heads toward the highway.
Eleven
When I was little, I played with neighborhood kids, but Rockyâs the first real friend Iâve ever had. Heâs close to my age; heâll be eighteen in January. I feel like Iâve known him forever.
We hang out together. We can talk about anything. Thatâs all we ever do, just talk. My father doesnât like him.
âYouâre seeing too much of that boy,â he said. He had his head under the hood, changing the RVâs oil. âI donât want you spending so much time with him.â
âWhy not?â
âSomething could happen.â
âLike what?â
âLike sex.â
âItâs not that way with us.â
âI didnât say it was. But things just happen.â
âNot with me and Rocky. Weâre friends.â
âI understand that, Mary. Hand me that can of oil. He seems like a very nice boy. But heâs not the kind of boy you want to get involved with.â
âWhy not?â
âHeâs a drifter.â
âSo am I.â
âDamn it to hell.â Daddy threw down the oil can so hard it bounced. Mama stuck her head out of the RV, saw our faces, and withdrew. âThatâs not true. Why do you say things like that? You know Iâve got a job lined up in San Francisco. Weâll be moving soon.â
âA real job? Since when?â
âAre you calling me a liar?â
âIt seems like you didnât have a job, now you do.â
âThe point is this, Iâm not having you involved with somebody like that, some kid you donât even know his background.â
âHe knows my background and he still likes me. At least heâs not prejudiced like you!â
âDo you hear what Iâm saying?â
âYou canât tell me what to do!â
âCome back here when Iâm talking to you!â
I kept walking. Heâs worried about money lately and takes it out on me. Mama hasnât been doing her flea market gig; the last time scared her, and anyway, thereâs nothing around here worth stealing. Daddyâs made a couple of phone calls from City Hall, trying to borrow money from my grandparents. Grampa said no and Daddy got real mad. Then he got ahold of Grandma and she promised to send some to the Western Union office in Fort Bragg. Daveâs taking him up there this week. Daddy doesnât drive the RV unless he has to; it uses too much gas. Daveâs real nice, he gives people rides. A lot of people here donât have cars that run.
His wife Janice takes Mama to the free-food pantry in Fort Bragg. Andy usually stays with me. Heâs bigger every day, roly-poly and pink. The disposable diapers got too expensive, so weâre using cloth ones, which we wash by hand. They dry stiff in the wind and chafe his skin.
I wish sheâd take him for his vaccination shots. Polly had them so she wouldnât get a disease. Some of the women here think the shots are unnecessary. They say they might even make your baby sick. Mama never used to believe that, but she bends in the breeze of the strongest opinion.
Sheâs been trying to talk Daddy into applying for welfare. Some of the families get county aid and are telling Mama we might qualify, too. Itâs a complicated process but itâs worth a shot. Daddy flatly refuses.
âWhatâs your self-respect worth, Wendy?â he brayed the other night. The volume goes up when heâs been drinking beer. âAre you willing to trade your pride for food stamps?â
I was sitting at the table, making the girls practice their handwriting. Mama cringed and didnât answer him. That made me angry.
I said, âI guess Iâll fix a side of pride for supper tonight. Daddy, how do you want yours cooked?â
âYou shut your mouth.â
âDonât talk to me like that. You always act like this when youâve been drinking.â
âI havenât been
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