room.
I didn't want to talk with Mam just then, but she followed me back.
"How long are you going to act this way?" Mam asked when she caught up to me. She stood in the doorway in her jeans and a T-shirt, her hair in a ponytail, and I thought she looked young. She looked young enough for people to think Larry was her husband.
I turned away from her and chucked my basketball shoes, my basketball, and the book on chaos and complexity I had been reading all into my last cardboard box. "Is Polanski living with us, too, now?" I asked, keeping my back to her and not answering her question.
"No, JP, but she's eating with us."
"What's with her arm?"
"Why don't you come out and ask her yourself?"
I threw a sweatshirt into the box. "You know, Mam, you have a knack for choosing just the people I happen to hate, who the whole town hates. That ought to tell you something, don't you think?" I looked up at her.
"Yes, it does. It sure does." Mam nodded and crossed her arms in front of her. She leaned against the side of the doorway.
"Mr. Seeley was right," I said, setting her up, wanting to hurt her.
"Right about what?"
"You're not right in the head." I pointed to my own head. "You're not all there. Mam, you go for every misfit and oddball that comes along. No, you don't just go for them, you marry them!"
I gasped, realizing what I had just said. I had gone too far. I could feel my face burning. I took a step toward Mam and tried to speak. "I—I—"
"You've said enough, JP," M^m said, backing away, her voice quiet "Finish packing and get to bed. You need your sleep."
She left and I didn't call her back. I didn't say anything. I flopped down on my bed and just sat, waiting for the dark.
Chapter Nine
W E MOVED ON a Tuesday, Dr. Mike's free day. Mam insisted we couldn't move without him. We used a U-Haul truck, and Larry, Pap, Dr. Mike, and I loaded it while Mam directed us.
I kept myself busy, trying, in a way, to make up for what I had said the night before. I acted extra-nice to Pap, even when he dropped my box with the microscope in it that Grandma Mary and Mam had given me for Christmas that past year. My only gift. I had written FRAGILE all over the box—not that Pap could read it, but Mam could, and Mam was the one pointing out which box went where and who carried it. Maybe she was getting even with me, having Pap haul my stuff, but I didn't let her see that it bothered me. I just picked up the box and said, "It's okay, Pap," and set it down in the truck.
I didn't speak to Mam except to say, "You want this in the back of the truck?" or "Should we set that box on top of the table?" I was all business to everyone.
Larry brought his radio and set it on the roof of his rusty van and turned it up full blast, drawing neighbors out of their houses to come watch the procession in and out of our front door.
Tim Seeley and Bobbi Polanski stopped by and helped awhile, Bobbi using just her one good arm. I tried to act more cheerful around them, as if I were having as much fun as the others. I didn't pull it off too well, though, and Seeley asked me at one point, "What's wrong with you, anyway?"
When it was time to leave we said our good-byes and Mam walked through the house one last time, dabbing at her tears with a McDonald's napkin left over from that morning's breakfast.
I said good-bye to Seeley. I told him to come visit and that next weekend wouldn't be too soon, and then I went down to the creek for one last good-bye. I stood looking down in the water, watching the minnows darting about in what appeared to be aimless activity, and I wondered if there were some creature larger than us, God maybe, who looked down on us and saw all our comings and goings and thought all our activities were aimless, pointless. I thought about randomness and chaos, my old fears. I thought about the way life was, and death. I thought about Grandma Mary just dropping dead in the middle of her bedroom, in the middle of blow-drying her hair,
I didn't want to talk with Mam just then, but she followed me back.
"How long are you going to act this way?" Mam asked when she caught up to me. She stood in the doorway in her jeans and a T-shirt, her hair in a ponytail, and I thought she looked young. She looked young enough for people to think Larry was her husband.
I turned away from her and chucked my basketball shoes, my basketball, and the book on chaos and complexity I had been reading all into my last cardboard box. "Is Polanski living with us, too, now?" I asked, keeping my back to her and not answering her question.
"No, JP, but she's eating with us."
"What's with her arm?"
"Why don't you come out and ask her yourself?"
I threw a sweatshirt into the box. "You know, Mam, you have a knack for choosing just the people I happen to hate, who the whole town hates. That ought to tell you something, don't you think?" I looked up at her.
"Yes, it does. It sure does." Mam nodded and crossed her arms in front of her. She leaned against the side of the doorway.
"Mr. Seeley was right," I said, setting her up, wanting to hurt her.
"Right about what?"
"You're not right in the head." I pointed to my own head. "You're not all there. Mam, you go for every misfit and oddball that comes along. No, you don't just go for them, you marry them!"
I gasped, realizing what I had just said. I had gone too far. I could feel my face burning. I took a step toward Mam and tried to speak. "I—I—"
"You've said enough, JP," M^m said, backing away, her voice quiet "Finish packing and get to bed. You need your sleep."
She left and I didn't call her back. I didn't say anything. I flopped down on my bed and just sat, waiting for the dark.
Chapter Nine
W E MOVED ON a Tuesday, Dr. Mike's free day. Mam insisted we couldn't move without him. We used a U-Haul truck, and Larry, Pap, Dr. Mike, and I loaded it while Mam directed us.
I kept myself busy, trying, in a way, to make up for what I had said the night before. I acted extra-nice to Pap, even when he dropped my box with the microscope in it that Grandma Mary and Mam had given me for Christmas that past year. My only gift. I had written FRAGILE all over the box—not that Pap could read it, but Mam could, and Mam was the one pointing out which box went where and who carried it. Maybe she was getting even with me, having Pap haul my stuff, but I didn't let her see that it bothered me. I just picked up the box and said, "It's okay, Pap," and set it down in the truck.
I didn't speak to Mam except to say, "You want this in the back of the truck?" or "Should we set that box on top of the table?" I was all business to everyone.
Larry brought his radio and set it on the roof of his rusty van and turned it up full blast, drawing neighbors out of their houses to come watch the procession in and out of our front door.
Tim Seeley and Bobbi Polanski stopped by and helped awhile, Bobbi using just her one good arm. I tried to act more cheerful around them, as if I were having as much fun as the others. I didn't pull it off too well, though, and Seeley asked me at one point, "What's wrong with you, anyway?"
When it was time to leave we said our good-byes and Mam walked through the house one last time, dabbing at her tears with a McDonald's napkin left over from that morning's breakfast.
I said good-bye to Seeley. I told him to come visit and that next weekend wouldn't be too soon, and then I went down to the creek for one last good-bye. I stood looking down in the water, watching the minnows darting about in what appeared to be aimless activity, and I wondered if there were some creature larger than us, God maybe, who looked down on us and saw all our comings and goings and thought all our activities were aimless, pointless. I thought about randomness and chaos, my old fears. I thought about the way life was, and death. I thought about Grandma Mary just dropping dead in the middle of her bedroom, in the middle of blow-drying her hair,
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