The Same Stuff as Stars (2 page)

“Well, give me a minute to get my own clothes on.” The pillow muffled her voice. “You can get him washed up. I'm sure he needs that.”

Angel put the coffee down on the bedside table. The TV was blaring cartoon noises from the living room. She went to the door.

“Bernie, Mama said for me to get you washed up. You need to turn the TV off.”

“I thought you wasn't speaking to me no more,” he said prissily.

“Weren't.
Weren't speaking to me. Oh, shut up and come here. I got to wash your face.”

“No.”

“Bernie, don't be a baby. You're seven years old.”

“I can wash my own face.”

Angel sighed. He wouldn't do it right. He'd just swipe the rag across his nose. He wouldn't get any of the dirt off. She went into the bathroom, brushed her teeth, and washed her own face more carefully than usual to make up for not washing Bernie's.

Bernie was still on the living room floor staring at the TV, his mouth open like the beak of a baby bird waiting for the worm to drop in. His body blocked the closet door. “Move,” she said. He shifted his legs without taking his eyes off the screen.

Bernie was watching entirely too much television. Angel knew about the evils of too much TV for kids. It was like getting only sugar in your mental diet—like not eating all the five major food groups. Ms. Hallingford, Angel's fifth-grade teacher, was big on the major food groups. She'd also said TV could be a really serious hindrance in a child's mental development, in the same way not eating right could stunt your physical growth. Angel grabbed the remote and punched the red button.

“Hey!”

“Go wash your face before Mama comes in here and beats your bottom shiny!” She shouldn't threaten him, she knew, but sometimes it was the only way to make him behave.

“I hate you,” he said, stomping out of the room and down the hall. Angel waited until she could hear the water running before she yanked open the closet door.

Under the clothes rod, pushed back against the wall, was a partly purple dresser. Verna had started painting it, but she'd never finished covering up the old green paint. Angel got out her best jeans and a clean T-shirt, the pink one, so Daddy would know she'd tried to please him. He always said he liked to see his angel girl wearing pink.

She was zipping up her pants when Verna appeared in the door. “Ain't you kids ready yet?”

“Almost.” Angel began hurriedly to fold up the sheets. “Here,” said Verna, grabbing the tab and heaving the couch back into place. “Bernie!” she yelled. Bernie stuck his head in the doorway. His face was as dirty as if it had never seen the back of a washrag. “Just look at you. And you, too, Angel. Take off them jeans. Least you could do was put on a dress.”

“Oh, Mama.”

“Don't you start whining. I am seriously
not
in the mood. C'mere, boy. I'll show you how to wash a face.”

Angel could hear Bernie howling from the bathroom as she put the sheets in the top drawer and slid a dress off one of the metal hangers. The dress was almost too small, and it didn't have any pockets, but with Verna in one of her moods there was no point arguing. She slipped off her jeans, took the money out of her pocket, and put it in her sock. She needed to be prepared—ever since that time Verna had forgotten and left her and Bernie at the all-night diner. That meant always wearing the apartment key on a string around her neck and carrying enough cash to get a taxi home. It was too embarrassing otherwise, strangers pawing all over you and clucking and threatening to call the cops on your parents.

“Okay,” yelled Verna, dragging a still whimpering Bernie down the hall. “I'm leaving,” she said on the way down the back steps.

Angel grabbed up her sneakers and ran sock-footed out the door. She could hear Verna grinding the pickup's balky ignition. Halfway to the truck, she realized that she hadn't locked up. She ran back, reopened the door, turned the catch, and slammed hard. By the time she had tested the knob to make sure it had locked, Verna was gunning the motor. Angel raced across the small, weedy yard. She was panting when she climbed up into the cab of the pickup and slid in beside Bernie. The truck began backing down the driveway while she was still pulling the door to. She hurried to fasten Bernie's seat belt and then her own before they turned the corner into traffic.

She sneaked a glance at Verna across Bernie's head. As usual, Mama had forgotten to buckle up. She wanted to remind Verna to fasten her belt, but she didn't. Verna was in such a snit. It was better not to say anything.

***

They were late, so the parking lot was already jammed. Angel leaned forward, anxious. If Verna couldn't find a spot right away, she was apt to just turn around and go home. It was funny. As little as she wanted to come, Angel felt somehow that they had to, that something awful happened those Saturdays they didn't. There was nothing she could put her finger on, just a feeling that they must come, they
had
to come or else....The else part was cloudy but seemed very real to her. Like money they owed somebody and had to pay regularly, or every Saturday there'd be some terrible punishment for their failure. Besides, there was Bernie's awful star wish last night. She'd have to work hard to make up for that.

“I see one!” she cried out.

“Where?” Verna slammed on the brakes, throwing Angel and Bernie forward against their seat belts.

“There—beside the Buick.”

“Huh. That ain't wide enough for a kiddie car.”

But just then a rusting Pontiac behind them on the other side of the lane began to back out. Verna threw the gears into reverse and screeched back to claim it. “C'mon,” she said, hopping out. “We're late.”

“I—I gotta put on my sneakers.”

“For crying out loud, Angel. You had all morning. Hurry up.”

She hurried as fast as she could. “Okay, Bernie,” she said, unbuckling his seat belt before opening her door and jumping to the pavement. “Out.”

But Bernie had that stubborn look on his face. “I'll give you money for a pack of M&M's if you just come on in.”

She could see him weakening, but he still wasn't moving. “And a Pepsi,” he said.

“Okay.”

“And potato chips.”

“No.”

He folded his arms across his chest.

“Oh, Bernie. I'm not made of money. Just come on.”

Verna was already across the lot. When she reached the door to the building, she turned and yelled, “You kids don't get over here this minute, I'm taking a belt to the both of you.”

Bernie scrambled out. Did that mean Angel still owed him the bribe? Oh, well, she'd have to worry about that later.

 

 

TWO

Verna was signing in at the window when Angel and Bernie pushed open the heavy front door. “Bout time you two showed up,” she said. “Honestly.” The woman on the other side half stood up from her chair to peer down over the sill at them. It made Angel feel like she was standing there in her underwear. Too late, she remembered that she hadn't brushed her hair. Not that it mattered. It was ugly hair, dirty blond, straight. She'd cut it herself a couple of weeks ago.

Finally, Verna put down the ballpoint and jerked her head at the children. She shoved her shoulder against the inner door, and the three of them crowded through it into the room and toward the metal detector.

“Purses here,” ordered the guard. “All your metal in the tray.” Verna handed over her cracked vinyl bag. Angel took the key from around her neck and dropped it into the plastic basket, hoping Verna wouldn't ask her why she was wearing it when it wasn't even a school day, but Verna wasn't paying attention. She was pushing Bernie through the detector ahead of her while the guard did a thorough search of her purse.

Angel followed. The alarm screamed. “Okay. Just a minute, girly. Empty your pockets.”

“I don't have any pockets.” Her voice was trembling. “See.”

“Well, you got metal on you somewhere. Go back. Take off your shoes and hand them here.”

The coins in her socks. She'd forgotten about them. She took the socks off, too, and held them out to the guard. He screwed up his face and sniffed. The socks were dirty from when she'd run across the yard. “I got some money in my socks,” she mumbled, hoping Verna wouldn't hear.

“You what?” the guard asked loudly.

“Money in my socks,” she said miserably.

“Well, get it out and put it in the tray. Jeez. It ain't as if you people don't know the drill by now.”

Verna stood on the other side of the detector, squeezing Bernie's arm and looking like a wasp about ready to sting. As soon as Angel got through the detector, Verna grabbed her arm, never letting go of Bernie's in the process. She pushed both children ahead of her through the series of metal doors that opened before them and closed after them on the way to the visitors' room. “Ouch,” said Bernie. “Leave go of me. Ouch.” He swatted at Verna with his free hand, but their mother just tightened her grip until even Angel wanted to squeal out in protest. She was already humiliated enough, walking barefoot down the corridor and now standing just inside the door of the big room with her shoes and socks in her hand. She didn't need to have everybody see her being dragged by her mother and shoved around like a disobedient cat.

The light in the room was always so bright that she had to blink to keep her eyes from smarting. “Find us someplace to sit, Angel.” Verna let go of Angel's arm and pushed her forward into the room.

Other families, the ones that had gotten here on time, had already claimed the tables scattered about the room. She squinted, looking for vacant chairs. Mostly she saw people. Maybe fifty, maybe more. It was hard to tell. They were different sizes and colors, but most of them, especially the women, wore the same sad, tired expression. There were guards all around, making sure none of the visitors were passing drugs or anything else illegal to the inmates. You could pick out the inmates pretty quickly. Nearly all of them were young. They looked more angry than sad. It was summer, so most of them had on cheap jeans and T-shirts. The man nearest her had tattoos up and down both of his skinny arms, like he was trying to be a he-man. He turned around and glared at her. She moved on, making her way through the maze of tables surrounded by gray, unhappy people.

At the far corner of the big room she found two chairs and put a shoe with the sock stuffed in it down on each of them. Her mother was checking in with the attendant, but when Verna looked up, Angel waved her over.

Verna was still holding on to Bernie. Angel barely managed to pick up her shoe before Verna plunked him down on one of the chairs. “For chrissake, Angel, put on your stupid shoes.” She handed Angel the other offending shoe and sock, then sat down herself.

Angel backed over to the wall and slid down to the floor. She was about to pull on her first sock, the change jangling away, when she realized she was being stared at. She looked up into the face of a little boy who, standing up, was just a little taller than she was sitting down.

“You ain't got no socks on,” he said solemnly.

“And you got a great big boogie hanging out your nose!” she said fiercely.

His eyes widened in fright.

“Boo!” she said right into his face. His mouth twisted, but before he could begin to cry she whispered, “And don't you dare cry! Or I'll get you good!”

He turned and fled.

She should have been ashamed. If anyone had tried to scare Bernie in that room, she would have gone after him. But she couldn't help it, she was grinning like a jack-o'-lantern as she finished tying her laces. She stood up, but she stayed against the wall until the guard brought Wayne in and led him over to where Verna and Bernie were sitting. Then she made herself join them.

She'd always thought of her daddy as tall and sort of handsome, but today he seemed shorter than she remembered. Or maybe she was getting taller. Wayne was wearing his long-sleeved plaid shirt. He had tattoos to show off, if he wanted, but once she had asked him about the needle tracks and he'd never worn a T-shirt or anything short-sleeved since. “Hi, Daddy,” she said.

“Well, there's my angel girl,” he said, smiling at her. There was something wrong about his smile. Angel couldn't figure it out, except that the smile didn't come from the inside. It was more like someone just twisted up his lips from outside. “You doing good at school?” he asked.

“School's been out for weeks, Wayne. You know that,” Verna snapped.

“You lose track of time in here, but you wouldn't know about that.” He turned from Verna to Bernie, bending down to try to see Bernie's face. But Bernie was watching his toes swing back and forth so hard Angel could hear his heels banging the chair rung. “Bernie, my man, how goes it?” Bernie didn't even look up.

“Get off that chair, Bernie. Angel, take him somewhere else. I got a few things I got to say to your daddy without...”

Angel grabbed Bernie by the hand and started across the crowded room to the opposite corner, where some charity group had put a few worn books and discarded toys for the kids who had to spend their Saturdays in jail.

“Ow,” said Bernie. “Quit pulling on me. I'm tired of you and Mama yanking me around. Yank. Yank. Yank. That's all you ever do.”

“I'm sorry, Bernie.” She really was. It wasn't any life for a little kid. He was barely seven. He'd been coming here since he was less than a year old. He couldn't remember anything that had happened in his life before. She wrestled a toddler for a truck, and, when she and Bernie had both sat down on the floor, she gave it to her brother. He still liked playing with trucks. The toddler wailed briefly, but soon began to fight another toddler for a car with only three wheels.

“I hate it here,” Bernie said, pretending to drive the truck in front of his crossed legs. “I don't know why we have to come all the time.”