Charlie, and Allegra actually defending me, and Nanny yelling, and Mrs. Martinez getting her arm rubbed, and Mom going out without me, and that terrible thing I said to Crimple Lady who called me fat with the cookies, and why is Charlie so nice to me when I called him an ostrich, why does he laugh at everything I say, he wouldnât have laughed today, not like the other boys did, laughing at me and calling me a fag.
And the worst part about any of it, all of it, is that thereâs nothing, Nothing, I can do now. Nothing. I canât do anything about it now. And feeling that nothing makes me madder. All I want to do is throw it all against the wall and break it. But I canât. So I just start punching the bed. Punching with both hands and bouncing on it, punching down everything I am feeling with two fists and my butt. Harder and harder. Never really letting up, just punchingand bouncing, until I just throw myself onto the bed flat. And then the bed breaks.
Breaks. Crash. Smash. Broken.
The whole right corner collapses to the floor with a big thud and bang. And it shocks me at first. Honest. But it also sort of makes me happy. I wanted to do something and I did it. Something stupid and ultimately awful, but I did it. Or my fat butt did it, which is worse. But for a second, it feels good to have actually done something, even if it was ruining my own bed.
The next second is not so good.
âWhat have you done?! Whatâs broke? Whatâs crashed? Answer me, Ducks, Iâm coming up.â And Nanny pounds up the stairs, yelling all the way, but I just sit there and donât answer. I know she will be angry, and I know she will yell and give me a talk about everything Iâm bad at or how I donât appreciate the things I have. A whole list of things I did wrong. But I just sit there and wait. And look at what I did this time.
The door swings open and Nanny looks right at the bed. âWhatâs wrong with you, Ducks, look what youâvedone! Is the leg broke? Is that it?â I donât say anything back. And Nanny gets down on her knees to look. âI canât see the thing. Are you just going to sit there on the broken bed? Get up!â
But I donât move. I donât move at all.
âIf Iâd done something like this, my mother would have skinned me alive, you ungrateful thing, you!â Nanny screams, trying to fix the bed.
I donât answer. I just keep looking at the ceiling.
âWhat happened here? You answer me, right this minute, I want to know what happened. Now,â Nanny says, scrunching up her nose to show how serious she is.
But I donât answer. I canât.
âDavis Anthony . . .â Nanny starts with my full name, which is always the sign that she is about to go nuclear, so I stop her.
âIt just broke,â I say, gritting every tooth.
âIt didnât just nothing!â Nanny yells back.
âI just got into it,â I lie.
âGentle as a lamb, I wager. Were you bouncing on it?â Nanny asks.
âNo,â I lie again.
âAll right. Get up, then.â
I stand and help Nanny lift the mattress to see what broke. It was just a slat that had come loose and we fix it. âYou have to be a bit more gentle, please. Weâre not made of money,â Nanny says, patting at me. Then she puts her hand on my face, and her hand is so soft, like paper almost, and warm. And itâs the first nice thing Iâve felt all day. And, I donât know why, but I start to cry.
âIâm sorry,â I say. Crying big ugly tears.
âItâs all right, love. But you canât stomp around like that. Everybody knows youâre here. You donât need to announce it.â Nanny smiles. But sheâs wrong. Nobody knows, and nobody cares, really, and itâs only going to get worse. Nobody except Nanny now. I keep crying, these hard-to-breathe tears, and she puts her arms around me.
âSee,
And the worst part about any of it, all of it, is that thereâs nothing, Nothing, I can do now. Nothing. I canât do anything about it now. And feeling that nothing makes me madder. All I want to do is throw it all against the wall and break it. But I canât. So I just start punching the bed. Punching with both hands and bouncing on it, punching down everything I am feeling with two fists and my butt. Harder and harder. Never really letting up, just punchingand bouncing, until I just throw myself onto the bed flat. And then the bed breaks.
Breaks. Crash. Smash. Broken.
The whole right corner collapses to the floor with a big thud and bang. And it shocks me at first. Honest. But it also sort of makes me happy. I wanted to do something and I did it. Something stupid and ultimately awful, but I did it. Or my fat butt did it, which is worse. But for a second, it feels good to have actually done something, even if it was ruining my own bed.
The next second is not so good.
âWhat have you done?! Whatâs broke? Whatâs crashed? Answer me, Ducks, Iâm coming up.â And Nanny pounds up the stairs, yelling all the way, but I just sit there and donât answer. I know she will be angry, and I know she will yell and give me a talk about everything Iâm bad at or how I donât appreciate the things I have. A whole list of things I did wrong. But I just sit there and wait. And look at what I did this time.
The door swings open and Nanny looks right at the bed. âWhatâs wrong with you, Ducks, look what youâvedone! Is the leg broke? Is that it?â I donât say anything back. And Nanny gets down on her knees to look. âI canât see the thing. Are you just going to sit there on the broken bed? Get up!â
But I donât move. I donât move at all.
âIf Iâd done something like this, my mother would have skinned me alive, you ungrateful thing, you!â Nanny screams, trying to fix the bed.
I donât answer. I just keep looking at the ceiling.
âWhat happened here? You answer me, right this minute, I want to know what happened. Now,â Nanny says, scrunching up her nose to show how serious she is.
But I donât answer. I canât.
âDavis Anthony . . .â Nanny starts with my full name, which is always the sign that she is about to go nuclear, so I stop her.
âIt just broke,â I say, gritting every tooth.
âIt didnât just nothing!â Nanny yells back.
âI just got into it,â I lie.
âGentle as a lamb, I wager. Were you bouncing on it?â Nanny asks.
âNo,â I lie again.
âAll right. Get up, then.â
I stand and help Nanny lift the mattress to see what broke. It was just a slat that had come loose and we fix it. âYou have to be a bit more gentle, please. Weâre not made of money,â Nanny says, patting at me. Then she puts her hand on my face, and her hand is so soft, like paper almost, and warm. And itâs the first nice thing Iâve felt all day. And, I donât know why, but I start to cry.
âIâm sorry,â I say. Crying big ugly tears.
âItâs all right, love. But you canât stomp around like that. Everybody knows youâre here. You donât need to announce it.â Nanny smiles. But sheâs wrong. Nobody knows, and nobody cares, really, and itâs only going to get worse. Nobody except Nanny now. I keep crying, these hard-to-breathe tears, and she puts her arms around me.
âSee,
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