where kids are allowed to hang out. Saturdays, after the leagues finish, anyone can play. Besides the bowling there are candy and pop machines—items that are not allowed in our diets. We use the money we get from our grandfather for treats like these.
“It’s ‘candlepin’ bowling. I read recently that candlepin bowling was invented in Massachusetts. Are you familiar with candlepin?”
Paulina shakes her head no.
“It’s similar to ten-pin bowling, but each player uses three balls per frame, the balls are much smaller and don’t have holes, the downed pins aren’t cleared away between balls during a player’s turn, and the pins are thinner and harder to knock down. At least, that’s what I’ve heard. I’ve never played ten-pin. Maybe we could go bowling this weekend?” I ask.
“Well, let’s see what your father says. On Sunday we’re gonna try to go visit my kids at their dad’s. They live in Scituate. Maybe we could go on Saturday if your father says it’s okay.”
I can tell she’s making a big effort to get me to like her, and I’m not going to stop her. It’s nice to have her falling all over me that way, but I wonder why. Is Wendy going to be in the hospital for a long time? Are we going to be able to stay with her when she gets out? I wonder about the hospital surgery my father doesn’t want us to know about. Everything’s shaky.
A few weeks later, after school, things get even shakier. Outside our house, my father’s car is gone. Inside, Paulina is sitting in a cigarette fog on the piano bench, mascara running down under her eyes. Beside her on the bench sits a pack of Pall Malls and a half bottle of Chivas Regal.
She’s flicking ashes from her cigarette into an ashtray on the piano.
It’s Wendy’s ass ashtray. When you press a plastic button on the side of the tray, which is shaped like a giant butt, it opens and the ashes go inside the ass crack. Paulina hasn’t figured out how to use it because the ashes sit on top of the butt in a huge pile, about to topple over onto the piano.
Her face is all wet with tears, but her eyes are blank like a doll’s.
“Hi Julianne.”
“Hi. What’s wrong?”
“Come over here. I’ve got something to tell you. I’ve got bad news.”
I steel myself and walk over to where she sits, clutching my school book bag against my side. “Where’s my father? What’s wrong?” I ask.
Paulina peers intensely at me, like she’s searching for an answer in my face. “Your father left. He went for a drive.”
I can tell she’s left something out that has nothing to do with what she’s about to tell me. So there are at least
two
bad things going on.
“It’s your mother,” she begins, but she stops and stares at her lap.
She’s not supposed to be telling me what she’s about to tell me. My heart pounds and I have a hard time finding the breath to speak. Tears start stinging my eyes. I squeeze them shut for a second to keep them from coming out.
“Is she dead?” I ask, staring at her face.
Paulina looks at me with the same blank stare. “No, she’s not dead, but she’s not doing real well. The doctors don’t think she’s going to live. So, she might die.”
My head zings with a million thoughts.
I don’t trust grown-ups to tell me the truth. Has Paulina told me something that’s going to happen soon, has already happened, or might happen sometime in the distant future? Grown-ups aren’t supposed to say scary things to kids, and this sounds scary. Here’s Paulina telling me my mother might die, so it must be true.
I wonder if she wants Wendy to die. Does she want to take care of us? What about her own kids? Is she going to be allowed to have her own kids come live with her if she has to take care of us, or are we going to go live with my grandparents? I still hold out hope that we’ll get to live with my grandparents, although Wendy laughs whenever I suggest it.
Worse, will we be sent to one of the orphanages Wendy threatened
“It’s ‘candlepin’ bowling. I read recently that candlepin bowling was invented in Massachusetts. Are you familiar with candlepin?”
Paulina shakes her head no.
“It’s similar to ten-pin bowling, but each player uses three balls per frame, the balls are much smaller and don’t have holes, the downed pins aren’t cleared away between balls during a player’s turn, and the pins are thinner and harder to knock down. At least, that’s what I’ve heard. I’ve never played ten-pin. Maybe we could go bowling this weekend?” I ask.
“Well, let’s see what your father says. On Sunday we’re gonna try to go visit my kids at their dad’s. They live in Scituate. Maybe we could go on Saturday if your father says it’s okay.”
I can tell she’s making a big effort to get me to like her, and I’m not going to stop her. It’s nice to have her falling all over me that way, but I wonder why. Is Wendy going to be in the hospital for a long time? Are we going to be able to stay with her when she gets out? I wonder about the hospital surgery my father doesn’t want us to know about. Everything’s shaky.
A few weeks later, after school, things get even shakier. Outside our house, my father’s car is gone. Inside, Paulina is sitting in a cigarette fog on the piano bench, mascara running down under her eyes. Beside her on the bench sits a pack of Pall Malls and a half bottle of Chivas Regal.
She’s flicking ashes from her cigarette into an ashtray on the piano.
It’s Wendy’s ass ashtray. When you press a plastic button on the side of the tray, which is shaped like a giant butt, it opens and the ashes go inside the ass crack. Paulina hasn’t figured out how to use it because the ashes sit on top of the butt in a huge pile, about to topple over onto the piano.
Her face is all wet with tears, but her eyes are blank like a doll’s.
“Hi Julianne.”
“Hi. What’s wrong?”
“Come over here. I’ve got something to tell you. I’ve got bad news.”
I steel myself and walk over to where she sits, clutching my school book bag against my side. “Where’s my father? What’s wrong?” I ask.
Paulina peers intensely at me, like she’s searching for an answer in my face. “Your father left. He went for a drive.”
I can tell she’s left something out that has nothing to do with what she’s about to tell me. So there are at least
two
bad things going on.
“It’s your mother,” she begins, but she stops and stares at her lap.
She’s not supposed to be telling me what she’s about to tell me. My heart pounds and I have a hard time finding the breath to speak. Tears start stinging my eyes. I squeeze them shut for a second to keep them from coming out.
“Is she dead?” I ask, staring at her face.
Paulina looks at me with the same blank stare. “No, she’s not dead, but she’s not doing real well. The doctors don’t think she’s going to live. So, she might die.”
My head zings with a million thoughts.
I don’t trust grown-ups to tell me the truth. Has Paulina told me something that’s going to happen soon, has already happened, or might happen sometime in the distant future? Grown-ups aren’t supposed to say scary things to kids, and this sounds scary. Here’s Paulina telling me my mother might die, so it must be true.
I wonder if she wants Wendy to die. Does she want to take care of us? What about her own kids? Is she going to be allowed to have her own kids come live with her if she has to take care of us, or are we going to go live with my grandparents? I still hold out hope that we’ll get to live with my grandparents, although Wendy laughs whenever I suggest it.
Worse, will we be sent to one of the orphanages Wendy threatened
Similar Books
