hates all that God stuff and then she comes out with crazy shit like that.
I love you, Marlene says, and then she buggers off and doesn’t even leave a note. It was just her and me. Me and her. She used to understand that. She used to always leave notes.
One time, I heard her out back at two in the morning with some jerk. My mother has the worst taste in men.
“Come on, Jack, just for a minute,” she kept saying. Her s ’s were sliding all over the place. The guy’s voice was too low to make out. Marlene got louder. “Look at me, Jack, please?” Right outside my bedroom window.
Made me sick to hear her beg like that. I pulled the pillow over my head.
Suddenly, clippy footsteps came down the little cement path beside our balcony. And then I heard the Romanian accent of Nadia, the caretaker’s wife.
“Marlene!” she said in a loud whisper. “You are waking up half the building.”
I wondered why it was Nadia and not her husband, George, coming out in the middle of the night. Seems like Nadia always had to do the dirty work.
“This is my goddamn place,” my mother said to Nadia, “and I’ll do whatever the hell I like.”
I peered through the crack between the curtains. I saw parts of Nadia—short, choppy hair, pyjama pants, and her elbow jumping around in a woolly sweater as she jabbed a finger toward Marlene.
“Get inside your goddamn place,” Nadia hissed, “or I will call the police!”
Then the jerk spoke up. “Let’s calm down.”
“Don’t tell me what to do!” That was Marlene, of course.
I listened until our apartment door opened and closed. There was scuffling and bumping, my mother saying, Oops , and giggling.
I tried to let my brain fade into sleep. After a while, my mom’s voice came high and needy again, like a baby, like a Siamese cat.
“I love you, Jack. I love you.”
That was the capper.
“I never even said I love you to your father,” Marlene had once told me. “Only you. The second you were born I loved you.”
I’d never even heard of Jack.
I opened my bedroom door and stood there, looking into the living room, where my mother was on the couch pawing the guy’s face. Jack was all leathery brown and skinny like a science project. I swear to God, he was like one of those bog-men who gets preserved in peat for a hundred years.
“Mom!”
She jerked around. “Sammie.” Her voice went all honey-pie. “Come here.” She patted the bit of empty couch beside her. “Jack, this is my little girl.”
“Hello,” the bog-man said. Long, bony fingers wiggled the air toward me.
“You want to keep it down? I’ve got school in the morning.”
Marlene often says it’s my tone that pisses her off, not the words. She’d slapped my face once last year for my tone. I’dlooked at her with this hard, amused expression that I’d been working on, and she ran like hell into her bedroom and slammed the door. I could hear her dresser drawer rattle as she rooted around for something that would take the edge off.
Now, her mouth hung open for a good three seconds before she blurted, “You slept last night. You’re always sleeping.”
“Are you for real?” I said.
I went back to my room and closed the door. Leaning against it, I listened as Jack made noises about leaving. Marlene told him she loved him again. Jack left.
I refused to speak to her the next morning.
She didn’t notice; she was sleeping.
After school that day, Nadia was outside our open door as I came down the hallway. Her voice was sharp and she was jabbing a finger at Marlene.
My mother kept her arms crossed.
Nadia’s expression changed into a smile for me. I tried to make nice as I slipped past her to my mother’s side of the door.
As soon as I was by her, Nadia went back to that harsh sneer. “You think you can wake up half the building and nothing is going to happen? Not so!”
“Where’s George? When I signed the rental agreement for this godforsaken hole, I signed it with George .” No
I love you, Marlene says, and then she buggers off and doesn’t even leave a note. It was just her and me. Me and her. She used to understand that. She used to always leave notes.
One time, I heard her out back at two in the morning with some jerk. My mother has the worst taste in men.
“Come on, Jack, just for a minute,” she kept saying. Her s ’s were sliding all over the place. The guy’s voice was too low to make out. Marlene got louder. “Look at me, Jack, please?” Right outside my bedroom window.
Made me sick to hear her beg like that. I pulled the pillow over my head.
Suddenly, clippy footsteps came down the little cement path beside our balcony. And then I heard the Romanian accent of Nadia, the caretaker’s wife.
“Marlene!” she said in a loud whisper. “You are waking up half the building.”
I wondered why it was Nadia and not her husband, George, coming out in the middle of the night. Seems like Nadia always had to do the dirty work.
“This is my goddamn place,” my mother said to Nadia, “and I’ll do whatever the hell I like.”
I peered through the crack between the curtains. I saw parts of Nadia—short, choppy hair, pyjama pants, and her elbow jumping around in a woolly sweater as she jabbed a finger toward Marlene.
“Get inside your goddamn place,” Nadia hissed, “or I will call the police!”
Then the jerk spoke up. “Let’s calm down.”
“Don’t tell me what to do!” That was Marlene, of course.
I listened until our apartment door opened and closed. There was scuffling and bumping, my mother saying, Oops , and giggling.
I tried to let my brain fade into sleep. After a while, my mom’s voice came high and needy again, like a baby, like a Siamese cat.
“I love you, Jack. I love you.”
That was the capper.
“I never even said I love you to your father,” Marlene had once told me. “Only you. The second you were born I loved you.”
I’d never even heard of Jack.
I opened my bedroom door and stood there, looking into the living room, where my mother was on the couch pawing the guy’s face. Jack was all leathery brown and skinny like a science project. I swear to God, he was like one of those bog-men who gets preserved in peat for a hundred years.
“Mom!”
She jerked around. “Sammie.” Her voice went all honey-pie. “Come here.” She patted the bit of empty couch beside her. “Jack, this is my little girl.”
“Hello,” the bog-man said. Long, bony fingers wiggled the air toward me.
“You want to keep it down? I’ve got school in the morning.”
Marlene often says it’s my tone that pisses her off, not the words. She’d slapped my face once last year for my tone. I’dlooked at her with this hard, amused expression that I’d been working on, and she ran like hell into her bedroom and slammed the door. I could hear her dresser drawer rattle as she rooted around for something that would take the edge off.
Now, her mouth hung open for a good three seconds before she blurted, “You slept last night. You’re always sleeping.”
“Are you for real?” I said.
I went back to my room and closed the door. Leaning against it, I listened as Jack made noises about leaving. Marlene told him she loved him again. Jack left.
I refused to speak to her the next morning.
She didn’t notice; she was sleeping.
After school that day, Nadia was outside our open door as I came down the hallway. Her voice was sharp and she was jabbing a finger at Marlene.
My mother kept her arms crossed.
Nadia’s expression changed into a smile for me. I tried to make nice as I slipped past her to my mother’s side of the door.
As soon as I was by her, Nadia went back to that harsh sneer. “You think you can wake up half the building and nothing is going to happen? Not so!”
“Where’s George? When I signed the rental agreement for this godforsaken hole, I signed it with George .” No
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