House Arrest Read Free

talking to the car.
So I admitted it to him.
I made my mom cry.
It was me this time.
Not a bill.
Not Levi.
Not just from being so, so tired.
I admit it to you, too.
I made her cry, OK.
And then I apologized
to a bunch of photos and stuff in the trunk of our car.
Because I didn’t want Dad to hate me.
Maybe I am a nutjob.
Oh, great, now I’m crying, too.
I hate this journal.

    A crackle in the breeze.
I put down my math book,
look out the front door.
Two bags on the mat,
a mat that says Fo shizzle welcome to our hizzle , a mat Dad bought because he thought it was funny,
a mat Mom hates but won’t throw away.
Two bags on the mat.
Filled with milk and bread and cheese and meat
and even some Snickers bars.
I look down the sidewalk.
No one’s around.
I bring the mystery bag inside.
Levi kicks his happy leg.

WEEK 8
    I wasn’t in juvie very long,
just there to be
processed
and
judged.
But it felt like ages
eons
eternities
stars imploded and were reborn
new planets formed
there was a supernova of shame
growing inside me
and I thought maybe rays of blinding light
would shoot from my fingers
as they were pressed onto the fancy inkless pad
and my fingerprints
joined the other galaxies of whorls and swirls
trapped in time.

    You look cold. Duh, Mrs. B. It’s wintertime.
Where’s your coat? Duh, Mrs. B. My arms have grown
three sizes since last winter.
Do you need a coat? Duh, Mrs. B. But you think I’m going to ask for one?
You should take care of yourself.
You don’t want to get sick. Duh, Mrs. B. Who wants to get sick?
Have you had a flu shot? Duh, Mrs. B. Who’s going to pay for it?
You should think about getting one. Duh, Mrs. B. I think about a lot of things I can’t do.
Timothy, are you listening to me? Duh, Mrs. B. Are you listening to you?

    My mom is late.
She’ll be right here. My standard lie for new night nurses.
Mom will be here when her shift ends.
In three hours.
This nurse plopped down a Big Gulp
right on Mom’s coffee table.
The one that should have a sign:
USE A COASTER
OR YOU WILL BE MURDERED.
Wow. Lexi is adorable. She’s a cutie.
I smelled cigarettes and onions
when she opened her mouth.
Actually, she’s a he.
And his name is Levi.
Onion Mouth wrinkled her nose,
flipped through some pages,
sipped her Big Gulp.
Oh, right. The heart kid. I shook my head.
Airway kid. I pointed to the trach.
Onion Mouth smiled.
Where’s your bathroom?
I pointed down the hall.
Then I called Mom.
Forget the overtime.
Please come home.
You have to fire the new night nurse.
I know.
I know.
But she’s bad.
Real bad.
OK. Sorry.
I know.
I KNOW.
Bye.

    Marisol has these crazy fingers.
They’re long,
like longer than normal.
And they wrap around things,
like maybe she has vines growing inside her.
This afternoon her fingers were twirling
crazy shapes
in front of Levi’s face.
She’s teaching him sign language.
She’s giving him a voice.
milk milk milk
more more more
more milk more milk more milk
Marisol said it over and over
while her fingers curled,
vines squeezing air.
Levi stared at her
and smiled
and swatted at her hands.
Marisol took his hand,
took his tiny fingers
that are not like vines
and she tried to shape them into
milk milk milk
more more more
more milk more milk more milk.
But he just wanted the cell phone
in the pocket of her scrubs.
(He likes to push buttons.
Kind of like me.
Ha.)
I sat next to Marisol
and tried to turn my fingers into vines.
more more more
milk milk milk
more milk more milk more milk
Good , said Marisol.
Good job, Timothy. She handed me Levi’s bottle.
Her long fingers touched mine
for just a second
and the weirdest thing happened.
I wanted to hug her
really tight
and feel her hands wrap around me
like vines never letting go.
And I wanted to sign
more more more so she’d never stop hugging me back.
Please don’t ever tell her.

WEEK 9
    I will never do it again.
You must know that, James.
I will never do it