Black Maps by David Jauss Page B

first,” she said, and hurried to her room, where she started picking up clothes and newspapers and empty wine jugs from the floor. “Just look at all of this!” she said. She carried the load out into the living room and dumped it on the sofa. Then she straightened the sofa pillows and wiped dust off the coffee table with her palm. “Don’t just stand there,” she said then. “Help me clean up this mess!”
    â€œWhat should I do?”
    â€œYou can do the dishes while I do the laundry.” She led him back into the kitchen. “First,” she said. But then she closed her eyes and shook her head slowly back and forth. “Oh, God, why did they have to come today? Just a half gallon of milk and a jar of jelly in the fridge. And me still in bed…” Then she looked at Jimmy. Her eyes were red and swollen, and he could smell the wine on her breath. “Damn it,” she said. “Who the hell do they think they are?”
    Jimmy realized then that the principal and the policeman must have come to the apartment looking for him. That frightened him, but he was relieved his mother seemed madder at them than at him. She must not believe that he broke the windows. Maybe she thought he was too normal to do it, and maybe that meant he really was normal. She was his mother and she would know, wouldn’t she? “What’s wrong?” he finally dared to say.
    â€œNothing,” she answered. “Nothing for you to worry about.” Then she said, “To hell with the dishes. We’ll do them tomorrow.” And she went to bed and stayed there the rest of the night. Every now and then, Jimmy heard her crying, and then she’d begin cursing. Finally, she fell asleep, and Jimmy lay in his bed across the hall, listening to her peaceful breathing and wishing he could dream whatever she was dreaming, so he’d know what could make her happy.
    The next morning, his mother surprised him by coming into the kitchen in a lacy lavender dress with puffy sleeves. Her hair was combed, and she had put on lipstick and rouge. She frowned and said, “Do I look all right?”
    â€œYou look pretty,” Jimmy said, and took a bite of his toast.
    â€œBut do I look like a good mommy?” she asked. “Do I look like I clean my house and go to church and love you more than anything in the world?”
    He started to smile, thinking she was teasing him, but the frightened look on her face made him stop. He looked down at his plate.
    â€œI think so,” he said.
    All that week and most of the next, his mother dressed up each morning and left the apartment. She was looking for a new job, she told him, but every afternoon, when he came home from school and asked her if she’d found one, she said no. “But I’ll keep trying,” she said one day, then knelt down and hugged him tightly. “I won’t give up. No matter how hard I have to fight, I won’t give up.”
    But eventually she stopped dressing in the morning and started staying in bed all day, drinking wine, just as she had before. When Jimmy asked her why she wasn’t looking for jobs anymore, she said, “What are you talking about?” Then she said, “Oh, that. Forget about that. There aren’t any jobs for bad mommies, not a single one.”
    Then one morning Mrs. McClure came to the apartment for the first time in weeks. It took Jimmy a few minutes to realize she had come to take him away. “You’re going to live somewhere else for just a little while,” his mother said, her voice quivering. “It’s all for your own good.” Then she took his small face in her hands and kissed him goodbye. “Remember I love you,” she said, and her mouth twisted as if the words made it hurt. “Now go.” Then Mrs. McClure took his hand and led him outside to her car.
    It was several months before Jimmy learned he had not been taken away from