Up High in the Trees (17 page)

Leo pulls his hair back tight into a short ponytail, then lets it go. He doesn't say anything else to Dad and I'm glad about
that. I want Leo to go away now. I like him being here to show me how to ride the bike, but not anymore if he's going to be mean to Dad.

Here, Leo says and hands me one of the sandwiches.

I take it, but I'm not hungry. The dust from the old couch makes me sneeze.

Bless you, says Dad with his eyes closed.

A piece of tomato falls out of the sandwich and lands on my lap. I just leave it there.

Leo yells, GO GO GO! at the TV because the players are doing something good.

I sneeze again.

Bless you, says Dad. He pulls his arm away from me, then stands up.

Where are you going? Leo asks him.

To the bathroom, Dad says.

But they're about to score, says Leo.

I know, Dad says. He walks away.

I feel cold now without Dad and I sneeze again. I wipe my nose on my arm. Leo looks at me.

Why don't you eat the damn sandwich? he asks. He picks the tomato off my lap and puts it on the sandwich plate.

I'm not hungry, I say.

Leo watches the game. Come on! he yells at the TV and then there's loud cheering because the players got points. Leo stands up to stretch and chip crumbs fall off him.

What's the matter? he asks me.

I don't say anything.

If you don't want the sandwich, that's fine, says Leo. He grabs it from me and throws it back on the plate.

We watch the TV even though commercials are on now. I'm waiting for Dad. I think Leo is waiting for Dad, too, but Dad's not coming.

Leo stands up and walks over to the stairs. I try to listen to him going up, but the TV's too loud. I wipe my runny nose on the back of my hand. I don't like how my hand smells like the turkey sandwich. There are too many smells and the smells are making me sick.

I hear heavy feet running downstairs and Leo's back with his duffel bag over his shoulder.

I gotta get out of here, he says. But listen, you be good. I'll call soon, Leo says and puts his hand on my head.

Then he takes a bag of chips and the big bottle of Coke and he goes.

I know Dad's not coming back downstairs now, so I turn off the TV. I run over to my sleeping bag and drag it into the kitchen, under the table, where the cat is waiting for me.

I wake up with something heavy on me. I try to push myself up and then the cat meows and I know it's the cat on my back. I feel the cat turn around in a circle and then lie down again. I don't move because I want him to stay. It's so dark in here. I lie flat with the dark all around me and the cat heavy and warm on my back, but the inside of my sleeping bag is all wet.

This dark is not the good, small dark like the dark inside of my head or the dark hiding in a closet—it's a big dark that I don't know and it scares me. I call for Dad. I have to yell louder and louder to make him hear me. The cat runs away and my back feels cold now. I'm crying because I wanted the cat to stay and Dad's not coming. Inside my sleeping bag, I take off my wet clothes.

The kitchen light turns on and there's Dad in the light that's so bright it's burning my eyes. I keep blinking and looking at Dad.

What're you doing? Dad asks. He walks over to where I am under the table and then squats down low.

I woke up, I tell him.

Okay, says Dad. He reaches out to pull me over to him.

I'm wet, I say.

Dad nods.

That's okay, he says, come here.

He leans close to me and I hold on to his shoulders so he can pull me out of the sleeping bag. I'm so cold. My teeth are chattering loud.

Where are your clothes? Dad asks, because I only have on my underwear.

I point to the sleeping bag. In there, I say.

Dad carries me upstairs to the room that was Grandfather's study and now is where I'm supposed to sleep. He puts me on the bed that has my blankets and sheets from home. My teeth are loud and I can't make them stop. I look at the painting on the wall of the old man holding a dead bird in his hand. The old man is Grandfather, I think.

Dad brings clean underwear and my spaceman pajamas and helps me put them on.

Thank you, I tell him. I bite my teeth together hard to make them quiet.

No problem, Dad says and tucks me into bed. He pulls the covers up high, all the way to my chin. I like how he does that.

You'll be okay in here, Dad says and he kisses my forehead. His face is scratchy.

I close my eyes because I don't want to look at the painting of the old man. I hear Dad click off the light when he goes, but I keep my eyes closed because the old man will still be there in the dark. I know what I have to do.

I make my eyes open, but I don't look at the old man, not yet. I look up at the ceiling that's low and gray in the dark. I push the covers away and cold air gets all over me. Then I look
down at the wood floor, reach my feet down to touch my toes first and I'm standing up. I keep looking down and take steps to where I know the old man is. I take soft steps, but the wood floor creaks at me.

I walk all the way to the old man and then I look up at his face. His eyes with their fat, tired eyelids look at me. I put my hand out and touch his chalky cheek. I hold my hand there because I'm not scared of him. With my finger, I touch his fat eyelids, one and then the other. His eyelids feel the same as his cheek.

I turn around and I know he's looking at me, but that's okay. I run back to bed and jump in fast. I pull the covers back over me and I can close my eyes now. The covers are cold and heavy. I have to wait for them to get warmer. I rub my feet together.

In the dark, I sometimes think I'm missing something. I could be missing something small, like a toe, and I wouldn't know it. I wiggle my toes and try to feel them all, but I can't. Maybe I should get out of bed to count and make sure none are missing, but I'm too tired to count.

When I sleep, I'm not me anymore.

I dream about sleeping in the backseat of an old car. There are bread crumbs all around the car and on top of it, too, so that the animals will come.

Dad wakes me up in the morning. He's sitting on my bed and his face looks darker with his beard growing back.

It's late, he tells me, are you okay?

I nod.

It's almost lunchtime. You hungry? asks Dad.

Not really, I tell him.

Dad rubs his hands together. They make a dry sound.

We have those sandwiches that Leo made, says Dad.

I want to sleep more. I turn over onto my side and close my eyes.

Dad says, Come on, Sebby, it's time to get up. His big hand squeezes my shoulder.

Come on, he says, what's wrong with you?

Nothing, I tell him.

Dad lets me ride on his back, all the way downstairs to the kitchen. My sleeping bag is not under the table anymore and I wonder where it is.

Dad puts me down on one of the chairs and goes over to the refrigerator to take out the plateful of Leo's sandwiches. He brings it over and sits next to me. We both look at the plate.

I'm not hungry either, Dad says, but I think we should eat. You're growing, you have to eat. He picks up a sandwich and takes a bite, then nods his head to show me it tastes good.

I sit back on my chair, away from the table, and I watch Dad eat. The cat comes into the kitchen to see what we're doing.

Hello, I say to the cat and he rubs back and forth against my leg.

Can I give him some turkey? I ask.

Dad shrugs.

If you eat some first, he says.

I pick up a sandwich and look at it for a long time. Then I take a fast bite and swallow without chewing too much.

Good, Dad says, two more bites.

So I take two more. Then I drop a piece of turkey on the floor for the cat.

Can we name him? I ask.

I call him Cham, Dad says, short for Champagne.

I think Cham is a good name.

Is he going to stay with us? I ask.

Dad finishes chewing. He brushes off his hands on his pants.

I think so, says Dad.

Your friend, the boy, came this morning, Dad says.

Okay, I say.

I don't know if I want to see Jackson, but I want to tell him about the cat, Cham.

You slept for a long time, says Dad. He stands up to put the rest of the sandwiches back in the refrigerator.

I need to write a letter, I tell him.

Dad's standing with his head resting back against the refrigerator door. You're becoming rather prolific, he says.

I nod.

Dear Ms. Lambert,

Before I turned into me, I was a girl like Mother and I know all the things that she did.

Mother put crumbs of bread around the car and on top of the car, too. She slept in the backseat and it was cold, so she held on to the loaf of bread. The loaf was small because she used a lot of it for the animals. Mother hugged the loaf close and she was warmer. When she woke up in the morning, all the crumbs of bread around the car and on top of the car were gone. The animals came in the middle of the night and I know how she felt. She felt like she missed something. I was feeling how she felt and it was a sad feeling.

Here is my hand. I can trace it really well now.

Bye, Sebby

I want to ride the yellow bike. I don't care about before. I've been thinking about riding and I know how to do it now.

I find the bike in the grass, in the place where I fell. I pick it up and I have to get on fast or it won't work and I'll tip over. I'm standing next to the bike and I do it. I get on and pedal as fast as I can. Then I have to turn or I'll crash into the house. It's hard to turn because it feels like tipping over, but I have to, so I make the bike turn and after, I stop slow and put my feet down.

I try again and I'm going. I know how to do it now.

Then I see Jackson and I fall. He's standing by the back door. He waves at me, but I don't wave back.

I'm okay. There's no blood in my mouth. I get up fast because I don't want the grass smell to stick on me.

What're you doing? I ask. I leave the yellow bike and walk over to him.