go up
so I can see right into her brain.
Mrs. B, I might not know a lot of things
but I totally know when a lady
wants to hug me and pat my head.
You were saying things like,
Punching walls is unacceptable
.
But your eyes,
your eyes,
they said,
Come here, Timothy,
let me hug you and make everything better.
Thank you for not hugging me, though.

I'm not allowed to talk to Mary.
Not allowed to be anywhere near her.
Mom says it's
forbidden
.
That seems like a really strong word.
I mean, the only things that are
forbidden
are, like, cursed artifacts
or the entrances to biohazardous facilities
or posting TV spoilers online.
Forbidden
seems super fancy.
I don't want anything having to do with Mary
to seem fancy.
Mary can be
off-limits
.
She can be
excluded
.
Or maybe
prohibited
.
But
forbidden
?
No way is Mary in the same class
as a cursed artifact.
No way.

I am an island
inside José's crazy house.
Somehow all the chaos makes me calm.
I just let the noise and the movement
rush over me
until I can't hear anything else,
I can't feel anything else,
just José's house.
And I stand still in the middle of it,
a rock taking a beating
from the waves just battering and hitting and
smashing
and loving every minute of it
if rocks can love things
which maybe they can't.

I checked in on the turtle car today
it is still old
and broken
and ugly.
José, though,
had a smile
and a wrench,
a grease smear across his face
in the shape of a
scimitar
like those scimitars
the dudes use
in that game
I forgot the name of,
the one where you vanquish the zombies
with a quick slash
and a yank,
with a plop
there goes the head
or a lop
there goes the arm
or a stab
there go the entrails.
A scimitar on his face
smiling across his cheek
vanquishing that turtle car
while his dad muttered from underneath the car,
Hand me the wrench.
No, not
that
one
,
dios mio
, José.
The big one.
And José just grinned
tossing random tools down to his dad
while I kicked the tires
and listened to that deep grouchy voice
echo off the walls.

Mary called in sick.
Hooray!
And Mom had to go to work.
Hooray!
Today is just me and Levi.
I put the music up loud,
held him on my hip,
and we danced around the room
like idiots.
I put him in his wedge,
found a bottle,
and you know what he did?
He signed
music
.
For the very first time.
So you know what I did?
I put down that bottle,
picked up that kid,
put the music on extra loud
and we danced until we were laughing so hard
I thought he was going to have to resuscitate
me
.

Seemed like a weird time for Isa
or medical supply delivery
or James.
Those are the only times anyone knocks.
Tap tap tap.
Bam bam bam.
Rat-a-tat-tat.
On the front door.
Right then I should have known.
I should have known something wasn't right.
Her badge said:
Carla Ramirez
Child Protective Services
Her face said:
I Am a Lady Who Means Business
Even Though I Am Smiling
Her mouth said:
Davidson residence?
My name is Carla Ramirez.
I'm with Child Protective Services.
Can you open the door, please?
That was when Levi barfed
and started choking
so I cracked open the door
tried to smile
tried not to look like my insides were melting
as I turned
ran to Levi
clicked on the jackhammer suction machine
and shouted over the noise,
DON'T WORRY.
THIS HAPPENS ALL THE TIME.

WEEK
2
9

James.
James, I can't even.
I just.
You should have seen her face.
She'd start a question
but
stop
talking
slowly
trailing
off
Levi's alarms were too distracting,
his barfing and choking too volcanic,
the suction machine too loud.
I knocked over the hot water—
you know, from the warm mist?
The thing we put over the trach?
When Levi is on the wedge?
I knocked it on her leg
when I was going for the oxygen tubing
and she went
OooowooooOooo
like a siren
and jumped
like a flying squirrel.
She kept yelling over the noise and barfs,
Is your mom here?
Can I speak with your mom?
And in the middle of it all
Mom walked through the front door
dropping her bag
like she always does
saying,
Fo shizzle, who's in the hizzle?!
like she always does
because she is a huge dork.
And this lady,
this
Carla Ramirez
,
oh my god, James,
her face.
I would've laughed
if I wasn't so scared.

So you finally did it.
That's what I yelled at Mrs. B.
The words flew from my mouth
like angry bees
buzzing around the room.
She actually took a step back,
the smile leaving her face
just disappearing in one second.
Timothy?
You called social services!
You called Carla Ramirez!
How could you?!
HOW COULD YOU?!
The bees were in my head after that
buzzing buzzing buzzing
getting tangled up in my thoughts
getting lost in my bloodstream
making my fingers tingle and burn.
I picked up the plant,
the one with crinkled leaves,
the one that sits beside the computer,
and I threw it
hard
against the wall
where the pot shattered
made a loud crashing noise
and Mrs. B jumped back
her mouth turning into a big
O
and the door flew open.
Mom.
We were a triangle.
No one saying anything,
just breathing.
I could hear so much breathing.
Well
,
Mrs. B said.
Her voice was a little shaky.
Well
,
she said it again, not shaky this time.
I don't know if this makes you feel better but
I did not call them.
I talked to them when they called me
but I did not instigate the visit.
I let the words settle into my brain
like smoke calming the bees.
OK
, I said.
O
K
?
Mom said.
OK
. Mrs. B nodded.
Mom went back to the waiting room.
Mrs. B ran her hands through her hair.
She looked at me hard.
A long look into my guts.
I looked back instead of looking away.
I held her stare for once.
I counted like she taught me to.
I breathed like she taught me to.
OK
, I said again.
How about a little time on the computer, Timothy?
Mrs. B stepped over the broken plant
turned on the monitor
looked right into my guts again.
And my guts looked back.
They said,
Sorry
.
They said,
I'm so sorry, Mrs. B
.
I'm so, so sorry
.

Dear Dr. Sawyer,
You must be pretty busy
with all of the baby fixing you do,
but I am still wondering
how it works
when the baby who needs to be fixed
lives in Texas
and you are in Ohio.
Do we just come find you?
At your hospital?
Make a regular appointment?
And we stay at a hotel?
How much does it all cost?
(I need actual numbers, please.)
How long does the fixing take?
Please write back.
Please write back really soon.
Timothy Davidson

What if Dr. Sawyer finds out?
I mean, about Carla Ramirez,
CPS Flying Squirrel Extraordinaire.
What if he thinks we're too messed up?
What if he thinks
No crazy Texas people for me
?
What if he thinks we could never get enough money?
What if he doesn't care if we DO get enough money?
What if he thinks the
whole family
has failure to thrive?

We're going to need money,
moolah,
cash,
green,
dollars,
Ben Franklins.
If I get it all together
and give it to Mom
she has to say yes to Cincinnati.
Right?
Well, if Dr. Sawyer says yes to the fixing part.
Saying yes to the fixing part is a very tricky part.
So many parts!
Will you be a part, Mrs. B?
James?
When school starts again,
should I talk to the Carnival people?
I could really do it.
I could try to make them part of this, too.
The biggest part, even.
So Levi won't be apart from me and Mom,
and I can be a part of making it all better.

Flip-flops beside my bed
like two dried-up slugs
having suddenly appeared
from nowhere.
I picked them up
put them in the trash can,
the big one
in the kitchen.
I am not wearing those on my feet,
Dad's old flip-flops.
My feet can sweat
in too-small shoes and too-hot socks
all summer long
I don't care
thank you very much.