“Dude, get me it,” Tasha says.
I don’t say anything. In Gersday, the trapeze act is stunning. Lisi and I ooh and aah between bites of creamy goodness.
“You’re a dick,” Tasha says.
I don’t say anything, because saying something to someone who doesn’t exist would mean I’d be talking to myself, right?
“Forget it,” she says, and walks away to get a pretzel somewhere else.
Once she sees I’m fine with the next customer, Beth goes back to acting as runner for the busier side of the stand, where Register #1 Girl is working.
Register #1 Girl has a name, but I don’t use it, because all girls fall into one of two categories and she has a 50 percent chance of falling into the bad one. And if she falls into the bad category and I use her name, then I will have another trigger, and I don’t want another trigger.
After we close, clean, and mop, I go outside and she’s there, waiting for her ride. I want more than anything to offer her one, but I’m not allowed to offer beautiful girls a ride. That could put me in danger. Instead, I stop and talk to her while the two of us watch the next night’s crew unpack their stuff at the loading dock. It’s the circus, which seems like Gersday kismet. I wonder if there’s a trapeze act.
“My dad is always f**king late,” she says.
“So’s mine,” I say. “I think that’s why my parents bought me a car when I turned sixteen. Just so they wouldn’t have to taxi me around anymore.”
I’m glad she doesn’t ask me about my car. I get embarrassed about it. Like I’m some rich kid because a bunch of people used to watch me crap on TV. I don’t have anything more to say, but I stand with her anyway. The PEC Center borders the bad side of town. During the day it’s fine, but at night I wouldn’t want Lisi standing around waiting by herself, so I’ll stay with Register #1 Girl until her dad gets here.
“What do you think that is?” she asks, pointing toward something the circus guys are pulling out of a truck.
“No idea. Maybe a trampoline? Or some kind of platform?”
“I vote for trampoline.” She squints. “Looks like those legs fold out.”
A horn beeps. She turns toward the road and says good-bye. I watch the circus unload for a few more minutes before I go home. When I get there, Tasha and the na**d mole rat are already in the basement making barnyard noises and Mom is already asleep, so she can’t start mowing grass that isn’t long or blowing leaves that aren’t there, to block out the sound and act like our life is normal.
16
EPISODE 1, SCENE 36, TAKE 1
NANNY LEFT US alone for the last week but left her little spy cameras all around the house. It was creepy. I started to put a towel over myself in the bathroom. I looked down most of the time. I stopped picking my nose.
One night we were watching TV in the living room, and Mom and Dad were somewhere else in the house doing Mom-and-Dad things. Tasha sat with her back to a camera and did what she’d do—called me names and poked me and wiped spit in my face—and then, when I didn’t react to any of those things, she pinched my nose and mouth closed until I turned pale. When I started to cry, Lisi said, “Tasha, just leave him alone.” This made Tasha punch me. She did it low down, so the camera couldn’t see it. Right in the balls.
When I could catch my breath, I came at her like a train and I hit her over and over while she screamed and swore at me until I eventually pushed her right off the couch. I picked up the nearest thing I could find—a wood carving of a giant mahogany fish that Mom and Dad bought on their honeymoon—and was about to slam it into her face, but Dad got there just in time and pulled me off her.
The cameras saw all of that.
Mom and Dad knew they were on camera, so they tried to discipline me the way 1-2-3 Fake Nanny had instructed. As they doled out punishments, I felt like I was floating through the deepest parts of the sea, holding my breath. A whale swam by and brushed against my back. A school of fish swam around me in a fish-cyclone and then swam away again. I could see the surface and the vague brightness of life above the water, but I was tied to something by my ankle.
I was five years old and I already knew it—that the day I inhaled would kill me.
17
SATURDAY MORNING I have to get to the PEC Center by eleven for the circus. I’m at the kitchen table with Mom and Dad at nine. It’s very civilized. Mom is reading an issue of Walker’s World and Dad is talking about this great deal across town with an indoor swimming pool and three decks.
“It’s the perfect house at a quarter of what it’s worth. I’d buy it now if I could.” He puts printed pictures on the table and Mom stops to take a look at them. Downstairs, it starts quietly at first. A few squeaks and then small sounds like a washing machine. Then ba-bang-ba-boom-ba-bang-ba-boom-ba-bang.
I look at the picture on the MLS real estate listing. The pool looks warm and one of the decks looks high enough to push Tasha off and make it look like an accident. Or frame Mr. Trailer-Park Whiskers.
“Why don’t you buy it?” I ask.
Mom makes a chuckle through her nose in that cynical way she does.
I reach over and grab the other pictures. It’s a really great house. Even in this market, we’d make money selling this place and moving. More acreage. Different school district. New start. Maybe we can move one day when Tasha is out and forget to tell her where we went. Ba-bang-ba-boom-ba-bang-ba-boom.
“This place would sell for a lot, right?” I ask.
Dad nods. “At least four hundred. At least.”
“We’re not moving,” Mom says. She gets up and opens the lower cabinet next to the sink and retrieves the blender. “I’m not leaving a gated community for some house in the woods. I feel safe here,” she says. Then she opens the fridge and pours some apple juice and yogurt into the blender and starts it.
Dad yells, “We’d save in community fees. And taxes.”
Mom hits a higher speed on the blender. We can all still hear the ba-bang-ba-boom-ba-bang-ba-boom.
I say, “Yeah. And we wouldn’t have rats in our basement.”
Dad gathers the pictures and the MLS papers and stuffs them into his briefcase. Mom stands there pretending like she’s making a smoothie, but we all know she’s not. I get up and walk over to the basement door and kick it before I open it and scream, “Jesus, will you two just stop it already? Grow up! Move out! Just shut the hell up, will you?” I slam the door.
o;Dude, get me it,” Tasha says.
I don’t say anything. In Gersday, the trapeze act is stunning. Lisi and I ooh and aah between bites of creamy goodness.
“You’re a dick,” Tasha says.
I don’t say anything, because saying something to someone who doesn’t exist would mean I’d be talking to myself, right?
“Forget it,” she says, and walks away to get a pretzel somewhere else.
Once she sees I’m fine with the next customer, Beth goes back to acting as runner for the busier side of the stand, where Register #1 Girl is working.
Register #1 Girl has a name, but I don’t use it, because all girls fall into one of two categories and she has a 50 percent chance of falling into the bad one. And if she falls into the bad category and I use her name, then I will have another trigger, and I don’t want another trigger.
After we close, clean, and mop, I go outside and she’s there, waiting for her ride. I want more than anything to offer her one, but I’m not allowed to offer beautiful girls a ride. That could put me in danger. Instead, I stop and talk to her while the two of us watch the next night’s crew unpack their stuff at the loading dock. It’s the circus, which seems like Gersday kismet. I wonder if there’s a trapeze act.
“My dad is always f**king late,” she says.
“So’s mine,” I say. “I think that’s why my parents bought me a car when I turned sixteen. Just so they wouldn’t have to taxi me around anymore.”
I’m glad she doesn’t ask me about my car. I get embarrassed about it. Like I’m some rich kid because a bunch of people used to watch me crap on TV. I don’t have anything more to say, but I stand with her anyway. The PEC Center borders the bad side of town. During the day it’s fine, but at night I wouldn’t want Lisi standing around waiting by herself, so I’ll stay with Register #1 Girl until her dad gets here.
“What do you think that is?” she asks, pointing toward something the circus guys are pulling out of a truck.
“No idea. Maybe a trampoline? Or some kind of platform?”
“I vote for trampoline.” She squints. “Looks like those legs fold out.”
A horn beeps. She turns toward the road and says good-bye. I watch the circus unload for a few more minutes before I go home. When I get there, Tasha and the na**d mole rat are already in the basement making barnyard noises and Mom is already asleep, so she can’t start mowing grass that isn’t long or blowing leaves that aren’t there, to block out the sound and act like our life is normal.
16
EPISODE 1, SCENE 36, TAKE 1
NANNY LEFT US alone for the last week but left her little spy cameras all around the house. It was creepy. I started to put a towel over myself in the bathroom. I looked down most of the time. I stopped picking my nose.
One night we were watching TV in the living room, and Mom and Dad were somewhere else in the house doing Mom-and-Dad things. Tasha sat with her back to a camera and did what she’d do—called me names and poked me and wiped spit in my face—and then, when I didn’t react to any of those things, she pinched my nose and mouth closed until I turned pale. When I started to cry, Lisi said, “Tasha, just leave him alone.” This made Tasha punch me. She did it low down, so the camera couldn’t see it. Right in the balls.
When I could catch my breath, I came at her like a train and I hit her over and over while she screamed and swore at me until I eventually pushed her right off the couch. I picked up the nearest thing I could find—a wood carving of a giant mahogany fish that Mom and Dad bought on their honeymoon—and was about to slam it into her face, but Dad got there just in time and pulled me off her.
The cameras saw all of that.
Mom and Dad knew they were on camera, so they tried to discipline me the way 1-2-3 Fake Nanny had instructed. As they doled out punishments, I felt like I was floating through the deepest parts of the sea, holding my breath. A whale swam by and brushed against my back. A school of fish swam around me in a fish-cyclone and then swam away again. I could see the surface and the vague brightness of life above the water, but I was tied to something by my ankle.
I was five years old and I already knew it—that the day I inhaled would kill me.
17
SATURDAY MORNING I have to get to the PEC Center by eleven for the circus. I’m at the kitchen table with Mom and Dad at nine. It’s very civilized. Mom is reading an issue of Walker’s World and Dad is talking about this great deal across town with an indoor swimming pool and three decks.
“It’s the perfect house at a quarter of what it’s worth. I’d buy it now if I could.” He puts printed pictures on the table and Mom stops to take a look at them. Downstairs, it starts quietly at first. A few squeaks and then small sounds like a washing machine. Then ba-bang-ba-boom-ba-bang-ba-boom-ba-bang.
I look at the picture on the MLS real estate listing. The pool looks warm and one of the decks looks high enough to push Tasha off and make it look like an accident. Or frame Mr. Trailer-Park Whiskers.
“Why don’t you buy it?” I ask.
Mom makes a chuckle through her nose in that cynical way she does.
I reach over and grab the other pictures. It’s a really great house. Even in this market, we’d make money selling this place and moving. More acreage. Different school district. New start. Maybe we can move one day when Tasha is out and forget to tell her where we went. Ba-bang-ba-boom-ba-bang-ba-boom.
“This place would sell for a lot, right?” I ask.
Dad nods. “At least four hundred. At least.”
“We’re not moving,” Mom says. She gets up and opens the lower cabinet next to the sink and retrieves the blender. “I’m not leaving a gated community for some house in the woods. I feel safe here,” she says. Then she opens the fridge and pours some apple juice and yogurt into the blender and starts it.
Dad yells, “We’d save in community fees. And taxes.”
Mom hits a higher speed on the blender. We can all still hear the ba-bang-ba-boom-ba-bang-ba-boom.
I say, “Yeah. And we wouldn’t have rats in our basement.”
Dad gathers the pictures and the MLS papers and stuffs them into his briefcase. Mom stands there pretending like she’s making a smoothie, but we all know she’s not. I get up and walk over to the basement door and kick it before I open it and scream, “Jesus, will you two just stop it already? Grow up! Move out! Just shut the hell up, will you?” I slam the door.