Breakfast with Neruda Read Free

to make room for it.”
    Our mom’s stuff has accumulated enough to start spilling into my sister’s room. And Mom freaks if you throw anything out. Oddly enough, as much crap as there is in the house, she notices when things are missing. It wasn’t always like this. We used to move every few months, but about five years ago, when Mom married Tomas, we moved here. He’s long gone, but the junk multiplies.
    Jeff got lucky. He lives with his dad and his new family. Since they live nearby, Annie and I see Jeff at school all the time. Rooster, Ohio, is a small enough place, and everyone goes to one of three high schools in the county. Jeff’s dad gave me my car. Not that he knows I live in it. At the time, I just needed a car to get to work and back. I moved out even before I got expelled because Mom’s piles of crap had buried my bedroom.
    Annie started keeping her clothes in a dresser drawer on the back porch about a year ago so she won’t smell like the inside of the townhouse. Even in cold weather she changes clothes behind a curtain she devised from a blanket.
    “I started sleeping out back,” she tells me. We walk to the back door and I see Annie has rigged up a folding lawn chair with some cushions. “I can’t breathe inside this house.”
    “You're always welcome to sleep in the backseat of my car,” I say.
    “I might take you up on that if things get any worse.”
    I give her a quick hug. “Thanks for the sandwich.” I pick up my bag and carefully trek my way up to the bathroom. Keeping a usable bathroom and a somewhat functional kitchen were the sole triumphs my sister had negotiated with our mother. So far. I just wonder when Annie will be shoved completely out the door too.
    I drape the shirt over the shower door, hoping the steam straightens it out.
    When I get back downstairs, Annie is sitting on the porch reading from the book. She looks up when I step outside. “Remember
The Fisherman and the Genie
?”
    The Fisherman and the Genie
was one of our favorites as kids, probably because it was Bob’s favorite.
    “Thanks again for the book,” Annie says.
    “No problem.”
    She picks up the iPod and charger and hands them to me. “Here. You don’t have any way to listen to music,” she says. “I have the radio or my stereo. Plus I already have an MP3 player.”
    “Are you sure?” I say.
    “Yeah. I’m sure.”
    • • •
    I get off work around 10:30 and stop at Kroger to buy a box of crackers (bread molds too quickly in this summer heat), a jar of Jif peanut butter, and a squirt bottle of honey. In the school library I read an article in
Outdoor Life
about surviving hikes and getting lost in the woods. It said peanut butter and honey are perfect foods because they’re nutritious and don’t spoil when they get too hot or cold. According to the article, a jar of honey can last 3,000 years, so I’ve been pretty much living on peanut butter and honey and fast-food dollar menus since I moved out of Mom’s house. I buy a couple bananas and apples. I almost never eat salads or vegetables because they spoil quickly.
    I count my leftover money: $13.12. Hopefully I’ll find some more cash in the east wing lockers tomorrow.
    I drive around the Graham Park neighborhood close to the school, but not so close I’m actually on the lot. I have to wait for the night custodians to leave at eleven; usually the school parking lot is empty by 11:15. The few minutes I charged the iPod at Mom’s didn’t last, and my phone is also dead, so I still don’t know what time it is.
    I sometimes sleep near my mom’s, but now that I have to be at school so early, I park the car on or close to the school grounds to make sure I get there on time. I don’t want to screw up this community service gig.
    I could park the car anywhere I guess, but there are parts of town where I don’t want to be seen, and also parts of town that scare the crap out of me. It’s so hot inside the car I won’t sleep for long stretches