dead.”
Up and down.
“And I’m not and it’s not my fault and it’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault. Remember? We decided. And you want another
baby. Remember?”
Up and down.
“Mom, wake up. Please, wake up.”
Up and down.
“Dad is going to take you away. Mom, please?”
Up and down.
“Please, Mom. Please don’t do this.” And I start to shake her how I want to shake Olivia. I start to shake them both. Please
don’t do this. Please.
Please.
Please.
Please.
Please.
PLEASE!
That’s when Dad comes in.
That’s when Dad comes in and hugs me and I am all wet and soggy and please don’t do this MOM.
SIT DOWN
Dad says, “Sit down.”
I sit down.
“Baby,” he says, but I’m not his baby. “Baby, we’ve made a decision.” We. We. Him.
“We’ve decided that your mother should spend some time at a facility that can help her get better.”
I close my eyes.
“I know you aren’t happy with this decision, but what’s important is getting your mom better.”
Inside my eyes I can see light from the window.
“I love you and your mother a great deal.”
I hear a buzzing and I wonder if someone has left the cable box on.
“Do you hear me, Maz? I love both of you.”
I wish no one would touch the cable box.
“Maz?”
I nod.
“I love you both and I want what’s best for you.”
I think about Colby and his football pads.
“So your mother is going to go to the Park Facility. I’ve called and they are expecting us in tomorrow.”
I take a yoga breath and then I think, Do you buy your own football pads or does the school loan them out?
“Did you hear me, Maz? We’re taking your mother there in the morning so we need to get her all ready.”
That’s when I have my idea.
“Dad?” I say.
“Yes.”
“Do you still have your football pads?”
He looks perplexed. “Why, honey? Do you want to hit something?”
“No.”
“Then why do you want the pads?”
“Because.”
He folds his arms and sits back on the couch. “I still have some pads in the cold storage. You can do whatever you want with
them.”
“Thanks,” I say, and I stand up.
“We’re not done, Mazzy.”
“What?”
“Sit down.”
“Why?”
“Sit down.”
“I have to go.”
“You can listen for a few more minutes.”
Then he starts talking football talk. He says that sometimes you want to make the perfect pass. You want to win the game but
the defense keeps breaking down and you get sacked over and over.
“No one wants to get sacked, Mazzy. Do you understand?”
I pull a string out of my collar.
“I never anticipated getting sacked. Not like this — not over and over.”
I tie the string around my pinky.
“But sometimes,” he says, “after so many setbacks, after interceptions and penalties and all kinds of things, sometimes you
have to just go back to the drawing board. You have to start over.”
I tie it too tight and my finger starts to go red.
“Maz? Are you listening to me?”
It is getting redder.
“Maz. Look at me.”
I pull harder.
“Maz. Look. At. Me.” His voice is loud.
I look at him.
“Your mom is going to the hospital.”
“You already told me that.”
“Let me finish,” he says. “Your mom is going to the hospital and I have been doing well at this new job.”
He stops talking. I am pulling on the string.
“I have been doing well and they want me to cover some big events, but there’s going to be a lot of travel.”
The string pops.
“So your mom is going to the hospital and you are going to stay with your aunt in Kansas.”
PIGS
On
Oprah,
you can buy a pig or a goat or a sheep.
But you don’t get to keep it.
They give it to starving people in Africa.
You can even buy half a pig.
I want half a pig.
I’m going to ask Mom if I can buy half a pig to give to starving people in Africa.
Or I might ask Norma.
Or Dixie.
Dixie would want to help too.
I won’t ask Dad. I’ll never ask Dad anything ever again.
M E AND D IXIE
Up and down.
“And I’m not and it’s not my fault and it’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault. Remember? We decided. And you want another
baby. Remember?”
Up and down.
“Mom, wake up. Please, wake up.”
Up and down.
“Dad is going to take you away. Mom, please?”
Up and down.
“Please, Mom. Please don’t do this.” And I start to shake her how I want to shake Olivia. I start to shake them both. Please
don’t do this. Please.
Please.
Please.
Please.
Please.
PLEASE!
That’s when Dad comes in.
That’s when Dad comes in and hugs me and I am all wet and soggy and please don’t do this MOM.
SIT DOWN
Dad says, “Sit down.”
I sit down.
“Baby,” he says, but I’m not his baby. “Baby, we’ve made a decision.” We. We. Him.
“We’ve decided that your mother should spend some time at a facility that can help her get better.”
I close my eyes.
“I know you aren’t happy with this decision, but what’s important is getting your mom better.”
Inside my eyes I can see light from the window.
“I love you and your mother a great deal.”
I hear a buzzing and I wonder if someone has left the cable box on.
“Do you hear me, Maz? I love both of you.”
I wish no one would touch the cable box.
“Maz?”
I nod.
“I love you both and I want what’s best for you.”
I think about Colby and his football pads.
“So your mother is going to go to the Park Facility. I’ve called and they are expecting us in tomorrow.”
I take a yoga breath and then I think, Do you buy your own football pads or does the school loan them out?
“Did you hear me, Maz? We’re taking your mother there in the morning so we need to get her all ready.”
That’s when I have my idea.
“Dad?” I say.
“Yes.”
“Do you still have your football pads?”
He looks perplexed. “Why, honey? Do you want to hit something?”
“No.”
“Then why do you want the pads?”
“Because.”
He folds his arms and sits back on the couch. “I still have some pads in the cold storage. You can do whatever you want with
them.”
“Thanks,” I say, and I stand up.
“We’re not done, Mazzy.”
“What?”
“Sit down.”
“Why?”
“Sit down.”
“I have to go.”
“You can listen for a few more minutes.”
Then he starts talking football talk. He says that sometimes you want to make the perfect pass. You want to win the game but
the defense keeps breaking down and you get sacked over and over.
“No one wants to get sacked, Mazzy. Do you understand?”
I pull a string out of my collar.
“I never anticipated getting sacked. Not like this — not over and over.”
I tie the string around my pinky.
“But sometimes,” he says, “after so many setbacks, after interceptions and penalties and all kinds of things, sometimes you
have to just go back to the drawing board. You have to start over.”
I tie it too tight and my finger starts to go red.
“Maz? Are you listening to me?”
It is getting redder.
“Maz. Look at me.”
I pull harder.
“Maz. Look. At. Me.” His voice is loud.
I look at him.
“Your mom is going to the hospital.”
“You already told me that.”
“Let me finish,” he says. “Your mom is going to the hospital and I have been doing well at this new job.”
He stops talking. I am pulling on the string.
“I have been doing well and they want me to cover some big events, but there’s going to be a lot of travel.”
The string pops.
“So your mom is going to the hospital and you are going to stay with your aunt in Kansas.”
PIGS
On
Oprah,
you can buy a pig or a goat or a sheep.
But you don’t get to keep it.
They give it to starving people in Africa.
You can even buy half a pig.
I want half a pig.
I’m going to ask Mom if I can buy half a pig to give to starving people in Africa.
Or I might ask Norma.
Or Dixie.
Dixie would want to help too.
I won’t ask Dad. I’ll never ask Dad anything ever again.
M E AND D IXIE
Similar Books
