House Arrest Read online

  I say:

  Are there special programs

  so the state can pay for him to stay home?

  Mary says:

  The state already pays for him to stay home.

  The state pays for me.

  I say:

  The state should ask for its money back.

  Mom says [ignoring me]:

  What if it’s just for a few months

  so I can work lots of overtime?

  Earn lots of extra money?

  Save for a night nurse every night?

  Mary says:

  We’re thinking about what’s best for Levi.

  I say:

  The state will have to pay for me

  to live in a facility, too,

  before I let you tell us what’s best for Levi.

  Mary sucks in her breath.

  Mom drops her eyes.

  I don’t hit Mary.

  But I want to, James.

  I want to, Mrs. B.

  I want to hit her in those stupid cow eyes.

  I really, really want to.

  It scares me how much I want to.

  Crying crying crying

  that’s all I could do.

  I couldn’t even make words

  come out of my mouth

  and it was so embarrassing

  but I didn’t know where else to go,

  and my journal was stuffed

  under my shirt

  because it’s like a part of me now

  and I couldn’t stop crying

  even when it was Isa

  of course

  who opened the door,

  and even when José’s mom

  took me to the bathroom

  and turned on the shower

  and said over and over,

  Mijo, mijo, mijo,

  until she was crying

  and I was crying

  and she was looking at my knuckles

  all bloody and bruised

  from punching the wall

  instead of Mary

  who I would never really punch

  because she is old and has stupid cow eyes,

  and José’s mom was hugging me so tight

  I had no breath

  and so I thought of Levi

  which made me cry even harder

  and José and Theresa and Alé and Sofia

  and Isa

  were all outside the bathroom door

  wondering why I was freaking out.

  I know they were.

  Now I’m out of the shower.

  I’m wearing José’s pajamas.

  I’m in the dark

  on the floor

  in a sleeping bag

  and no one is around

  and I can’t stop hiccupping.

  WEEK 28

  Thanks for the milk shake, James.

  I mean, it’s not going to change the world or anything.

  But it was nice.

  Mrs. B.

  Her eyes always give her away.

  She says she’s disappointed.

  She asks if I’m disappointed with myself.

  She talks about breathing and

  staying calm.

  She talks about impulse control and counting.

  But her eyes dip down,

  her eyebrows go up

  so I can see right into her brain.

  Mrs. B, I might not know a lot of things

  but I totally know when a lady

  wants to hug me and pat my head.

  You were saying things like,

  Punching walls is unacceptable.

  But your eyes,

  your eyes,

  they said,

  Come here, Timothy,

  let me hug you and make everything better.

  Thank you for not hugging me, though.

  I’m not allowed to talk to Mary.

  Not allowed to be anywhere near her.

  Mom says it’s forbidden.

  That seems like a really strong word.

  I mean, the only things that are forbidden

  are, like, cursed artifacts

  or the entrances to biohazardous facilities

  or posting TV spoilers online.

  Forbidden seems super fancy.

  I don’t want anything having to do with Mary

  to seem fancy.

  Mary can be off-limits.

  She can be excluded.

  Or maybe prohibited.

  But forbidden?

  No way is Mary in the same class

  as a cursed artifact.

  No way.

  I am an island

  inside José’s crazy house.

  Somehow all the chaos makes me calm.

  I just let the noise and the movement

  rush over me

  until I can’t hear anything else,

  I can’t feel anything else,

  just José’s house.

  And I stand still in the middle of it,

  a rock taking a beating

  from the waves just battering and hitting and

  smashing

  and loving every minute of it

  if rocks can love things

  which maybe they can’t.

  I checked in on the turtle car today

  it is still old

  and broken

  and ugly.

  José, though,

  had a smile

  and a wrench,

  a grease smear across his face

  in the shape of a

  scimitar

  like those scimitars

  the dudes use

  in that game

  I forgot the name of,

  the one where you vanquish the zombies

  with a quick slash

  and a yank,

  with a plop

  there goes the head

  or a lop

  there goes the arm

  or a stab

  there go the entrails.

  A scimitar on his face

  smiling across his cheek

  vanquishing that turtle car

  while his dad muttered from underneath the car,

  Hand me the wrench.

  No, not that one, dios mio, José.

  The big one.

  And José just grinned

  tossing random tools down to his dad

  while I kicked the tires

  and listened to that deep grouchy voice

  echo off the walls.

  Mary called in sick.

  Hooray!

  And Mom had to go to work.

  Hooray!

  Today is just me and Levi.

  I put the music up loud,

  held him on my hip,

  and we danced around the room

  like idiots.

  I put him in his wedge,

  found a bottle,

  and you know what he did?

  He signed music.

  For the very first time.

  So you know what I did?

  I put down that bottle,

  picked up that kid,

  put the music on extra loud

  and we danced until we were laughing so hard

  I thought he was going to have to resuscitate me.

  Seemed like a weird time for Isa

  or medical supply delivery

  or James.

  Those are the only times anyone knocks.

  Tap tap tap.

  Bam bam bam.

  Rat-a-tat-tat.

  On the front door.

  Right then I should have known.

  I should have known something wasn’t right.

  Her badge said:

  Carla Ramirez

  Child Protective Services

  Her face said:

  I Am a Lady Who Means Business

  Even Though I Am Smiling

  Her mouth said:

  Davidson residence?

  My name is Carla Ramirez.

  I’m with Child Protective Serv
ices.

  Can you open the door, please?

  That was when Levi barfed

  and started choking

  so I cracked open the door

  tried to smile

  tried not to look like my insides were melting

  as I turned

  ran to Levi

  clicked on the jackhammer suction machine

  and shouted over the noise,

  DON’T WORRY.

  THIS HAPPENS ALL THE TIME.

  WEEK 29

  James.

  James, I can’t even.

  I just.

  You should have seen her face.

  She’d start a question

  but

  stop

  talking

  slowly

  trailing

  off

  Levi’s alarms were too distracting,

  his barfing and choking too volcanic,

  the suction machine too loud.

  I knocked over the hot water—

  you know, from the warm mist?

  The thing we put over the trach?

  When Levi is on the wedge?

  I knocked it on her leg

  when I was going for the oxygen tubing

  and she went

  OooowooooOooo

  like a siren

  and jumped

  like a flying squirrel.

  She kept yelling over the noise and barfs,

  Is your mom here?

  Can I speak with your mom?

  And in the middle of it all

  Mom walked through the front door

  dropping her bag

  like she always does

  saying,

  Fo shizzle, who’s in the hizzle?!

  like she always does

  because she is a huge dork.

  And this lady,

  this Carla Ramirez,

  oh my god, James,

  her face.

  I would’ve laughed

  if I wasn’t so scared.

  So you finally did it.

  That’s what I yelled at Mrs. B.

  The words flew from my mouth

  like angry bees

  buzzing around the room.

  She actually took a step back,

  the smile leaving her face

  just disappearing in one second.

  Timothy?

  You called social services!

  You called Carla Ramirez!

  How could you?!

  HOW COULD YOU?!

  The bees were in my head after that

  buzzing buzzing buzzing

  getting tangled up in my thoughts

  getting lost in my bloodstream

  making my fingers tingle and burn.

  I picked up the plant,

  the one with crinkled leaves,

  the one that sits beside the computer,

  and I threw it

  hard

  against the wall

  where the pot shattered

  made a loud crashing noise

  and Mrs. B jumped back

  her mouth turning into a big O

  and the door flew open.

  Mom.

  We were a triangle.

  No one saying anything,

  just breathing.

  I could hear so much breathing.

  Well,

  Mrs. B said.

  Her voice was a little shaky.

  Well,

  she said it again, not shaky this time.

  I don’t know if this makes you feel better but

  I did not call them.

  I talked to them when they called me

  but I did not instigate the visit.

  I let the words settle into my brain

  like smoke calming the bees.

  OK, I said.

  OK? Mom said.

  OK. Mrs. B nodded.

  Mom went back to the waiting room.

  Mrs. B ran her hands through her hair.

  She looked at me hard.

  A long look into my guts.

  I looked back instead of looking away.

  I held her stare for once.

  I counted like she taught me to.

  I breathed like she taught me to.

  OK, I said again.

  How about a little time on the computer, Timothy?

  Mrs. B stepped over the broken plant

  turned on the monitor

  looked right into my guts again.

  And my guts looked back.

  They said, Sorry.

  They said, I’m so sorry, Mrs. B.

  I’m so, so sorry.

  Dear Dr. Sawyer,

  You must be pretty busy

  with all of the baby fixing you do,

  but I am still wondering

  how it works

  when the baby who needs to be fixed

  lives in Texas

  and you are in Ohio.

  Do we just come find you?

  At your hospital?

  Make a regular appointment?

  And we stay at a hotel?

  How much does it all cost?

  (I need actual numbers, please.)

  How long does the fixing take?

  Please write back.

  Please write back really soon.

  Timothy Davidson

  What if Dr. Sawyer finds out?

  I mean, about Carla Ramirez,

  CPS Flying Squirrel Extraordinaire.

  What if he thinks we’re too messed up?

  What if he thinks No crazy Texas people for me?

  What if he thinks we could never get enough money?

  What if he doesn’t care if we DO get enough money?

  What if he thinks the whole family has failure to thrive?

  We’re going to need money,

  moolah,

  cash,

  green,

  dollars,

  Ben Franklins.

  If I get it all together

  and give it to Mom

  she has to say yes to Cincinnati.

  Right?

  Well, if Dr. Sawyer says yes to the fixing part.

  Saying yes to the fixing part is a very tricky part.

  So many parts!

  Will you be a part, Mrs. B?

  James?

  When school starts again,

  should I talk to the Carnival people?

  I could really do it.

  I could try to make them part of this, too.

  The biggest part, even.

  So Levi won’t be apart from me and Mom,

  and I can be a part of making it all better.

  Flip-flops beside my bed

  like two dried-up slugs

  having suddenly appeared

  from nowhere.

  I picked them up

  put them in the trash can,

  the big one

  in the kitchen.

  I am not wearing those on my feet,

  Dad’s old flip-flops.

  My feet can sweat

  in too-small shoes and too-hot socks

  all summer long

  I don’t care

  thank you very much.

  WEEK 30

  I hate it when you drive the van, James,

  the Juvenile Probation van

  with that logo on the side.

  Do you really have to drive the van?

  What happened to your dumb red car?

  That dumb red car looks so much better in

  the driveway

  than the awful van

  shouting to the neighbors

  HEY JUST IN CASE YOU FORGOT

  TIMOTHY IS A SCREWUP.

  Dear Mrs. B,

  I’m sorry I threw your plant.

  I’m sorry it crashed against the wall

  making that loud KAPOW sound

  that, for just a millisecond,

  settled my bones,

  a big deep satisfying settling

  that said

  yes
/>   that is exactly the noise I need to hear

  right at this moment,

  that KAPOW really hits the spot

  so to speak.

  I’m sorry if it scared you

  or bothered you

  or made you think less of me

  as a human being.

  I will do better.

  After all of this,

  all of the Carla Ramirez stuff,

  Mom can’t still be thinking about doing it.

  I know she can’t be

  even with all the paperwork coming in the mail

  and the people calling

  and Mary saying she’ll need a new case

  once Levi goes away.

  I can’t believe she’s going to do it.

  I won’t believe she’s going to do it.

  Levi is the real heart of the family

  and Mom is not like Dad,

  she could never leave the heart of the family behind.

  Never.

  Never.

  Don’t be naughty, you little brat.

  That’s what Mary said.

  I totally heard it

  under her breath

  when Levi was smiling and playing his favorite game:

  Drop the Bottle and Make Mary Crazy.

  She called him a brat.

  Luckily he doesn’t know what that is.

  But I do.

  I sure do.

  She’s so mean to him, Mom.

  Don’t exaggerate.

  Exaggerating would be to say she grows fangs

  and talons and

  flies around the room

  shooting fire

  from her cow eyes.

  That’s exaggerating.

  Timothy.

  She’s mean to him. I don’t like her.

  OK. Well. We have no one else.

  I know.

  So what do you want me to do?

  I don’t know. Pay closer attention.

  Timothy.

  I’m sorry.

  She’s not mean to him.

  She is.

  Tell you what.

  If I see her being mean to him, I’ll fire her.

  On the spot.

  OK?

  OK.

  Good night, T-man.

  Don’t call me T-man.

  WEEK 31

  How would I know?

  Am I a plant specialist?

  Can I just yell PLANT POWERS ACTIVATE

  and know all of the plant things?

  James.

  Come on.

  The one we decided on is almost just right, though.

  It is smallish,

  the leaves are wrinkly,

  and even though they are plain green

  instead of purple and green,

  at least the flowers are purple.

  I am getting the sense that Mrs. B